High Heels and High Chairs

Being Flexible with my Flex Schedule

2012-01-21T20:34:00.001-05:00

I had a light bulb moment this week. Perhaps the reason why "flex scheduling" isn't more readily embraced by the corporate community is that employers aren't sure they can, in fact, be flexible. They may feel that the burden will fall on them.

The fact of the matter is, my current employers have asked, simply, that a certain level of work be completed. Other than perhaps understanding that my best days for meetings are Mondays and Wednesdays, the reality is that, as long as I deliver, they're pretty much fine. Sure, some employers may balk at employees working out of sight for fear that they can't supervise or offer input. And some jobs certainly can't be terribly flexible (a chef or a doctor can't work from home the way an accountant or a PR pro can). But for many companies, does it really matter whether you finish that report in an office or at your kitchen table as long as it is still quality work?

My personal light bulb went on earlier this week when I realized flex scheduling is less about my employer being flexible (although, obviously the fact that I have this arrangement indicates that yes they are) and more about me being flexible. I plan my work around the two days both kids are in school, around typical nap/quiet times, around evenings or early mornings. But then, inevitably, something will happen. A colleague will have a request that might need to be met on a timeline that doesn't fit the mental parameters I have anticipated for a day. Or that early morning I was planning on is traded in for a snooze button after being up for two hours in the middle of the night with an inconsolable toddler. Or in order to make a crucial meeting happen, I need to suck it up and find a babysitter.

Strangely, the hardest part of my flex schedule is being flexible with myself. Letting it go until the next day so I can get to bed early or postponing that revision because the toddler decided to skip a nap or buckling down for several hours of work on a weekend when the hubby takes the kids on an outing are all part of me rolling with the punches. The press release doesn't know the difference. The research still gets done. The plans still get written.

As long as I can be flexible with my own expectations, this flex schedule thing may just work out.

Mommy's Jobs

2012-01-09T20:34:00.001-05:00

I'm only in the office two mornings a week. The rest of the week, I'm balancing work during the boys' nap/TV time, post bedtime, and weekend outings with daddy. When I pack up my laptop and head out for car pool pickups on office days, the office manager typically says goodbye with a "Have fun at your real job."

And that's certainly how it feels. I definitely bill more hours to the mommy job than the other. Each has its own uniform with a nice Mr. Rogers-like transition when I come home replacing the skirts with jeans and the heels with slippers. Each has its own compartment in my brain and color on my iCal. Both are relieved with a glass of wine and a good book.

I took a little time off from the hustle and bustle around the holidays and put work away for a bit. When I came back, ready to tackle the scheduling and the balancing act again, I decided to approach it a bit differently. To mentally stop trying to balance a see-saw that defies all rules of physics to begin with. To approach each day with a unique task to accomplish. To only judge my performance on that one task whether that day's focus is bringing snack to my son's preschool class or developing an outreach plan. To try not to say "in a minute" to my kids when I'm trying to finish an email/press release/dinner.

The last has been the toughest. Inevitably, the boys are done with naps/videos/Legos five minutes before I'm done with whatever task I'm trying to accomplish. I want them to know that mommy works and that what mommy does is important but that they will always be the most important job mommy has.

At dinner recently, the five year old was asking the hubby to stay home from now on and mommy could go to work (the boys enjoyed the extra time the hubby was around over the holidays burning some saved up PTO). I explained that mommy already goes to work, just while they are at school. I thought I could use the opening as an opportunity to explain a little bit more about what mommy does. And so I asked him, "Do you know what mommy's job is when she's not home taking care of you?"

His response, "Loving me?"

It's good to know that he understands my real job.

The Rainbow Connection

2011-12-21T15:26:00.002-05:00

For the past few days, I've had horrible jaw pain. I finally called my dentist yesterday when it was nearly unbearable. I was told the following: Take an ibuprofen before bed. Turn off the television/to-do lists/etc and massage the area between my jaw and ear for 15 minutes. I did. And although it's still a tad bit tight today, it's really a night and day difference.

I have admittedly been a bit stressed out this holiday season. Whether I'm working and not shopping or shopping and not playing or playing and not doing anything else, it always feels like the wrong thing. The good news, is that I have been trying. Trying to slow down and enjoy the moments that will be the memories my family remembers. The only drawback has been when I finish smelling the proverbial roses, I'm thrown right back into my stress spiral totaling up all the items I didn't do while I was taking a "break."

The jaw pain, probably caused from overnight teeth clenching because I'm apparently even stressed during my sleep, was a wake up call (bad pun was sadly intended, sorry). What difference does it all make? If I know anything about myself, it will all still get done. The work will be completed, the presents wrapped, the laundry done...eventually. Maybe it won't be according to my Type-A expectations or timeline, but it will happen.

So, today, while the toddler was at school and the five year old was home on his first day of Christmas break, we took care of two Christmas errands and then headed to the movie theater. Nothing like popcorn for lunch and the Muppets to put you in a good mood. Then, in the dark of the theater, towards the end of the movie, my little man reached for my hand. There in the quiet, it was just me and him. No to-do lists. No distractions. Just his maturing profile in the film's glow and his slender fingers taking up increasing room in my palm.

And that, my dear Kermit, was me finding my rainbow connection.

Well, that moment and the one where I laughed hysterically with him when Gonzo got Chris Cooper in the gut with a bowling ball. Cause if slapstick ain't a stress reliever, I don't know what is.

Home for the Holidays

2011-12-08T20:16:00.000-05:00

In the 13 Christmases that have come and gone during our marriage, the hubby and I have travelled back to the city of our formative years and spent the holiday with our families 11 times. Only twice since we had kids did we actually stay in our own home.

The first time, Peanut was one or two and by 11 in the morning, the hubby and I were staring at each other wondering, what now? I'm not sure if that's why we decided the following year to go back up or not, but I'm sure it had something to do with it. Pumpkin's first Christmas, we stayed here, too. He was only a month and a half old and traveling with both kids was just too much for us to handle at that point. That year went much better. We were kept busy by caring for a newborn, enjoying Peanut who better understood Christmas and friendly neighbors who invited us to brunch with their family.

Then last year, we went back up again. As we packed up all the Santa presents in the dead of the night so that the kids wouldn't see them and struggled to fit everything plus all the kids' gifts from the family back into the trunk at trip's end, I turned to the hubby and said two words: Never. Again.

Yet, there I was this summer, looking ahead and figuring, maybe we should go back up again. The pull of my niece on her first Christmas was a powerful tug.

As Thanksgiving approached, we avoided the topic. We put it off. We constantly agreed to talk about it "later." When Thanksgiving passed and we entered into December, we finally sat down and talked it through. Pros. Cons. Reality. And decided to stay home for the holidays. Well, at least for Christmas day.

I heard Perry Como crooning "Home for the Holidays" today on the radio and I nearly felt that tug of guilt again. "See?" I said to myself. "You're supposed to want to go home for the holidays. The traffic sounds nostalgic. The pumpkin pie would be homemade...wait, what? My mom never made pumpkin pie."

Sure, we'll miss providing my parents with the Christmas morning magic that kids bring, but we'll be giving our kids the magic of Christmas morning in their own house. Isn't there something about waking up in your own bed while the moment dawns on you that this isn't just any other morning? Something special has happened. Something unexpected is awaiting. Sure, we'll miss my mom's excellent Christmas dinner, but I'll get to make these as a new tradition. And we'll see everyone, just a few days later.

So, yes, Perry, we will be home for the holidays. Although it feels a little bit selfish, what wish list to Santa isn't?

This year, we start creating the traditions and the magic and the laughter that will pull my children back home for the holidays when they are grown. That is, until they, too, have to decide it is time they stay home for their own sanity.

But I have a many more Christmases to go before that happens. And I plan on enjoying each and every one of them. Wherever we are.

Christmas is Coming, The Mama's Freakin' Out

2011-12-06T17:13:00.001-05:00

Christmas is already hectic enough between holiday school performances, class parties, adult parties, gift shopping, decorating, baking, wrapping, card addressing, hauling, traveling, outings...I do my best each year to really make sure all those things are still fun and enjoyable, because why else do them, really?

This year, however, I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed. Who knew that the holidays ARE a part time job? But they must be because my actual part time job has apparently taken that available time. I'm realizing that finding the time to accomplish the shopping and the organizing and the selecting is next to impossible when most of my free-to-just-me moments are occupied with work. Work I need to be doing. Work I want to be doing.

But I want to be working on Christmas ornaments with the kids, too. Only I haven't had time to go to the craft store for supplies not to mention figure out what we'd be making. And I want to be carefully thinking of my loved ones and what I want to select for their gifts. I really do love those eureka moments when you've found the perfect gift for the perfect person. This year, I can't even figure out what the kids are going to be getting - and they're usually the easy ones. I want to be wrapping pretty packages of cookies for the boys' teachers and creating family memories of warm apple cider and Christmas music.

I know. I know. I didn't have the Norman Rockwell fantasy even when I wasn't working, but at least I was attaining some level of postcard semi-perfection, if only for an hour here and there.

My strategy for the holidays, then? Anybody got any extra elves I could employ to either babysit my kids, do my shopping or clean my house? No? Or just not sharing? I suppose instead I'll make lots of lists, fly by the seat of my pants and practice my deep breathing. That, and do a lot of shopping online in my jammies once the work is complete for the day and the kids are in bed.

And if I find myself starting to freak out, I'll just pop in the John Denver and the Muppets album and boogie with the kids a little bit. I can't freak out when belting out "five golden rings" with Miss Piggy, can I?

30 Days of Thanks: The Holiday Weekend

2011-11-27T16:36:00.001-05:00

I've been so slack about my daily thank yous. Not that I haven't had anything to be thankful for, but between work and kids and strep throat and hosting Thanksgiving, sometimes the last thing I could do at the end of the evening was put my fingers on a keyboard and expect something coherent to appear.

In an attempt to make up some ground, here is what I am thankful for after our fantastic Thanksgiving weekend:

* Visitors! My kids were so excited that people were coming here. I think they realized how special that was. And not having to pack up for the fourth time in as many months to make the six hour drive north on I85 on Wednesday was definitely something for us to be thankful for.

* Nieces. My sister's six month old little girl is a complete and total munchkin. Watching her perfect sitting up and come perilously close to crawling while trying to keep up with the boys was so much more fabulous than the hour or two I normally get with her when we're in town bustling between her house and whatever commitments we have and visiting with our other niece and nephew. Having one on one time with any member of our family is a precious commodity and I truly value the opportunity we had this weekend to watch her over the course of several days and wonder at her perfection.

* Sisters. Let's just say last Thanksgiving featured pregnancy hormones and the Thanksgiving before that boasted my postpartum hormones and both led to some not-pretty sisterly moments. This year? It was back to the best of times and I had a blast. Particularly because I was able to see her in full on mommy mode and she is awesome at it.

* Parents/Grandparents. Maybe I'm weird, but I like hanging out with my folks. We have interesting conversations about politics and books and assorted randomness. It was nice to just pour a glass of wine and chat. On the other hand, I also love watching them with the boys. Reading stories, building blocks, playing games, watching movies, they are all in when it comes to their grandkids and I love it. And hearing my toddler refer to Grandpa as "Buppa" is just too cute for words.

* The Atlanta Botanical Gardens. If you live in the Atlanta area, please go see the Garden Lights this season. The whole family (and half of Atlanta) went on Friday night and it was just spectacularly beautiful. Walking hand-in-hand with my five year old through the pitch black rain forest house with the frogs chirping all around us and looking up into the vine draped canopy that was glittering in green laser lights was a moment I will hold onto forever. Trust me. You should go.

* Warm climates. We spent Friday at a local park walking and playing and chasing after Peanut on his big wheel trike. Then we spent that evening at the Botanical Gardens without having to bundle up in 5 layers to stay warm. Enjoying the outdoors as a family and walking off the previous days pies was a wonderful way to spend the day.

* Sunday. This morning, my parents stopped in between their hotel and their trip north. They hit the road at 10am and called about 4:15 to say they had arrived home. In that time, I finished a book, did three loads of laundry, changed the linens in the boys' room, emptied the dishwasher, and wrote four press releases for work. That doesn't include all the activities the boys have all been up to in that time. Not having to drive the six hours home from a family holiday was a unique moment for us, and one that I truly appreciate.

I hope your holiday weekends were as lovely and filled with thanks.

30 Days of Thanks: New Carpet

2011-11-22T20:32:00.001-05:00

We moved into our Atlanta home seven years ago. It was quite a change from DC to Atlanta and even more of a change from our three-story, brand-spankin' new town home in the burbs, to a much smaller, 1952 ranch in the city. In the seven years that we've been here, our second bedroom has gone from my home office to a nursery to a bustling bedroom for two rambunctious boys. Our "keeping" room has gone from casual dining area to a casual dining area/office (see preparing for nursery phase) to a playroom.

Through it all, our den has sported horrible, disgusting carpet that needed to be replaced the moment we moved in. It was old, worn and stained with bleach by the sliding glass door. At first it was a financial decision to wait to replace it. We'd just moved. The hubby was in grad school. Then I was pregnant. Then we had a baby and only one income. Then we got a tax refund. Then we found somewhere else to spend that refund. Then we had another baby. Then we just figured crappy carpet is good to have with two messy boys running around. Then, we couldn't take it anymore and we bit the bullet.

Today, I am looking at a beautiful new, cushy carpet. I am also looking at a decluttered room. In the process of taking things out of the room for the install, I am realizing how little I want to bring back in. It's forcing us to take a harder look at how we live and how we can better organize it.

But I think we'll save the harder look for after turkey day, leave the boxes in the attic and spend Thanksgiving with our guests in a lovely, open, brighter space.

30 Days of Thanks: Support

2011-11-21T20:11:00.001-05:00

In a weird upside down world today, the hubby stayed home with the kids while I went to work. The kids are out of school this week and the hubby took the week off thanks to some PTO he's got to burn. As a result, I was the one in her school clothes, laptop packed up and kissing kids goodbye at the door.

Throughout this whole adventure back into heels, the hubby has been nothing but supportive, emotionally when I need a pick up, and physically when I need him to take kid duty so I can get a few hours of work done. Even though they are far away, my family has been supportive, checking in, being curious and listening to me when I feel stressed. My friends have offered play dates if I need them for child care and have been patient when I seem scattered.

Without this support, I'm not quite sure I'd be able to do what I'm doing. I'm enjoying the work, the people are great and there is something incredibly confidence building about putting on "real" clothes and heading out into the world to use your noggin. But, I'd be lying if I said it wasn't hard. Inevitably, there are days with a deadline that my toddler doesn't understand. There are days when I feel pulled in 100 different directions and I'm in control of none of them. There are days when my messy house points out to me that I am not, in fact, "doing it all."

Those are the days when the hubby, my family and my friends are my lifesaver. Reminding me why I'm doing this, telling me that they are proud of me, urging me on. Today was not one of "those" days (thanks to the hubby being home with the young'uns) and yet there was my sister-in-law, in the midst of her own career-changing happy news telling me how great she thinks it is that I'm doing what I'm doing.

And so far all who have called, emailed or simply asked how it's been going, thank you. I hope I can pay the encouragement forward.

30 Days of Thanks: Brothers

2011-11-19T21:03:00.000-05:00

Strep's been making the rounds. The hubby fell after me and Peanut started sporting a ping-pong sized lump in his neck Wednesday that normally would have instilled panic in his mother, but with the dreaded strep germ plowing through the family, it simply meant a trip for a quick throat swab followed by the expected stop at the drug store for ye old antibiotics.

So forgive my absence but I've been alternating between resting, nursing sickos, doctor's offices, work and disinfecting the house.

Between the sick days and a few teacher conference days at Peanut's school, there has been a lot of together time around here. As stressful as all that indoor forced time has been, I have enjoyed watching the budding buddy-ship develop between my two boys. Not that there isn't still a lot of pushing, whacking and toy-stealing, but there has also been whispering, giggling and creating games together. Teamwork has started to emerge and I can see them try to please each other with silly antics or new ideas for train tracks/buildings/car races, beaming with satisfaction when the other one "gets" it.

The kicker was driving the boys home from something the other day and hearing Peanut start singing the ABC song for his little brother and Pumpkin joining in (there are lots of 'E's and 'S's in his alphabet). The sound of their sweet voices together in the car was enough to melt a mother's heart, but peeking in the rearview, I could see their little heads turned towards each other as they sang, smiles on their faces as they got to the "big finish."

I took a mental picture, memorizing the moment in my mother's soul. It's a moment I'll need to hold fast to and remind them of when their relationship is tested, when voices are raised, when life might take them to different corners of the world.

The moment I saw them as more than brothers, but as friends.

30 Days of Thanks: Timing

2011-11-13T21:00:00.001-05:00

There is no good time to be sick. Especially when you're a parent.

This time, though, I am thankful that if I had to get strep, at least I got it on a weekend. The hubby took care of the kids all weekend letting me get the rest I needed. He took care of dinners and waking up with the kids and keeping them away when I needed him to. I got to sleep in and take naps and stay in my jammies.

Sure, I'll need to take care of the grocery shopping y, and the laundry at some point this week. But being able to just be for two days and let my body heal instead of squeezing in rest time between car pool and play time on a weekday has been priceless.

I'm not 100 percent yet, but I'm definitely a lot farther along than I would be otherwise. And for that small luxury, I am thankful.

30 Days of Thanks: Silver Linings

2011-11-12T11:02:00.001-05:00

I have strep throat. And it sucks. You have no idea how much energy your kids have or how loud they are until you don't feel good and just want to lay still on a couch willing the antibiotics to work faster, much, much faster.

The last time I had strep I was a senior in college. One of my roommates and I drove ourselves to student health, both miserable, and left with two sets of antibiotics. Our third roommate headed for the hills (aka, her boyfriend's apartment) to avoid the germs. Lara and I took up positions on the couches under layers of blankets. There was lots of oatmeal, tea and Lifetime movies. We complained and laughed and in a few days finally felt well enough to disinfect the apartment so our third could come back home.

What was on the surface a no fun couple of days, now is one of my fondest memories of Lara. It was a few days where it was just the two of us. We talked about anything and everything. We commiserated over the pain of swallowing. We had nowhere to go and nothing to do.

Lara passed away seven years ago in a car accident.

So although I am once again prone on the sofa, about to see what crappy TV I can find as I snuggle under a different pile of blankets, I am thinking of Lara and all the silly, wonderful things I miss about her. The butter and sugar she loaded into her oatmeal. The episodes of "Walker, Texas Ranger" she could watch over and over. Her brilliant smile.

It sucks being sick. It sucks that my friend is gone. But thinking about her right now actually makes me feel a little bit better.

Today, Lara, I am thankful for you. I miss you.

30 Days of Thanks: This

2011-11-10T20:46:00.001-05:00

It was just one of those days...

The two-bite brownies helped, too.

30 Days of Thanks: Moments of Quiet

2011-11-09T21:40:00.001-05:00

The days I head into the office with not much on my agenda but some time to get work done in the presence of other adults always end up being the craziest days. So, it was much to my dismay that a friend texted about meeting at a playground in the afternoon. I just didn't think I could swing it with all that had suddenly appeared in my lap. Then, she offered to simply take the 5 year old for the afternoon so I could get some work done. An unexpected surprise.

What was a miracle was that the littlest guy actually took a nap. Since moving him into his "big boy bed" due to his crawling out of the crib antics, he has not been napping. He was beyond cranky as I tried to pull his lunch together after school today. I took him into our room and rocked him to calm him down. Much to my surprise, he drifted off to sleep.

After settling him into bed, I had an afternoon of quiet in front of me. Not only was I able to get work done, but I was able to do it without the stress of pulled focus.

The icing on the cake was Pumpkin waking up hours later in a fabulous mood. And my mood wasn't so bad either. It's amazing what a nap can do -- for both baby and mama.

30 Days of Thanks: Moments of Beauty

2011-11-08T20:59:00.001-05:00

In the every day hustle and bustle of herding children out the door, into the car, back into the car, back into the door and all that fills in the minutes, hours and days in between, I sometimes lose sight of what's right in front of me. The little things. The beautiful things.

A child might hand me a leaf or want to linger by a duck pond providing a moment or two of quiet reflection at the beauty in the world, but it's typically followed by a tantrum about leaving. Luckily, today, I had a longer moment. A moment that was mine.

I was doing crunches (ugh). Along with several other women taking part in today's workout class, I was flat on my back, lifting my shoulders to the sky, lamenting the fact that my abdominal wall might never actually meet in the middle again (or if it did, I will never see it due to that layer I prefer to call insulation). Then, I took a deep breath and saw what was around me. Well, more accurately, what was above me.

A beautiful blue sky. A wisp of a cloud. The warmth of the sun on my arms. The brilliant colors of the leaves. It was breathtaking and quiet and peaceful and I am thankful for being able to recognize that moment. Sometimes that's all you need.

30 Days of Thanks: My Dad

2011-11-07T13:57:00.000-05:00

Today I am thankful for my dad. He's just been on my mind today. And I want to say thank you for being strong, thank you for being honest, thank you for walking through the tunnel even when you weren't sure where the light was, thank you for being braver than brave.

I love you.

30 Days of Thanks: A Good Foundation

2011-11-06T21:36:00.000-05:00

It's no secret that having babies changes a few things. Many of them are wonderful, awesome changes. There is the new little person who loves you unconditionally. You get to witness them experience the world and all its sights, scents and textures. They start to say the most fantastically hysterical things. There are also the changes you could have done without. The hours of lost sleep, the ear infections, the smart mouthing.

And then there are the physical changes. The battle scars you bear for bearing your children. The stretch marks. The wider hips. The sag.

So today, I sucked it up, got remeasured and plunked down some serious change so that tomorrow when I get dressed, I will feel great from the inside out. And for that, I am thankful.

30 Days of Thanks: Second Birthdays

2011-11-05T21:37:00.001-04:00

Today is Pumpkin's second birthday. It has most certainly been a better birthday than last year.

For his first, I had the invitations printed, invited a handful of friends and our families and made the appropriate plans for a fun-filled first birthday party. Then, my uncle passed away. Party cancelled. We regrouped and decided to do an even smaller, immediate family only get together while we were in NC for my uncle's funeral. Then, Pumpkin got sick. The pediatrician did not recommend that we travel. Second party cancelled. We have the saddest pictures of our sick little guy opening presents, just staring at the camera, expressionless.

I was excited to have this year as a do-over. And yet, somehow, it all got away from me. No play dates planned. No backyard barbecues. All were thoughtfully considered and then promptly pushed aside by the 13 other priority tasks at any given moment. Suddenly it was a few days before and I had to suck it up and admit that we weren't doing anything special for his birthday.

Typical second kid, I guess. Peanut has had some sort of celebration for each of his five birthdays. I'm 0 for 2 with Pumpkin. And yet, somehow, we've had the perfect day. Just the four of us. Our little nuclear unit. There were outings and presents and cake and giggles and hugs and kisses and just enough crazy to make it a normal day. And at the end of it, we tucked Pumpkin into his "big boy bed" for the first time.

A year ago, he wasn't walking. A year ago, I was still nursing. A year ago, we thought he had a milk allergy. A year ago, he wasn't talking. A year ago, he was still my baby.

Today? Well, today he's running. He's crawling out his crib so much that we had to ditch the front wall of it and transition it to a bed in an attempt to save our sanity. He's talking up a storm, exploding with new words this week alone. He's thoughtful and funny. He and his brother are working together more than ever, making up games, making each other laugh, making up when they fight (after some prompting). He can count to three on his fingers, proclaiming a triumphant "YAY!" each time he gets to three. He loves books and animals and all things vehicular from trains to cars to space shuttles. His favorite color is orange and he always gets it right. His next favorite color is green, which he does not always get right, and purple, which essentially is anything blue or darker. Flowers and butterflies are "wubbies." Monkey and pumpkin sound exactly the same. He jumps. He wiggles. He sings. He is on the verge of boyhood.

Although we are on the precipice of those terrible twos, he is still my comic relief to the power struggles I have with the five year old. He's always one tickle spot and giggle fit away from melting away all my worries. His little "hi" makes me smile and is always impeccably timed.

Today, I am thankful for my not-so-little-anymore Pumpkin and all the joy and wonder he has brought into our family. Here's to another great year of discovery.

30(ish) Days of Thanks

2011-11-03T09:32:00.001-04:00

I can't believe it's been a month since I've posted here. To say I have missed this space is an understatement. I think of post-worthy material all the time. Between adjusting to work, my husband being gone on a seven day road trip, the not-yet-two-year-old learning to climb out of his crib and the resulting later bedtimes and lack of naps. There's been a lot to say and not a lot of time to say it.

Suddenly, it's November again. I noticed a bunch of NaNoWriMo posts on Monday night. Folks I know gearing up for the big 50,000 word count challenge. As crazy as last year was (and as dusty as that manuscript has become in my closet), I was jealous. I wish I could take November and devote it to reworking last year's attempt. Unfortunately, it's just not in the cards. I just haven't achieved that level of balance yet.

Then. The kicker. I started seeing friends and strangers posting 30 Days of Thanks posts. Wow. A little idea I had a few years ago that's blossomed beyond my imagination. And it seemed to be all happening without me.

In all the hustle and bustle that has become my daily life and with the promise of another hectic holiday season upon us, I need to take a step back. I need to remind myself that there is so much in my life that I'm grateful for. And although I know that and see that every day, I do need to be present in it. I need to acknowledge it. I need to come to this space and write about it.

So forgive me for being absent. Forgive me if my daily posts this month aren't daily. Forgive me if they are brief. Just know that I'm trying.

Let me begin this year's 30 Days of Thanks by catching up (after all, it is the third already):

1 - I am thankful for Halloween candy. I shouldn't be thankful for it based on my inability to squeeze in enough workouts lately, but when that toddler of mine decides to not nap and fill our afternoons with added cranky chaos, a Reese's peanut butter cup (or two) certainly helps dull the frustration for a minute.

2 - I am thankful for piles of leaves. Watching my boys frolic under a tree in the park with half the neighborhood kids in a massive leaf throwing frenzy made me forget the deadlines and the dishes, if just for an hour.

3 - Today, I am thankful for this space. Thankful for a place where I can work out my frustrations, challenges, joys and pains with a community of readers who just may be struggling with a similar issue at that moment. Thank you for giving me this place and for honoring me with a few moments of your own busy days to read what I have put there. I am truly grateful.

Participating in this year's 30 Days of Thanks? You don't have to have a blog. Simply post a daily thank you on Facebook or Twitter.

Boss, Mentor, Friend

2011-10-04T15:30:00.000-04:00

Steve Daley was my boss. He was larger than life. A big man with a big heart. He had a story for everything. He found out I went to UNC, he had a story about meeting Dean Smith. And not just, oh yeah, I met Dean Smith once. It was a colorful anecdote, full of details and humor and insight into the man with whom he spent maybe 15 minutes.

When I interviewed, I passed well enough. A colleague on his team wanted to hire me, but he was the group's manager and needed to approve the hire. He figured he could use me for a few things, too, and a couple of months later I started. He wasn't quite sure what to do with me, and I wasn't quite sure what to make of him. It didn't take me long to realize that he was the one I wanted to impress.

I sat in a cube outside his office and watched a parade of folks go in and plop down in his guest chair. It was a steady stream of conversations ranging from politics to sports to media strategy. Loud guffaws punctuated the banter. And I wanted in. I wanted to hear the stories. I wanted to make him laugh. I wanted to impress him.

A few months into it, he sent out an email to several of his pals at the agency, including the GM and others. I was on it. He sent along the article outing George W. Bush's DUI back in 1976 during that year's presidential campaign and included the crack: "I think I was drunk that day, too." I responded with: "I was nine months old that day." I heard him start laughing in his office and I think that was the beginning.

Slowly but surely, I proved myself to him. I turned in my first writing assignment and he didn't hide his surprise that I was decent at it. And yet, I wasn't offended. I was pleased, proud. I had earned a spot in the inner circle.

Steve Daley was my mentor. Steve was a brilliant writer. He could turn a phrase that cut to the truth so subtly and with such sharp accuracy. He wrote a blog called Failed Talkers based on the Irish phrase that writers are simply failed talkers. But it was a misnomer. He could tell a story and hold an audience captive. I loved spending an afternoon in his office after a meeting hearing him tell some anecdote about bartending, life following politicians, his take on the big game the night before. He saw through to the heart of a matter instantly and had a hard time holding his tongue at a client's latest "this is the greatest thing ever, can you get us the front page of the Wall Street Journal" claims. He would respond, instead, with his mantra, "Compelling, if true."

When I left the company, it was complicated. I loved the people I worked with. I learned from them so much more than I could ever articulate. But the politics of the office were intense. I had to fight outside my group for assignments, for the all powerful billable hour and I was tired of having to prove my credentials to others. When I told Steve I was leaving, I was dreading it. But I wasn't expecting his reaction. He got angry. He was pissed. He was disappointed in me. I left in tears. I felt horrible. What had I done? Thankfully, he started to understand, or at least come to terms with it and realized I wasn't doing it to hurt him. He threw me the most fantastic surprise going away party. A night I remember with such fondness and love.

We stayed in touch, but it got harder as my life changed and I didn't live in DC anymore. Luckily, Facebook helped bridge the gap. I lived for his "likes." Any comment or endorsement of one of these posts shared there made my day. I knew if he liked a post, it was a good one. I tried to earn that every time, but he was judicious with that like button. I only got it when they were really worth it. And I am not quite sure what to do now that I won't have that. The Steve Daley seal of approval.

Steve passed away suddenly on Sunday. Since finding out Monday morning, I have felt a huge void. He touched so very many with his wit, laughter and words. It seems unfair that his pen has stopped when there were so many more things to say. I feel such sorrow for his wife, whom he loved so very much and everyone who ever met him would know since he had so many stories about her.

Selfishly, I never got the chance to really catch up with him about my new gig. It's sports related and I think he would have really gotten a kick out of what we're doing. I was looking forward to being able to call him up and say, hey, that article you saw, that's what I'm doing now, what do you think? I'm going to really miss that.

Steve Daley was my friend. We were supposed to get together when I was in DC this past winter, but a client conflict popped up. I'm really sorry we didn't have that lunch. So I'll have to hold on to all those lunches in the past. The ones that were quick, balancing styrofoam containers from the Greek deli on my lap as I listened to how we'd approach the strategy meeting we had that afternoon. The long, holiday ones at Morton's, where we'd all stumble back into the office hours later, tipsy and full. The spontaneous ones that he'd invite you on and you'd never say no, just so you could sidle up to a bar with him and listen. Listen to his stories. Listen to his laughter. Listen to the truth according to Daley.

Today, it's entirely too quiet.

One Shirt Two Shirt Red Shirt...Guilt Trip

2011-09-29T14:55:00.001-04:00

It's been a rough week in the mother guilt department around here.

Last May, I wrote about how we had decided to hold Peanut out of kindergarten this year. It was a decision that the hubby and I went back and forth on before making it. It was a decision that when the public school bus rolled through the neighborhood on August 8th and my little guy wasn't on it that I questioned again. Are we doing the right thing by keeping him out until 2012?

The kicker this week was this New York Times opinion piece. Friends were posting it on Facebook, other blogs were writing about it, it filled my Twitter stream.

And yes, I freaked the heck out. What had I done? Did we make a mistake? Was our child now going to be stupid and unsuccessful because we delayed his kindergarten start?

Then, I calmed down. I took a few days. I went back to the beginning. And realized a few things.

First of all, can we discuss the headline? "Delay Kindergarten at Your Child's Peril." Peril? Really? My trusty Oxford American Dictionary defines peril as "serious danger." Now, I understand their argument that holding kids back could backfire, but does it put my child in serious danger? After I calmed down and thought about it rationally, nope. Sorry. But it doesn't. The inflammatory headline did what it was meant to do - grabbed my attention. But how many parents like me is it confusing? I can't be the only one. I don't agree with the implication that a decision I came to thoughtfully will now set him on the road to ruin.

Second, the author's assertion that parents choose to redshirt their children to give them an advantage over their peers may be true for some parents, but not me. We chose to redshirt our child so that he wouldn't be disadvantaged, not so he can smoke the other kids out of the water next year. It's so much more complicated than the implication that parents redshirt their kids so their kids will be the best. I want my child to GET the best. And allowing him another year to mature felt like the best opportunity to make that happen.

I keep thinking about the kid Peanut met on the playground the other day, we'll call him C. He'll be starting the same kindergarten that Peanut will next year. He will be turning five in a week or two. He, by nature of the rules that a child be 5 on or before September 1st, was not eligible to start kindergarten this year. C and Peanut played wonderfully together. They were most certainly peers. If my child's birthday were just a few weeks later, I wouldn't have had to worry. I, like C's mom, would have been at the mercy of the school system's regulations. Instead, I was forced to make up my own mind.

I have plenty of friends with kids who turned five in May, June and even July who are happily ensconced in kindergarten classrooms and doing just fine. I also know a mom who sent her summer birthday boy to kindergarten last year and halfway through the school year regretted it. I have yet to meet a mom who redshirted her child and had reservations once they started big kid school. In the end, we all make our own choices and then try to do the best by our kids as those decisions settle out.

Instead of telling parents that the decisions they made carefully for their child's best interests could make them failures in their future academic and labor market pursuits, create the opportunity for conversation. There is a reason a lot of parents hold their kids out. Explore those reasons. Discuss the classroom social dynamics with educators. Open a dialogue with schools. Adjust the cut-off date to make it less confusing for parents. Help us. The last time I checked, my parenting manual is still MIA.

I'm glad this is out there, giving voice to the other side of the argument. I simply wish the authors of this piece had approached it with slightly less implied judgment. I also wish they had addressed the issue of holding kids back a grade once they start. How does that impact a child's future academic success? They discuss the benefits of accelerating students, so if my redshirt child ends up skipping a grade then it's okay?

These things may be addressed in the book they are promoting. We'll have to see. Until then, I will do my best to make peace with my decision, continue to challenge my child and remember that one size science doesn't fit all.

The Balance Myth

2011-09-14T14:56:00.001-04:00

The flexible work arrangement I have has been ideal so far. I work when I can, whether that's at 6am, 9pm or somewhere in between. My mom always asks me "When are you working this week?" And at first I wasn't sure why she didn't seem to get it. I work when I can work. I get the job done and that's that. Then I realized that our mothers' generation never had much of a choice when it came to flexible working arrangements. I'm sure my mom would say that the first law firm she worked at when we were in elementary school offered flexible arrangements simply because they didn't complain when my sister or I tagged along to work when we were mildly sick or without childcare on a teacher workday.

Since then, women have been fighting for a work-life balance. We've searched out jobs and companies that tout family friendly jargon and, in an ideal world, on-site daycare or other perks. We're far from there. I read Opting Out this summer. I get it. It's easy for a company to claim family-friendly practices and still subconsciously mommy-track their employees or make flexible schedules nearly impossible to implement. The balance appearing impossible to achieve with one side of the equation always more weighted physically, emotionally or both.

I realize I have lucked into a perfect opportunity - part of what it made so difficult to pass up - and so far it's been worth it. Challenging work, ease of schedule and very understanding colleagues. Not to say that it isn't hard. I have spent a lot of time thinking about the chores that aren't getting done when I'm working, brainstorming messages while building Lego space ships with the 5 year old, missing the hubby when he's spending his Saturday shepherding the kids around town so I can have a quiet house to work in and feeling guilt about all the posts that bounce around my brain in car pool instead of actually making their way into this space.

That's when I realized that the work-life balance is a myth. We can never achieve true balance. I think if you take both mothering and working seriously, you will always be worried that you aren't giving enough in one or both areas. Or at least I would. Shoot, I felt like I wasn't giving enough when I only was focused on one area, not to mention two. Perhaps it's the nature of motherhood or womanhood - always wanting to give the best of ourselves and feeling less than when we feel we don't measure up.

Note I didn't say when we actually don't measure up because I think many of us have a problem accepting good enough as good enough. We want perfect. And perfect is damn hard to achieve under the best of circumstances not to mention when refereeing the WWF match that just broke out in your playroom while you're trying to simultaneously make dinner and change the sheets.

What I have noticed that works for me is less working on balance and more working on presence. When I'm working, I am working. When I'm mothering, I am mothering. When I'm with the hubby, I'm listening as attentively as I can before I fall asleep. It doesn't matter how much time I'm spending on each when I'm in that moment, it's about doing the best I can do at that time. So far, it's made me more productive when I'm working and less distracted when I'm playing trains with the boys. It isn't perfect, and yes I'm checking email on my phone in between Uno hands, but it helps to remind myself that there is work, there is play, there are chores, but they all can't get done at the same time.

Take this post, for example. I had time while the 5 year old watched a TV show and the little one napped. Is it perfect? Nope. Am I missing probably half the thoughts I had about it? Probably. But his show's ending and it's time to focus on the next thing. And so I'll let this go and move on.

Legos anyone?

Remembering

2011-09-10T15:35:00.000-04:00

Each year, September 11th quietly sneaks in a back door. I wake up to it. I feel it deep in my bones. I take a moment to hear the silence. I watch planes glide in clear blue skies, safely making it to their destination. I hug my kids a little tighter. The hubby hugs me a little tighter. I move through our day, remembering, but enjoying the present life I have. Seeing it with eyes that understand the alternative.

This year, September 11th has been coming at me hard and fast and teary for the last week. The 10th anniversary has resulted in documentaries, interviews, rebroadcasts. I have avoided most of them. I turn the channel. I avert my eyes. I change the subject.

Part of me desperately wants to be in DC. I'd like to walk the sidewalk in front of my old office building where National Guard stood. I want to sit inside the church where my colleagues and I clutched each other's hands, passed Kleenex and prayed the following day. I want to watch planes take off from Dulles airport where they were silent 10 years ago. I want to hear the comforting voices on WTOP. I want to cross the Roosevelt Bridge out of the city and not see a black cloud towering into the heavens. I want to be in a place that understood the quietness of chaos, the taste of fear and the resolve to rebuild the gaping maw in the side of the Pentagon.

My own memories are also colored by guilt. My experience is nothing compared to those who lost loved ones, friends and colleagues. My day leaving the city was not the selfless act of first responders running up the stairs. My tears ran down a clean face, free of the ash and debris of a fallen tower. My voice mail was absent of goodbye messages from a lost plane.

10 years is such a long time. And yet the scars of 9/11 run deep and still ache easily. For me. For New York and Washington. For a nation.

My five year old is currently obsessed with playing good guys and bad guys. How do you explain the kind of bad that I couldn't even fathom until I watched the second plane hit? How do you explain that not all the good guys made it? How do you teach your children to be aware without passing on the fear?

I won't avoid the coverage forever. Tomorrow morning I will get up. I will watch and observe the moments of silence in the morning. I will pray at church. I will remember what I need to remember for me. Then, I will bring the five year old to a friend's birthday party and joyfully watch the small flames of five birthday candles flicker with the two very gifts of our freedom the terrorists most wanted to take away: hope and promise.

Despite the pain, despite the fear, despite the sadness, as long as we have hope and promise, they didn't win.

And when I go to sleep tomorrow night, that will be what I remember.

Costume Changes

2011-09-01T22:37:00.000-04:00

Things are a bit different around here. Suddenly my one year old is in a parents' morning out program two days a week. My body clock is totally confused as I attempt to kick my brain into thinking gear at hours it normally took a break with bad reality TV, Facebook or a real book. Conversations with the hubby are jam packed with new schedules, concerns and the occasional pep talk. But we're working on the new normal. Whatever that is.

On Tuesday, it was this:

Breakfast with the kids. Everybody dressed and diaper bag packed. Library books searched out and into the library tote. Shoes found and on feet. Out the door to the library to return the books and load my shoulders down with a new stack. Walk down the street from the library to music class. Clap and dance and otherwise make a fool of myself under the guise of teaching Pumpkin the joy of music while also chasing down his older brother who had to tag along since school hasn't started yet. Cajole everyone back into the car for the ride home. Herd everyone back into the house while carrying diaper bag, library bag and whatever previously abandoned toys from the car that Peanut insists need to be brought back in the house. Feed everyone lunch. Change into skirt, blouse and heels. Kiss hubby bye as he comes home for lunch so I can attend a last minute press photo shoot. Take care of photo shoot, rush back home to send hubby back to work. Change back into shorts and t-shirt. Get a few things done during Peanut's quiet time. Play Lego's, games and read the morning's library book haul. Throw together dinner. Change into another shirt and denim skirt. Kiss the boys good night as they head for the tub. Run next door to neighborhood board meeting. Get the info I need for next neighborhood newsletter then beg out of meeting a little early. Cut through neighbor's yard, hop in the car and head out to book club. Wine, cake, conversation. Home at 11 PM.

Whew. I think I might still be recovering. But this is it. This is my new life. It's energizing and exhausting at the same time. I'm struggling with making sure that the boys and the hubby are okay, that their quality of life isn't changing. Sure, they might have to add a few tasks to their lists, but I want to make sure that I'm neglecting chores and not time with my boys. I want to avoid having to say "in a minute" or "not now." Yes, they might have to wait for mommy to finish what she's working on, but I want them to see that there is time for work and play. That mommy has special skills beyond what they experience. That doing a good job is important.

The balance is making sure that they don't ever feel that they are unimportant. Because that's not it at all. In choosing this, I am simply showing them that I am important, too. I want them to see in a day that sitting down and reading them library books is important. That daddy going to work in the morning is important. That mommy finishing a press release is important. That eating dinner together as a family is important. That mommy and daddy having time together is important. That hugs and kisses and family are important.

No matter what I'm wearing, I'm still, and will always be, their mom. And that's the most important.

On-Ramping

2011-08-24T22:10:00.003-04:00

I pounded the pavement hard for my first job out of college. I was moving to a new city and lacking in personal and professional contacts. I networked when possible, I scoured the relevant trade want ads and, finally, came across what ended up being my first professional job.

After that, my professional moves were all part of the it's not what you know but who you know cliche. And boy, did that make life easier.

Here I am, five years removed from the working world and that who you know thing still rings true. A friend convinced me to meet with her husband, whose start-up company is growing quickly and in need of some PR help. She assured me he was interested in someone part-time, was open to a work at home arrangement and all I had to do was hear him out.

I walked into that meeting expecting one of two things: it would 1) be a few writing assignments here and there and a great way to keep my toes in the water or 2) be a bad fit - no harm, no foul.

What ended up happening was me walking out of an office building, my head spinning at the incredibly exciting opportunity that was presented to me.

Now I find myself, a few short weeks later, employed again. I'm knee deep in babysitter interviews and background materials. I'm floundering my way through how to organize my day and wondering if the laundry will ever be folded again.

The thing is, I wasn't planning on going back. This was supposed to be the year of ramping up to the on-ramp. The year of planning and exploring and deciding. Instead, I find myself thrown back into the deep end.

And the strange thing about it? I am loving it. Sure, we've only just begun, but it's exciting. It's new. It's challenging. It's mine.

The most awesome part of the whole thing has been the overwhelming support I've received. My family and friends have encouraged me, talked me off the ledge when the panicked "what abouts" came up and stoked my confidence when it wavered. Knowing that I have such a fantastic network of support (lead by the uber supportive hubby) to back me up made taking this leap of faith a lot easier.

So if I'm a bit absent from this space, be patient. I'm sure I'll have lots of new stories to share as I navigate this new work/life tightrope. And for all of you experienced working mamas - feel free to share your best bits of advice for me. I could use all the help I can get!

In the meantime, I'll be dusting off my heels. Time to put them back to work.

Five

2011-08-10T22:19:00.002-04:00

Dear Peanut:

This morning, you woke up five years old.

Wow.

Five years ago, I snuggled your mushy littleness under my chin and breathed you in. Today, you wrap your gangly arms and legs around me. Five years ago, you whimpered. Today, you demand, and sometimes sweet talk. Five years ago, you sighed. Today, you chatter. Five years ago, you lay, swaddled and small, still but for those newborn snuffles and gasps. Today, you are in constant motion. Five years ago, I had no clue what to expect. Today, I have no clue what to expect.

You are willful and smart. You hate not being good at something, but beam pride when you finally master a new skill. You are a coloring fool lately. You constantly have your nose in a book and have pretty much taught yourself to read. You love games of all kinds. You are currently obsessed with hide and seek, but you lack any kind of patience in hiding and will giggle and wiggle loudly until someone finds you. You are your brother's teacher, which is adorable when you take him by the hand and attempt to teach him a new word, not so cute when you show him how to blow bubbles in his milk at the dinner table or tease out screams in the middle of the grocery store.

I have so much I want to say to you, but somehow can't piece together to say to you tonight. This week has been full of distractions and I feel them cluttering my mind. So instead of attempting to write my typical sappy birthday love note to you, I am going to log off, sneak into your room, move the books piled up in your bed, straighten the sheet you manage to twist into a knot, push the hair off your forehead and whisper another "I love you" in your ear. It's all I can think of to say. It's all I can think of to feel. It's all I can think of to do. To love you.

Because the you of five years ago and the you of today are the same you, the essence of you, the soul of you. Despite the struggles, the daily frustrations, the butting of heads, the you that is you is the you that I will love five years ago, today and forever.

Happy Birthday, Peanut.

Living a Dream

2011-08-03T19:25:00.003-04:00

Back in high school, we all had ambitious dreams, didn't we? As teenagers, life looms large and long in front of us. It's our time to dream big, enjoy life and consider "consequences" the result of a missed curfew.

At the same time, it's one of the most difficult times in our lives. Reality is starting to sink in. We recognize flaws in ourselves and the adults in our lives. We begin to question why and find that the truth we so desperately seek often hurts and disappoints. We might dream our big, fantastic dreams, but there is a part of us that is calculating college choices and realizing that accountant, restaurant manager or cubicle resident might be closer to reality.

Last week, I had the opportunity to see an old high school pal. We were in band together. He was a drummer. You could just tell he was simply passing through school to get it over with. He wanted to be a musician. And we all saw it in him. Although, part of me probably wondered if it wasn't another one of the dreams we all dream that will eventually get shelved while we're busy looking for something to do to pay the rent.

But, you see, he dreamed bigger than I ever could. He had a passion. One that he never lost sight of. One that allowed for opportunity. One that rewarded him. Fast forward 17 years to last week: I watched someone I have known for so long I can't remember when exactly we met live a dream like it was just another Thursday night. Only it wasn't. It was a packed venue, screaming fans, an album that was number two on the Billboard charts. I watched as he played that drum set with passion, vigor and pure joy. Happiness bubbled up in me in a way I didn't expect. He did it. He spends each and every day living his dream.

Before seeing him in the concert hall, I ran into him this past April in the grocery store when I was back home. He had his little girl with him who has the most beautiful, infectious smile that you couldn't help but feel pure joy in its glow. When he's not touring and being a rock star, he's a stay at home dad, a self-professed Mr. Mom. He's done what I try each and every day to have the courage to do - be a parent while pursuing a dream.

As I watched him on stage, the same infectious smile as his daughter's on his face, I was inspired. Inspired again to follow my own dreams. Inspired to not let reality kill the passion for writing that lurks in the shadow of my day-to-day mom life. More importantly, I was inspired to be a parent who will support my children to follow their own dreams. To live the life they can only imagine. To do whatever it is that will illicit the genuine joy smiles I witness on their baby faces.

Whether it's being a musician or an accountant, a thinker or a doer, I am inspired to be the parent who delivers them to their dreams so that I never, ever lose sight of those smiles.

So congratulations, Matt, on your success. And thank you.

Low Moments in Parenting

2011-08-02T13:33:00.006-04:00

I admit that I have had my moments of judging other parents. Noticing a kid under a certain age drinking a soda might make me cringe. Watching a consistently rude child on the playground might make me wonder if they're the kid of the dad/mom/nanny on his/her cell phone oblivious to the scene around them. Seeing a child swatted publicly makes me uncomfortable and I wonder if it's more than spanking at home.

Is it right? Recognizing parenting behavior that contradicts my own style and disagreeing with it is certainly okay. The judgey, sometimes sanctimonious "well, I'd never" that I admittedly feel in those situations, yeah, not so good. But we've all been there, right? I'm fairly confident I'm not alone in taking a modicum of pleasure at someone else's parenting nightmare's expense...at least it's not my kid throwing all the groceries out of the cart. (Tell me I'm not alone in this.)

But lately, it is my kid.

Pumpkin has a horrible habit of randomly screaming. More accurately, of screeching a sound akin to getting your hand stuck in a door while biting ants nibble at your ankles and pigeons peck at your hair. It's a blood curdling, no spinning it, scream.

It's bad enough at home where a screech might pierce the air when his older brother takes a toy. Lately, however, it's become very public. There was the restaurant while we were on vacation where I spent most of the meal outside with the toddler so his overtired screams would not disturb the other diners. There was leaving the Children's Museum where Pumpkin voiced his displeasure at leaving with bursts of screeches I so desperately tried to ignore while hustling us out the door.

Then, this morning, there was the botched set of errands. The library visit was chaotic, with screaming ensuing every time I tried to distract Pumpkin from pulling a set of Caldecott winners off the shelf or running through the vertical blinds at the picture window. Perhaps my first mistake was thinking a change of scenery would help, but we braved the trip to Party City to pick up a few supplies for Peanut's upcoming 5th birthday party.

It started so well. I kept my energy level high. A nice grandmotherly type complimented how cute the kids were as we strapped Pumpkin into the cart. Then, at aisle two, the screeching commenced. I heard someone gasp. The same grandmotherly type said something to the effect of "He's not messing around." I tried to distract. I tried to cajole. I firmly told him no. And then he screeched on aisle three when he couldn't reach the balls, then screeched when he dropped the ball, then screeched when I tried to hustle us to the next stop in the store. Finally, the store manager peaked down the aisle and asked if everything was okay.

Needless to say, we got the heck out of dodge. We were in the store for a total of 10 minutes.

I drove home in tears.

What do you do when you're that mom of that kid? How do you explain that you've tried time outs? You only run errands when the kids are well rested, fed and normally happy? You do everything you possibly can to make the experience pleasant and the kid screams like that simply because he sees a baseball across the store and I turned the cart the wrong way? I'm at the point where I want to beg those people for help. If you know so much better, then please, tell me. Help me. Make it stop.

But I can't. Or I don't. Instead, I simply feel defeated every time I strap the kids back into their car seats, my errands incomplete, my dignity shuffling along a few paces behind. It makes me question whether I've got the right stuff for this gig.

I know this too shall pass. Eventually, I'll figure out what works or Pumpkin will grow out of it or he'll start a new trend and everyone will start screeching like banshees at random moments in public (the next flash mob trend anyone?). Until then, I think I'll stock up on earplugs and become a hermit since we obviously can't leave our house.

On the upside, I'm providing a public service. Some other mother at the library or Party City might have been having a bad day today and instead left thinking at least that's not her kid.

Sand, Water, Repeat

2011-07-20T13:29:00.004-04:00

Nearly two weeks ago now, the boys and I tagged along with the hubby to see the final space shuttle launch. The hubby was covering it for work and had prime viewing from the Kennedy Space Center press site. We, however, stuck close to our hotel to avoid the crowds and watched from a Cracker Barrel parking lot about 15 miles west of the launch pad. Gotta say, it was still awesome, inspiring and breathtaking. I'm so glad that we did it and that the boys can say they were there for such an historic moment.

One of the hubby's pictures of liftoff from KSC.

Since we were already in Florida, we took the opportunity to spend a few days at the beach after the launch. Once we had lugged all the gear two kids and two adults appear to need for a few hours of fun in the surf and set up the sun tent and applied all the sunscreen, we had a blast. At one point, I simply leaned back on my elbows, my toes digging down into the warm, sun baked sand and watched.

I watched as my boys were digging moats, building roads, running in the surf, peering in crab holes, examining shells. There was endless entertainment and all they had at their disposal was sand, water, a shovel, a bucket and their parents. I didn't hear "I want to go home," "I'm bored," "what can I dooooo?" or the killer, "when can I watch TV?" These thoughts never crossed their minds. They were in love and having a blast.

My dad and his six siblings, grew up in a small New England mill town. My grandfather repaired sewing machines. Certainly he wasn't pulling in the big bucks and providing for seven children couldn't have been easy. And yet my grandparents had a "place" on Martha's Vineyard. Granted this place was not much more than a shack and didn't have hot water, but my aunts and uncles all have fond memories of summers on the island.

As a mom of two active boys, now I get it. I get why my grandmother would have packed up a summer's worth of stuff, ridden a ferry and committed to caring for seven kids alone with only her husband as back-up on the weekends for the long stretch of summer. Outside play all day, tired bodies in bed at night, kids using their imaginations to create fun, making new friends, appreciating the simple, yet majestic, aspects of nature.

I wish that little shack was still in the family. I wish I could pitch a tent on a tiny square of its yard and live the summer in a state of hazy, salty glee with my kids. I wish my toes were still in the sand.

In the absence of a small fortune to buy some beach front property, I'll just have to settle for planning another trip to the shore in a few months.

Raising Men

2011-07-17T20:38:00.003-04:00

With two boys and a husband, I am most certainly outnumbered in this house. It's not usually a big deal - trucks and Legos are a-okay with me, getting dirty is no big deal and not having to buy into or struggle against the princess thing is a total plus.

There are some issues, of course, mostly related to privacy. The Y family changing room is a bit of a challenge after pool time and women's public restrooms are nearing awkward as Peanut closes in on 5.

I am also conscious of stereotypes, particularly when it comes to reading and the creative arts. I don't want my boys to ever hear that it's okay that he doesn't try in English because reading is just not a guy thing. Instead, I do my best to encourage books and storytelling, the craft cabinet is always available to Peanut and no task or job has ever been labeled just for boys or girls in this house.

Surprisingly, the toy catalogs that arrived at Christmas time posed a bit more of a challenge. The traditionally labeled boy and girl toys were designated by blue or pink tabs on the page layout. Sure, most boys would probably pick a Thomas toy over a Barbie doll, but the play kitchens or building sets? Who is to say that a boy can't whip up some pretend cookies or that a girl can't design a fabulous house out of an erector set? I hated Peanut flipping over to the play house pages and saying "That kitchen is a girl's toy. See, it's on the pink page." That took some explaining, but the fact of the matter is I can't monitor every message that enters his world.

Peanut is still at that happy age when all things are equal, when society and history and cultural influences haven't colored his thoughts about the opposite sex or skin pigmentation. I want him to hold onto that as long as possible, to see the soul, the good, the person and not the trappings of a society that so often decides who can be good enough. I struggle with this when he says things like, "Daddy's work and mommy's stay home" simply because that is what I'm doing now. We talk a lot about mommy "working" on the computer (when I'm actually writing, not when I'm sneaking a Facebook status). The pressure of raising future men that will respect women as equals in their classrooms, relationships and workplaces is real to me.

So earlier this week, we watched the USA take on France in the World Cup. He cheered, he chanted USA, he was thrilled that we won. Today, we sat down as a family to watch the finals. We talked about how fast the women were. How much time they must practice. How hard they were playing. We cheered them on and were disappointed when they came up short.

Although it was a heartbreaking loss, for a moment, the US was focused on women's achievements, and we weren't surprised to be doing so. We marveled at their skill, their physicality, their teamwork. The game was remarkably respectful with fantastic sportsmanship on both sides and little evidence of personal ego. It was a joy to watch.

Yes, I am glad that girls around the country have strong, female, athlete role models to look up to. I just hope that it's okay if my boys look up to you, too.

Self Defined

2011-07-04T15:36:00.003-04:00

I am many things to many people. On the top layer I am wife, mother, daughter, daughter-in-law, friend. I have been worker, commuter, traveler, producer, sales person, account manager, colleague. In the minutia I am dishwasher, laundress, chauffeur, dresser, diaper changer, schedule wrangler, maid, chef, errand runner, UNO dealer, night-night kisser.

The word that defines me the most, the me me, the inside dreamer soul me is the word I am most unlikely to utter. The word that has whispered to me in the dark since I was seven years old. The word that has most inspired, scared, thrilled me. It is the word I have been holding onto since I stopped working. The word that lingers, tempts and pulls me forward through the day-to-day drudgery that often makes up the stay at home mom life.

I worry that I sometimes put too much pressure on the word. That I've put all my faith in my future accomplishments on it. That somehow I use it to give my ego a crutch at this time in my life when I don't have the external, third party career successes to provide that self-esteem boost.

And then, I fell into a conversation with a stranger at the nail salon as we both waited for our pedicures to dry, our feet propped under the fan bar. She, too, has two boys, now 33 and 36. She asked if I worked. We joked about boys and their energy and the life of a stay at home mom. She admitted how going back part time when her youngest started kindergarten was a life saver for her. And then, I took a deep, conscious breath and said it. Out loud. I tried it on and owned it. For 10 minutes. To a stranger. And the result was a fascinating conversation that buoyed me for the rest of the day.

I am a writer.

It is the truth. It is a dream. It is me.

Silver Linings

2011-06-29T20:31:00.006-04:00

After nearly five years at this parenting gig, there are a few things I have figured out. Picking your battles is paramount. Your child's behavior typically has a source - hunger, boredom, fatigue, frustration (to name a few) - and the quicker you can figure it out, the better. And my children are always their best selves when they spend time, as much time as possible, outside.

Living in Atlanta is certainly a positive when it comes to outside time during the dark days of winter. The mild weather allows us to take advantage of our neighborhood's playground and area parks throughout the year. The trouble with summer, however, is that it can get too hot. If we don't play outside somewhere in the morning, I don't have it in me to tackle the playground in the 90+ degree afternoon heat.

This afternoon, I had to pack them up for a quick grocery store run before dinner. When we returned, Pumpkin was practically pulling me down the hill from our front walk to the playground across the street. Even though they'd had some great playground play this morning, I decided to suck it up, put my own tired bones aside and off we went.

Balancing two kids with two totally different skill levels at the park can be tough. We tried some frisbee action in the field, but pretty soon Pumpkin was having none of it. I managed to convince Peanut to join us on the playground, where he promptly fell off the monkey bars. Mommy was there to pick up the pieces and put his confidence back together, once it was apparent there were no major injuries, but I was contractually bound to watch whatever jumping game he had just devised.

And while Peanut was mid-bounce, that's when I heard Pumpkin start crying. It wasn't the hey, mommy, pay attention to me cry. It wasn't the somebody help me cause I can't reach cry. It wasn't even the I was running too fast and fell down cry. It was the I. AM. HURT. cry.

I immediately rushed to his side and couldn't see anything obvious at first - he was standing, there wasn't any blood, all his limbs were attached. Then I saw it. A small red dot near his temple that was beginning to swell around it.

My baby's first bee (wasp? something?) sting.

He's fine. Mama's fine. But our impromptu attempt to get through the witching hour despite my better instincts? I want to say it was a fail, but to be honest, the outside time, albeit brief, helped their moods immensely. And when I was done putting the baking soda paste on Pumpkin's head, Peanut came over and gently gave his little brother a kiss on the head.

That certainly took the sting out.

If These Walls Could Talk

2011-06-25T14:03:00.003-04:00

I'm not sure if it's my father in me or the writer in me, but I love houses. I love the stories behind them, in them, of them. It pains me to see homes torn down to make way for new buildings. I know it's necessary and certainly, a lot of times, warranted. But I can't help but think of the lives lived within those walls, the phone calls to friends, tears shed over losses, the slam of the door as someone rushes home to celebrate triumphs, the sweat shed pulling weeds or painting bedrooms, the dents in walls caused by overzealous children, the quiet shuffling steps down halls with new born babies.

When we lived in New England (before my dad was transferred to NC when I was five), we were friends with the "O" family. Their daughter, D was my age and we had numerous play dates and family gatherings. When I was in first or second grade, D got on the phone during one of our mothers' touch base phone calls to ask me to be her pen pal. It was for a school project, ostensibly to practice their handwriting, but we kept it up through high school. I dropped in and saw her one summer when we were in New England visiting family and I was still in college, I think. Thanks to Facebook, we're back in touch after losing contact somewhere after college. She has two boys, too, and lives on the west coast now.

D recently commented through Facebook on this post. She was apparently preparing for her annual summer trip with her kids back East. I jokingly told her to say hi to the old house for me. She did - by posting a picture of the old homestead on my wall:

After a quick search on Zillow, I realized the house hasn't changed hands since my parents sold it in 1982. It looks better than it did the last time we drove by, several years ago. And so I have been wondering who bought it? Did they raise children here? Why the recent updates (other Google sleuthing shows a dumpster outside the house during the Street View shots - apparently renovations done relatively recently)?

The house was originally built as a fire station in 1888. And so I have been wondering when did it become a home? How many different families have lived inside its walls? How fleeting of residents we were, compared to its long history.

My first real memories were in this house. I remember big events, of course, like cutting the tip of my finger off during the "sandbox building incident," dripping blood on the kitchen floor, waiting for my parents to grab the car keys to take me to the ER. A few errant drops permanently stained a few places on the floor by the back door. The time a car took the turn at the corner and a little girl fell from the moving car (always lock your doors and make sure your kids are in their seat belts, people) and my mom rushing to help.

I remember having a conversation with my dad in the back yard one fall while he was doing yard work, concerned that Santa would not be able to fit through the tiny chimney from our wood stove. I remember hiding in the thickness of the blueberry bushes in the backyard, and picking fresh berries for blueberry pancakes. I remember mom cursing the bunnies who kept eating the strawberries we planted. I remember wiffle ball games in the back yard. I remember squishing caterpillars on the blacktop driveway. I remember "men falling from sky" (we could see the parachute exercises from the nearby Army base).

I remember dressing like a clown one Halloween and my mom reminding me to keep my heavily made up face away from the couch and then promptly falling asleep, my rouged cheek staining a spot (oops). I remember following my dad and Uncle B up to the "bell tower" attic (the turret where the bell once hung for the fire department) and my uncle making some joke about bats in the belfry, only I didn't get the joke and forever was afraid there were actual bats in our house. I remember my bedroom with the red curtains (the first two windows on the second floor on the right hand side), my dad's closet of a home office with his drafting table crammed in it so that you couldn't open the door all the way if he was sitting in the chair.

I remember "shaving" with my dad in the home's one bathroom. I remember painting Snoopy paint-by-number Christmas ornaments with my mom while my infant sister was taking an unprecedented nap. I remember watching "The Wizard of Oz" one night with dad while my mom was working nights. I remember the wide curved wooden stairs. I remember sitting at a window on the stairwell and realizing that my eyes actually moved inside my head, that it wasn't just my head moving (weird, but revolutionary revelation for a four year old).

If I remember that much about a short time living in a house, I wonder what my kids will remember of this house? Our current house is not our forever house. It's entirely too small for two young boys as it is, not to mention two raucous school-aged boys and (help me) two teenage boys and their gaggle of friends. We have no plans to leave now, but occasionally, I find myself fingering the dent in the wall a thrown train made or remembering the spot where Peanut took his first steps or realizing how the step on the front porch has been home to waiting for daddy, popsicles and last night's water bubble contest (might as well put our eldest's obsession with blowing bubbles through a straw to competitive use, no?). I try to mentally snapshot these memories so that when the boys grow up and say "remember when..." I, too, will fondly remember the first house that they do.

I hope we are doing this house proud. Despite it's failings and my constant desire to knock down walls or refinish surfaces or add on, it's more than a house. It's part of the family. It's home.

Fever Phobia

2011-06-15T13:07:00.003-04:00

Peanut's had a cough for the last couple of days. It hasn't been too frequent, he's had no other symptoms and he's been acting normal.

Then, this morning, he started running a low grade fever.

Great.

Fevers for me make me question every little thing about my kids' behavior, attitude, activity level, food consumption, etc... I think it stems back to my parents typically taking the line that you're fine unless you have a fever. So when my kids have a fever, I tend to think, oops, something must be WRONG. I do this with myself as well and am constantly asking the hubby to check and see if I feel warm when I've got a bug. And, probably 90 percent of the time, I don't.

Most of my fever paranoia was dissipated during Peanut's toddlerhood. He was constantly coming down with mystery fevers that had no other symptoms. He was once diagnosed with a "fever virus," whatever the heck that is. During that time period, my pediatrician comforted me with the wisdom that a fever means a body is fighting something, it's a good sign and is not, in and of itself, cause for worry.

So, this morning, armed with the knowledge that my kid's fever was only in the low 99s, I put him in his swim suit and took him to swim lessons.

Does this make me a bad mom?

All I know is that he was acting fine, wanted to go and actually did great during his swim lessons. To make myself feel better, I did speak to the nurses line at my pediatrician's office later and they think it sounds like a tiny cold and unless he's at 101 for 3 days in a row, we're doctor's-office-visit free.

Meanwhile, I'm restraining myself from checking his head too often and whipping out the thermometer too many times. The last thing I want is to give him the idea, by asking too many times how he feels, that he can use that as a ploy to get out of stuff in the future.

It's bad enough kids are like petri dishes passing along all their germs, I don't need to add to the equation by passing along my own phobias.

And yes, Y parents, barring any increase in symptoms and/or fever, we'll be back in the pool tomorrow. After all, he probably caught it from one of your kids anyway.

Dreams of Summers Past

2011-06-14T13:56:00.000-04:00

Summer often makes me nostalgic for my grandparents. Growing up 700 miles away meant we didn't see them but once a year. BUT, once a year, we spent a week or two there in the summer, often just my sister and me. I don't know if the 24/7 nature of those visits made up the distance difference, but I felt close to my grandparents. Maybe because I loved their place as much as they did.

My grandparents lived in a nondescript house on a pond in Tiverton, Rhode Island. I loved everything about it. The crunch of crushed clam shells in the driveway. The rickety tire swing in the front yard. The splotches of dehydrated moss on the boulders bubbling up in the back yard. The damp, dusty scent and clammy painted cement floor under my feet in the basement. The picture of one of my aunts as a teenager in a bathing cap, up on water skis, a smile as big as joy itself on her face. The sliver of beach and splintery pier perched on an outcropping of rocks. I loved the carefreeness of spending our days in the water, on the boat, in the sun. It was coffee ice cream before dinner, Red Sox games on TV and my sister, cousin and I taking turns with the mousse and curlers in my grandmother's hair (always the night before she was due to have it done at the salon). There was a satisfying heaviness that would overtake our bones at the end of the day as we finally crawled beneath the nubby white comforter on the bed.

This place spoke so much to me and I still am not sure why. Was it simply the beauty of place? Was it that I was away from the routine, the mundane? Was it the company of cousins? Was it the ever present sound of laughter? Was it the unconditional love and "go outside and play" attitude of my grandparents?

My grandparents have been on my mind a lot lately either because it's summer and I'm nostalgic for our yearly trips, I want to share the magic of their place with my boys, or if it's my heart's annual tug towards the water.

It could be because today would have been their 70th wedding anniversary. They made it to their 62nd anniversary before my grandpa passed in 2003, my grandma not long after in the summer of 2004.

Whatever it is, there is a part of my soul that yearns for Tiverton, for childhood, for raucous family clam boils, bawdy jokes shared in whispers amongst the "adults" that ended in gales of laughter traveling across the pond, clam cakes and lobster rolls at Evelyn's, days spent without television, the smell of pond water in my hair as I drifted off to sleep.

My grandparents and summer days spent at their house were my lighthouse growing up. They somehow showed the way back to a quiet part of me that often got lost in the noisy day-to-day. I always felt at peace and whole after a trip there. My parents recognized it and sent me there as a college graduation gift. My husband recognized it and we often planned vacations that included a trip to New England.

Although I've been to visit family in New England in recent years, it's been a long time since I've been back to the pond. In fact I don't think I've been back since my grandmother's funeral. Maybe this pull I'm feeling is my grandparents silently lighting the beacon for me again, shining the way to stillness. With all the changes in the last six years, my inner me yearns to recalibrate, to dip my toes back in the murky waters of Sawdy Pond, to watch the light play on the water for awhile, to listen to the sound of children's laughter roll down the lawn. Only this time it would be my children.

Looks like it might be time to check the fare sales.

Mama Needs a Business Trip

2011-06-05T20:07:00.002-04:00

After a week away with the boys, I came home chanting: "I need another vacation." Once you have kids, the current wisdom says, you don't really have a vacation, merely a change in location. While adults can easily blow off daily routines or postpone a meal or simply lounge on a beach all day, the kids don't react well to too many skipped naps, meal times are sacred and to be adhered to at all costs and lounging? Ha!

Although there is something to be said for a change in location. The boys loved all the attention, exploring new things and playing in a different environment. Mama, however, was exhausted after juggling a variety of visits, entertaining the kiddos and trying to keep them out of the way of the contractors working to reassemble my parents' kitchen. I had a great time, but R&R? Not so much.

As the sibling squealfest during dinner reached decibel levels that should require protective ear wear, I announced that I needed a vacation without you know who and who. Then it dawned on me, I don't need a vacation. I need a business trip.

An unplugged plane ride with US Weekly, dinner and drinks with interesting people talking about a variety of topics (I was lucky to have great clients), an expense account, a quiet hotel room where someone else makes the bed, no one to raise an eyebrow at my mindless TV choices, coffee and the newspaper in the morning without interruption.

I never would have thought that one day, a business trip could feel like a vacation.

Vacation from the Ordinary

2011-05-26T20:07:00.002-04:00

I am in the midst of a week in NC with the boys. By myself. At my parents' house. Which is in the throes of a kitchen renovation. And my folks are at work all day. Did I mention I was by myself?

I dubbed the trip "Camp NC" for Peanut and we made t-shirts and a travel journal for him to fill with all the fun things we're doing this week. We have included a trip to the Asheboro Zoo (where mama got to feed a giraffe!) and various play dates and meals with family around town.

Although catching up with everyone is crazy and remembering to wash out the sippy cups in the bathroom has been challenging, I am having a blast with my boys. Removing myself from the day-to-day tasks of laundry and meal planning and meal making and cleaning up and car pooling and Twitter and rewrites, I have found the fun again. There is just time for play. No distractions.

Sure, I have play time with the kids during a regular week, but there are mental to-do lists piling up while I deal the seventh game of Uno with Peanut. Or there is the (ahem) "play time" in the laundry basket with Pumpkin while I'm folding laundry. Or the "just give me a minute" responses when I'm trying to finish that last email or make one more phone quick call.

This week, it's just been travel bingo, soccer balls, playgrounds, jokes, checkers, cuddle time and giggles. I haven't felt the need to yell once. I'm watching the boys learn to play together in a way that is new to them, too. I recognize it as the way my sister and I would play at my grandparents' house. No matter how entrenched in a violent cycle of sibling rivalry we were in during the car ride up or at home for weeks before ever departing, we would silently put aside those differences and enjoy each other's company making up new games, boating with Poppa or playing hide and seek with our cousins. My boys are so little it's not sibling rivalry they are putting aside, but more accurately, they are finally recognizing the playmates they have in each other when all their own distractions of home are missing.

I'm so glad I decided to make this trip. I'm even happier that we timed it when we did. The last day of school was last week and the summer stretches out long in front of us. Perhaps the lessons we are learning on this trip will inspire the rest of our summer. More play. Less worry. More focus on the moment. Less looking ahead. More joy in each other. Less looking for the flaws.

If this week is any indication, I think it's going to be a great summer.

Although, according to Mommy's Law, I probably just jinxed myself, didn't I?

Confessions From the Mall

2011-05-22T17:20:00.000-04:00

I had to go to the mall yesterday. I really try to avoid the mall as much as possible. At Christmas, I consider it a defeat if I have to go to one. I'd much rather shop online in my slippers than battle the traffic, the crowds and the awful fitting room lighting.

I, like most of my peers, spent my early teens hanging out at the mall on any given Saturday afternoon. It was how we girl-dated: spending time with our pals, test-driving different styles at a variety of clothing stores, comparing musical tastes at the record store, stopping for a snack at the cookie place or Orange Julius, checking out who else was there and whom they were with.

I spent my later teen years working at the mall. The retail life is where the mall officially lost its luster and mystery for me. Anonymous dressing rooms where you could try on a different personality in just your size were now dressing rooms I had to clean. Rows and rows of pretty colored tops were now my responsibility to fold. Necklaces and earrings that provided endless giggles in front of mirrors as we dangled them in front of our chests and ears were now my job to untangle.

There were moments of relative fun. The guys at Subway new my regular order. I always got the first look at new merchandise before it hit the floor. I was a pro at recognizing the tricks of the shoplifting trade and although I never caught a particular "customer" (I use the term loosely since she wasn't actually buying the clothes she attempted to procure) she figured out I was on to her and moved her operation to another store down the hall. The record store across the aisle from one store I worked at would crank up the music after close. There were many a night that cleaning and closing out receipts was made more enjoyable by a bit of ear splitting Prince or Bon Jovi or Janet Jackson.

Now, however, the mall is simply a symbol of all my insecurities. The post-babies body makes fitting rooms a nightmare as I need three sizes in every item to see which is going to fit. There is either no consistency in my body or stores are just trying to mess with my mind since I haven't been one size since my last maternity sized "M" 18 months ago. Then there is the sticker shock insecurity. I had no qualms buying nice clothes or splurging on a hand bag when I was making my own money. Now that it's the hubby's paycheck that's keeping our finances afloat, I have a hard time justifying spending on myself, even when it's something I actually need.

And then there is the quandary of my day-to-day SAHM style? I find on gal's night out or date night I'm typically stumped on what to wear since everything I own is either Target/Old Navy casual or much fancier fare that's not quite movie and cocktails appropriate. Old Navy and Target seems to suffice on most days, until I see a classmate's mom looking fabulous in her head-to-toe designer outfit while I'm rocking the generic Target T and overworn Gap jeans.

Yesterday, however, I had to suck it up. I needed a few decent tops that weren't boyfriend T's and was looking for a few special pieces for a personal project I'm working on (more on that later this summer). Somehow, I handed over my credit card on pieces that I still think are somewhat ridiculous (although not enough to bring them back). How dare I spend this much of the hubby's money on outfits for a potential project? Was I being egotistical? Is it hubris to put the cart before the horse? Was I attempting to buy confidence?

These are all questions I pondered as I sat across from my bag of purchases, munching on a salad from a cafe near the Crate & Barrel (if there is one thing I like less than malls, it's food courts). Maybe it's time I stop ignoring the holes in my wardrobe and make an attempt to define myself. There's got to be something between the suits I used to wear and today's t-shirts and jeans.

They say to dress for the job you want, not the job you have.

Now, if only I could figure out what that was.

Team Redshirt

2011-05-19T14:10:00.000-04:00

The Clash's "Should I Stay or Should I Go" has been on repeat in my brain. Oh so much more than an earworm. It's been a constant back and forth, back and forth since Peanut was three and started preschool.

Should he start kindergarten when he was eligible in 2011 or should we hold him back until the 2012 school year?

His birthday is August 10th and in these parts, his birthday consistently lands during the first week of school. Technically, a child need only be 5 on or before September 1st. Peanut meets this requirement by a couple of weeks. But this year, school starts on August 8th. He would be 4 when school starts. It just didn't sit right with me.

And, then, I read "Outliers." Yikes!

It's not uncommon for folks, especially where we live, to keep their barely five year olds out of kindergarten for a year. Yet still, I waffled. Peanut is academically ready for school. He has a natural interest in letters and numbers and excels in this area. I have no doubt in my mind that he'll be reading before he sets foot in our school's primary center if we hold him out a year. We haven't pushed him in this area, we simply followed the lead on his interests and here we are. Maybe we should send him so he can continue to be challenged? Would he be bored with another year of preschool? He should definitely go to kindergarten.

But socially? Emotionally? Well, that's another story. This kid is nowhere near ready. He's not bad. He's not a disruptive student. He's simply him - a four year old boy. He focuses when he needs to, but in the downtime between tasks or while walking down the hall, he's all over the place - along with most of the other boys in his class. He's fidgety and doesn't always want to wait his turn, especially when he knows the right answer. He likes to try to tell other students how to do a project. He should definitely not go to kindergarten.

Yes, he's confident, and I love that about him. He's naturally curious and quickly grasps new concepts. But what if we send him and his inability to sit still makes him a discipline problem? Would this stifle his curiosity? Would this bias a teacher negatively towards him? Would he be able to make friends with students who are older than him, or will they bypass him for slightly more mature play mates? And what about when he's in older grades and barely 14 going into high school?

Ironically, one of the first projects I did for the PR firm I worked for was a story for the National Institutes of Mental Health on whether children were socially and emotionally ready for school. I love it when my working life and my mothering life intersect in such a concrete way.

Our parental instincts, our son's preschool teacher recommendations, my educator aunt's perspective and my experience with the NIMH report all pointed us in one direction: we are holding Peanut out of kindergarten this fall. He, and most of his summer birthday preschool classmates, will attend a special pre-K class designed for these older kids at his preschool. He's got the rest of his life to spend in school, what's one more year of preschool and afternoons of playtime?

Do I still wonder if maybe he would do okay in kindergarten next year? Sure. Do I think we're making the right decision anyway? Definitely.

Of Love and Roller Coasters

2011-05-18T13:22:00.002-04:00

Twenty years ago today, I met the person who would change my life forever.

I was 15 years old. Enjoying my final days as a freshman, I was finally feeling the groove after that awkward transition from middle school where you share the halls with 11 year olds to high school with its lockers and football games and 18 year olds who seem to have their whole worlds figured out (what little I knew).

I was a band geek. Have I mentioned this before? I must have. I played flute. Later, I'd move on to twirling the flags for marching band. Did it make me a nerd? Maybe. Did I love every minute of it? Yup. The freshman band took a fun field trip each year to an amusement park. I think it was the director's way of making up for the fact that the 10-12th grade band went on a spring break trip each year to places like New York and Disney World. The trip was also planned for prom weekend, so it was a win-win for us lowly frosh with nothing better to do on the biggest social weekend of the high school scene.

A senior came along that year. A cute drummer who apparently was skipping his senior prom because the girl he took the year before had made up with her boyfriend the week prior to prom and he was suddenly a third wheel. With no clear girlfriend to take his senior year, he simply skipped and joined the young band director on the freshman band trip as a sort of chaperon.

Just typing this is weird. I feel like it should all start with "Dear Diary" or some other youthful affect.

So, this cute guy somehow is tagging along with our group as we head towards a roller coaster line. Come to find out, he's got a bit of a fear of heights. I tease him about this mercilessly. Why not? A fun, easy flirtation with a cute guy? Someone who is older and won't remember me in a week anyway? Might as well make the most of the trip.

I had a great time that day. I was young and confident and enjoying a warm afternoon with friends. I seemed to have the attention of a cute, older, more mysterious boy. I was several seats behind him on the bus ride home and must have stared a hole into the back of his head wondering if he'd turn around. Willing him to turn around. Wishing he would just turn around.

I saw him occasionally in school over the next few weeks. He was around the day I tried out for color guard. We hung out a bit at the combined bands end of year picnic. And then, just before graduation, he called and asked me out.

Twenty years later, I'm married to the man that grew from that cute, older, mysterious boy. I see glimpses of that boy in our two boys sometimes. A certain twinkle in their eyes. A slight dimple in a cheek when they laugh. A glance over their shoulders when they are laughing. They all bring me back to those early days of our youthful courtship, when everything was carefree and fresh.

It's harder now. Life and kids make marriage a challenge. It's not as easy as a mix tape and movie anymore. It's scheduling time together. It's heart to hearts in the middle of the night when all the distractions and emotional armor are finally gone. It's babysitters and reservations.

The first time I hugged him, back at that band picnic in 1991 using some excuse like "good luck with graduation if I never see you again" it felt like coming home. There was something different in that brief and casual embrace that clicked inside my soul. Even now, when the days and weeks are hard, it only takes a hug for me to remember him, to remember the beginning, to remember that we're in it together.

Funny that he was afraid of roller coasters - seems like we haven't gotten off of one since that first day 20 years ago. And it's been one helluva a good ride so far.

The Waiting Game

2011-05-14T14:42:00.003-04:00

My sister is having her baby today. She went in for induction this morning. I had to be induced with both of my late babies, too, so I'm feeling both her figurative and literal pain. Luckily, my sister isn't late and didn't have to endure that unique form of psychological torture, but due to some minor complications, they did not want her to go past her due date.

The part that's killing me is that she's 400 miles away. I already have plans to go up for a week soon to help with the baby, but the fact that I can't be there for her right now is driving me crazy. Of course, even if I was there, what would I be doing? Hanging out in the waiting room with my mom and my sister's mother-in-law? I love them both, but drinking stale coffee from Styrofoam cups and watching bad TV while hoping my brother-in-law comes out with an update? Let's just say, I'm okay with waiting for the occasional text while enjoying my weekend with my family.

Waiting on this side of things, however, does bring back a lot of memories. Peanut, my first, was 9 days late when I was induced. Our families both made the trip from North Carolina to Atlanta, arriving in the afternoon of the morning I had started my pitocin drip. By the middle of that night, with no real significant progress being made other than the fact that my water managed to break on its own, I was feeling guilty. I honestly felt bad that all those people were waiting and I wasn't delivering. Talk about added pressure. I was inconveniencing all these people. They must be so irritated with me.

Finally, 30 hours after my pitocin started, I finally delivered my 8 pound, 13 ounce Peanut. Whew. Because my labor had taken so long, most everyone left town before we were even checked out of the hospital.

When it was time to have Pumpkin and the midwife decided we should go the induction route again, I was disappointed to not experience spontaneous labor, but was also able to call my parents to come down to look after Peanut without having to call in plans A, B, C and D of the what if I go into labor at this time or that time or when the moon is in the seventh house and jupiter is on vacation?

The second time around, there wasn't anyone waiting. The rest of our families stayed in NC and my folks were occupying Peanut for the day. When the baby arrived, we had no one to go tell. It was a relief during the labor process to only have to make a few quick phone calls without having the hubby leave my side to visit a waiting room, but it was a bit of a let down not to have a room full of excited people. We did, however, get to spend a beautiful night just the three of us, moments that I still cherish.

Of course, today, my sister is doing all the hard work. Her latest text indicated that things were heating up, but there is still a ways to go. Me? I'll just be waiting. Waiting to hear that everything is okay. Waiting to hear the news that my little niece is finally here. Waiting to see pictures and learn this little one's name.

And I know that my waiting pales in comparison to the waiting my sister is enduring. But the payoff, that inexplicable moment when those strange little limbs that poked and prodded you the last several months from the inside are snug in your arms as you look into your child's eyes for the first time? Totally worth the wait.

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

2011-05-13T13:29:00.002-04:00

The Peanut has a birthday party to go to this afternoon and in true where did the week go fashion, we were standing in our local, totally awesome variety store trying to pick out a gift this morning between mama's workout and lunch. Was I pushing it? A little bit. Did I have much of a choice? Not really.

Unfortunately, I was stroller-less having swapped the single stroller to the hubby's car last week. As a result, I was attempting to wrangle a very curious 18 month old while also trying to focus a four year old into selecting a gift for his friend. Pumpkin became more and more touchy feely and thought it was a fun game to run down one aisle to hide in another. I had to pick him up.

Cue the screaming and the screeching!

Pumpkin has found his voice and when he's angry, it's typically on loud. The good news: he's developmentally right on schedule with his tantrums. I tried my best to distract him, to shush him, to rush his brother along. But the screaming, the flailing. Oh, it was all just so public.

I placed him on the floor, occupied by a display of pinwheels so I could sign my receipt. He quickly found the candy display and began relieving it of roll after roll of bottle cap. I quickly scooped him back up as Peanut put the candy back and the screaming recommenced. Two older ladies were looking at cards between the register and the door giving shocked and awed looks at this screaming child. One muttered, "Oh, he's hungry." I responded, "Nope, he's just 18 months old." And we left.

But as I left, I realized I was in a lose-lose situation. Let the child free to do what he wants and I would have been the bad mommy who can't handle her children. Keep the child from destroying the store and I was that mommy with the screaming child disrupting every one else's shopping experience.

I try to be conscientious when I take my children out in public. I provide snacks, distractions, whatever I can do to keep them engaged with the task at hand and have perfected the art of a full week's grocery shop to a slim 30 to 45 minutes (depending on the speed of the cashier). If I'm doing all that I can to make sure everyone else isn't having to endure my sometimes cranky children, I wish all those ladies would give me the benefit of the doubt. Instead of "Oh, he's hungry," maybe a sympathetic, "We've all been there," would have been more appropriate. I would have settled for "Can I get the door for you?" while I juggled a squirming 18 month old, a diaper bag, a gift and a four year old's hand.

I, in no way, think that bad behavior by children should be tolerated in public. But when you see a mother doing the best she can do, maybe cut her a little slack. After all, her ride home and lunch preparation time will be filled by the same screaming that you endured for maybe 2 minutes. Trust me, that's punishment and self-flagellating judgement enough without your dirty looks to add to her bad morning.

Okay, rant over. Off to find something to wrap this gift with since I left before buying any.

Filling in the Blanks

2011-05-05T20:24:00.007-04:00

This morning was my oldest's annual Muffins for Moms day at school. We were presented with hand made art, cards and the ubiquitous silly questionnaire - you know the one. How old is your mom, what is her favorite food, what does she say all the time, etc... Hilarity typically ensues.

Earlier in the year, since Father's Day falls outside the school calendar, the class celebrated Donuts for Dads. I self-righteously commented at the time that I bet the mom's questionnaire wouldn't include the "What does Dad (or in this case Mom) do at work" question. Well, how wrong I was. In fact, today's form did include a "When Mom goes to work, she..."

Peanut's answer?

"Nothing."

Wow. Talk about a wake-up call. I've tried to explain to Peanut that when Mommy writes that's her work. He has a hard time understanding the concept since Daddy leaves every day and goes to an office for work at a company. I also don't do a large amount of writing in front of him, so there are fewer opportunities to reinforce the idea of writing as Mommy's work.

What bothers me, I realized, is less that Peanut doesn't think I work, although that is part of it - I do want my son to grow up seeing both his mother and father contributing to the household as well as to society. Rather, the part that bothered me is that if I had to answer that question, I might say that I'm a writer, but am I?

In the past year, I have decided to put more focus on my writing. The problem is that I'm the only person to hold me accountable. When it gets hard or I get busy, it's really easy to put the writing on the back burner. The fact is I have very little to show for my "work" right now. So the "nothing" on Peanut's questionnaire was a bit of a slap in the face. A little too much truth from the mouths of babes.

A friend told me that no matter what, I am still a writer. Being a writer is something you just are, like being a runner (her excellent analogy, not mine). But that doesn't mean that the words write themselves. Looks like it's time to focus more seriously on making sure I have something to fill in that blank.

In the meantime, I am enjoying the fact that Peanut said I was 25 and when it was the hubby's turn? He was 78. Like I said, hilarity ensues.

One Less Bad Guy

2011-05-02T14:17:00.004-04:00

Last night, I watched in near disbelief as the networks reported in advance of President Obama's remarks that Osama bin Laden was dead.

I admit, my initial internal monologue was a technicolor flashback to "The Wizard of Oz" and the munchkin coroner singing:

"As Coroner I must aver, I thoroughly examined her.

And she's not only merely dead, she's really most sincerely dead."

Then a more complex set of emotions set in as the news became less speculation and more final. I felt elated and victorious for the troops that pulled off such a dangerous mission without casualties of their own or innocent bystanders. I felt sadness for those families whose loved ones perished in the very cause of searching out bin Laden and can't share in the relief of this day. I felt fresh pain for those who lost loved ones on 9/11. And today, I am experiencing a profound loneliness that I am not in DC. I wish I could reunite with my former colleagues at 1909 K Street who huddled around TVs for days, sharing stories, offering comfort, walking in silence to church services, providing tissues for tears, filling the hours together as our work came to a standstill. It would be nice to be there with them today, closing the circle.

Jubilant crowds and burn, baby burn comments on Facebook pages have taken me aback. Taking a life is serious business - didn't we all see that on 9/11? Rejoicing seems a bit too similar to al Qaeda trainees stomping on American flags, machine guns raised, celebrating the deaths of innocent Americans.

I'm not saying Osama was innocent. Far from it. In fact, I'm relieved that he isn't sharing the same oxygen as the rest of the planet. Justice was served. And everyone is entitled to process today's news in their own way. But justice and joy are two different things for me, and I'm not feeling particularly joyous.

Maybe that's what's bugging me most today. Shouldn't I be happy that he's dead? Shouldn't I share in this swell of patriotism?

Instead, I'm having a hard time shaking the cloud that rose from the Pentagon, the silence that enveloped DC in the days following, the lump of fear that lodged itself in my gut that although diminished has never really disappeared. I feel that lump today more acutely. I feel the fresh loss of all those lives. I feel the heaviness of the knowledge a day like 9/11 provides.

After the president spoke and before I went to bed last night, I checked on the boys. I adjusted their covers, pushed their sweaty with sleep locks of hair off their foreheads and whispered my I love yous in their ears. I spent more time by their side than usual, relieved, as a mother, that there is one less bad guy out there to threaten my children.

And that's something.

In the absence of my ability to buy a beer for all of the armed forces serving our country or to travel door-to-door to hug every family member of each fallen soldier and 9/11 victim, I will pray that our children never know the fear of 9/11. May they never choke on the ash of a disintegrating building. May they never have the horrific images of a plane disappearing into a building burned into their brains. May they always see heroism in helping one another. May they always see patriotism in dissenting opinions. May they always have hope in the face of any challenge.

May they sleep more peacefully at night knowing that there is one less bad guy.

When Headlines Happen to People You Know

2011-04-21T14:18:00.004-04:00

In my past life, I was a media junkie. Granted, working in media relations meant that it came with the territory, but I was happy I found a job that allowed me an excuse to read that many newspapers, trade journals and websites, not to mention watch countless hours of broadcast news programming. Monitoring media trends and auditing coverage of issues was fascinating to me. Working with former reporters and editors was an added bonus that has influenced my reading and writing to this day.

Unfortunately, news has taken a big back seat in my stay at home mom life. I'm lucky if I read the newspaper on Sunday, the only edition we actually subscribe to now. I catch a few minutes of the morning news on television and am typically horrified by the amount of royal wedding coverage that I end up turning it off right away. I see headlines through Twitter and Facebook and will occasionally click a link to read a whole story, although not as often as I would like. Most of my news is gathered from NPR headlines at the top of the hour during preschool pick up and All Things Considered while I'm cooking dinner.

Although I have a handle on the news environment, I am woefully uneducated on the details of an issue, the nuances of a story, the details of a disaster. The earthquake and tsunami in Japan were so devastating that I couldn't bring myself to seek out information on them. In fact, I actively avoided coverage. I have, to this day, not watched a single frame of this terrifying footage. I know that I'm sticking my head in the sand, or rather burying my denial in the sweet smelling crooks of my children's necks. I'm not proud of it, but have justified it to this point as simply a season in my life - that soon enough, I'll be back to reading papers, engaging in national issues and educating myself on the latest discoveries/wars/debates.

And then I wake up one unsuspecting morning to the following conversation:

Hubby: "Did you see about those journalists killed in Libya?"

Me: "I saw something last night, but didn't click on it."

Hubby: "One of them was Dean's brother."

And there it is. Chris Hondros was one of the two journalists killed in Libya yesterday. Tim Hetherington was the other. I found myself immersed in this story, feeling the pain of my husband's college friend now mourning his brother. I spent time looking through Chris' compelling photographs, all from some of the most dangerous areas of the world, in awe at the emotion they capture.

It was then that I realized I can't sit idly by anymore. Chris, Tim and thousands of other journalists risk their lives each and every day to bring a story to light. How dare I ignore the work they so dangerously dedicate their lives to? How can I NOT be engaged in these stories? Sure, Libya is a world away and seemingly doesn't impact my day of preschool Easter parties and children's dentist appointments. But don't the mothers of the world deserve to feel annoyed that their children aren't behaving at lunch, not worried that their sons are being killed fighting for what they believe in?

From now on, in memory of Chris, Tim and all the others who have perished to tell a story, I will pay more attention to the media world around me. I don't mean the partisan blow hards that seem to fill up our television screens pitting neighbor against neighbor, but the real journalists who are researching, photographing and telling the hard stories that otherwise might not be told.

I ask that you all do the same. Take a moment. Read a story under the headline. Learn about something you didn't know about yesterday. I'm not saying I'll be throwing down a breakfast of the Wall Street Journal, New York Times and Washington Post like I used to, but taking a moment to read a story and engage with it for a few minutes, I think I can handle that.

Meanwhile, I'll pray for the safe return home of Chris and Tim so that their families might begin the long process of learning to live their lives without these two extraordinary men.

April Showers Bring May Babies!

2011-04-16T14:00:00.005-04:00

High Heeled Sis is due with her first baby in mid-May. She is expecting a baby girl and it is no secret that I might be more excited about the fact that she is having a girl than anyone else. I suddenly have an excuse to wander into the baby girl section of a store again, relishing in all the ruffles and pink and softness. Our oldest niece on the hubby's side is six and sadly no longer in need of fruffy bloomers or tiny tutus. Instead, I've had fun sharing my crafty side with her by finding fun toys/activities that she will hopefully enjoy as much as I did at that age.

The fact of the matter is, we are not a couple that feels the need to try for a girl. We have our two boys and our family feels complete. I think part of the reason it feels that way is because we already have some little ladies in our life. Little ladies I can spoil or take shopping or to tea as they get older and then leave their tween-girl drama to their mamas.

With that being said, when it was time to throw my sister a baby shower, I wanted it to be baby girl fantastic. Thanks to some seriously lovely ladies as co-hostesses and helpers (K, K and V, you gals ROCK!), I think we succeeded. Since the small world of the Internet provided me with some inspiration, I wanted to share some of the highlights.

Our colors were pink and green, and yes, we managed to make all pink and green food. Sounds kind of gross at first, but we had shrimp salad, honeydew & watermelon salad, tortellini pasta salad, cucumber sandwiches, prosciutto, arugula & pesto crostinis, iced green tea, raspberry lemonade, wine and a signature Mommy Mocktail (Baby Bellinis: apricot nectar and sparkling grape juice garnished with a fresh raspberry - surprisingly yummy!). Delish!

For dessert, I took a risk and some inspiration from a Google search that landed me here. I modified the cupcakes to look like the baby face that was on our invites. They came out pretty cute, if I do say so myself:

They were cute, but is there anything better than freshly made buttercream frosting? I'm still dreaming about it.

My sister's nursery has a very garden-meadow feel to it, so I wanted to tie something into that for the shower decor. I decided to do a play on a family tree by using real branches and tying photos of all the family that will love and support the baby - a sort of "it takes a village" theme. Just as I was beginning to wonder exactly how I was going to pull it off, I found some fabulous inspiration here. Here is my finished product:

It's not the best picture, but you get the idea. It was also a little breezy when I shot it.

It was a beautiful day and a beautiful occasion. Her friends and family thought so, too:

Is there anything cuter than a big pile of gifts in baby paper? Didn't think so!

Meanwhile, I just want to move into K's screen porch. This is only half of it, I'm shooting the picture from the eating area of the porch - such a beautiful room (DISCLAIMER: My dad is the residential designer who created this space for K, so I suppose I am a little biased! Anyone need a custom home, renovation or addition design in NC's Triangle area? I've got the man for the job!)

We had a lovely time and somehow I realized a week later that I didn't take a single picture of High Heeled Sis and me together. Too bad, too.

We were both rocking some sassy heels!

The Post Where I Complain About Complaining

2011-04-06T13:19:00.006-04:00

I have a friend who was so disheartened by the negative attitudes she was encountering on Facebook that she actually deactivated her account for awhile and now approaches her interaction with the site completely differently. I have to agree that there are certainly times a contact's status message has given me pause - did s/he really just say that?! In print?

Has social media really just given us all a medium for a giant b*tchfest where it's suddenly okay to publicly complain about our job, spouse, kids, whatever?

I admit, I periodically scroll through past Facebook statuses and posts as well as my tweets to get a glimpse of what I'm saying about myself. Am I complaining too often? Too kid-heavy? Sharing too much? Posting just to post or actually sharing something valuable? I think this is the PR training in me - what do the individual statements when taken as a whole communicate about me?

Granted, this space is probably where I am most guilty of complaining/venting/ranting, but I also have endless space to explore and explain and dig and since it's my therapy space, I tend to allow those things to evolve. The good thing is that I tend to reflect and grow as a result and hopefully don't bore you all with the same old rants each time I post.

I admit that I was recently guilty of tweeting a complaint about how I had nothing to wear to a mom's night out. It was trite and vain and a post just to post. Once I typed it and hit enter, I instantly regretted it. I know people whose babies are still stuck in the hospital weeks after being born, folks struggling through a death in the family, people fighting cancer, problems much more worthy of a vent than my petty inability to find a cute pair of pants that fit and matched the top I wanted to wear. And I promptly apologized for my vanity.

So, are we under an obligation to tell folks when their negativity has gone too far? Or do we simply ignore it, skipping over those negative messages along with the Farmville updates? Or, should we all just take a step back and reread that status message before we hit the enter button?

I suppose all I can do is worry about myself and do what I always strive to do (not always achieve, mind you, but try nonetheless) -- and that's be a good example to my kids. Sure, they aren't reading Facebook or following me on Twitter, but just like all my interactions - online, face-to-face or otherwise - they all represent me. And from now until eternity, that me is a mother with two boys who hopefully will show them how to be caring, empathetic, optimistic citizens of the world.

Whether it's in 140 characters or not.

Love Songs Redux

2011-03-29T13:47:00.002-04:00

Saturday I had the rare opportunity to go shopping by myself. The shopping was productive and peaceful. While driving home and flipping through the satellite radio in the hubby's car, I landed on the Love Channel. Oh cheese, I know, but there are certain songs I can't pass by and (please don't judge my musical taste based on this one confession) Bryan Adams' "(Everything I Do) I Do it For You" is one of them.

That song came out in 1991. It was the summer between my freshman and sophomore years in high school. I was dating a senior. Oh, you can see where this is going. That song would play on the radio and I'd go all 15 year old girl soft in the gut as I wondered if he was thinking of me, too. *sigh*

Later, that senior would become the hubby.

So this song brings me back to that early, uncertain time of young love when everything is new and tummy flipping and smells good. Back before you fought over how he loaded the dishwasher or he saw you pumping or rushed you to the emergency room or watched your son get stitches on a Friday night.

Although, this past Saturday, when I heard this song, I thought of my boys. Since the birth of my two sons, love songs have taken on a different meaning. Not to say that I don't hear the romance of a certain song and that all of them apply to a mother/son relationship, but that unconditional, I will be here for you always, undying mushy stuff? Oh yeah, that's got my boys all over it.

The summer Peanut was born was the summer of Snow Patrol's "Chasing Cars." Of course I watched Izzie and Denny's final moments play out to this song on "Grey's Anatomy" and reached for the tissues. And my cousin danced with her new husband to that song at their wedding reception underneath strings of light that twinkled like fireflies in the summer night. But that summer, I would hear that song and stop to rub my swollen belly, softly singing these words to my soon-to-be:

"All that I am

All that I ever was

Is here in your perfect eyes

They're all I can see

I don't know where

Confused about how as well

Just know that these things

Will never change for us at all"

This is where you all roll your eyes and realize that High Heeled Mama is truly a sap. A big old sappy sap. Guilty as charged.

So the other day, while driving home after a much needed couple of hours distance from the four year old power struggles and Pumpkin's demands for a level of independence beyond his 16 months, I whispered a wish for my boys:

"I would fight for you - I'd lie for you

Walk the wire for you - Ya, I'd die for you

You know it's true

Everything I do - I do it for you."

And before you all think that I've commandeered every love song for my children, take solace. The hubby and I still have "our" song. And there is nothing that can change that. And no, it's not Bryan Adams.

But it's just as sappy. Just like a good love song should be.

Type A to Type "Eh?"

2011-03-24T14:36:00.000-04:00

Back when I was working, I never missed a deadline. I worked thoughtfully, efficiently and proudly. A week filled with presentations, proposal deadlines, media pitch calls, brainstorming sessions, media analysis reports, and follow-up calls inking themselves black across my desktop calendar energized me. The more I had to do, the more efficient I was. Not meeting, but exceeding expectations was a constant goal. I'd like to think I was good at it.

So, why, lately, have I been so woefully behind the proverbial eight ball? I waited too long to order the favors I wanted for my sister's baby shower and now they are back ordered. I blanked on registering Pumpkin for the spring session of The Music Class and now we're activity-less on Tuesday mornings. I must appear completely scatter-brained to the co-host of my sister's shower who emails me the kind of type-A list I used to rattle off in my sleep. This space has been neglected for no really good reason I can conjure. I constantly feel like I'm playing catch-up.

Do my responsibilities not seem as important? Cleaning the bathroom certainly isn't as time sensitive as rush-producing a news story on a new FDA approval. Or do I not feel as important? A difficult question for sure. The Mom-me most definitely feels important. I'm the one who kisses the owies better, who knows to sing Twinkle, Twinkle before nap time, who can change a 4 year old's attitude with a well placed tickle.

But perhaps it is the household trappings of the stay-at-home-mom life where I don't always feel important. If the bathrooms don't get cleaned, I'm the only one who cares. If the dishes don't get done before dinner prep starts, I'm the only one annoyed. If the laundry piles up, it's only my problem to figure out what every one's going to wear. If I don't make time for my own writing or personal interests, I'm the only one affected. There are no demanding clients. There are no yearly reviews. There are no column inches in a national paper to track a success.

The stay-at-home life is often a hurry-up-and-wait kind of life. Quick, get a few chores done while the kids are distracted, check email during snack time, make a phone call during nap time. The rest of the day is following and marrying the whims of two different attitudes, desires and capabilities, which results in a lot of waiting through car playing, waiting for a particular someone to find his shoes so we can FINALLY go outside, waiting for someone to finish eating. And part of me is thrilled that I have managed to amend my Type A self into a more go with the flow mom self that allows my kids to be kids. The other part of me is screaming inside to stop getting distracted by every book in your room and find your shoe already so we can leave!

Could it be, though, that the relaxed, attention-challenged attitude of my children has finally rubbed off on me to the point where I'm failing to finish projects and easily distracted to the point of forgetting items on my to-do list?

There has to be a way to marry the deadline-centric work life I once knew with the more relaxed day-to-day operations of life at home.

Is there an app for that? I'd try to make one, but I'd surely forget to finish it.

Monkey See, Monkey Do, Monkey Go?

2011-03-16T21:47:00.003-04:00

Today, Pumpkin woke up early from his nap. An hour early. Ugh. Rather than referee toy tug-of-war for three hours or repeatedly explain to Peanut that we can't take out the Legos or play board games when Pumpkin's awake and toddling around, I had a parenting stroke of genius.

Okay. More accurately, the weather was beautiful and I simply suggested we take Peanut's big-wheel-esque trike to a nearby park. He literally jumped off the couch to find his shoes. Considering the 20 minutes it takes for us to get his shoes on for school each morning, this was quite the coup. A few snacks packed and we were off.

The park was new to us and fabulous. The trail erected as part of Atlanta's BeltLine project was perfect for my little guy to pedal away. The path led to not just one, but two playgrounds, the perfect breaks for Peanut's legs and to free Pumpkin from the stroller. We were having a great time just being - enjoying the dandelions, watching the creek flow under a bridge, spinning on the merry-go-round.

As I plucked Pumpkin from the bottom of his millionth slide run, I looked up to see Peanut swinging across the monkey bars.

I stood with my mouth hanging open. When did he learn to do that? I started to congratulate him for this feat of playground proficiency, but he simply shrugged and ran off to the next apparatus.

Is this how it starts? He suddenly comes home with a skill that I was completely unaware of? Yesterday, he used the word "proper" properly. Where did he learn that? Of course I expect a certain level of knowledge to be imparted at school or gleaned from friends, but the monkey bars seemed to be a wake up call at just how independent my little guy is becoming.

We raise them to be individuals. To be strong and curious and daring. So why, when Peanut actually does these things, do I feel a pang of sadness at the edge of my pride? I know, I know: 'They spend nine months inside of you and the rest of their lives walking away.' But I still find myself reaching for his hand so he doesn't get too far ahead of me.

Luckily, the boys are still at ages where they not only wait for me, but look for me, reach for me, need me. So while they are busy growing up, learning new skills and sharing their uniqueness with the world, I will be busy learning how to let go.

Just like Peanut did today on those monkey bars.

Would You Rather?

2011-03-08T14:02:00.003-05:00

During a recent all moms workout, we played a bit of "Would You Rather?" posing questions to one another to get to know each other while distracting ourselves from the lunges and bicep curls.

Listen only to Coldplay or U2?

Give up chocolate or cheese?

Abandon your flip flops or the heels?

The majority of the group immediately said they'd ditch those heels.

*GASP!*

I, of course, said I would ditch the flippies. After all, if I didn't, I would be damaging the old blog's reputation, right? Haha. Back to another set of squats.

But the question has been nagging at me for the last several days. The fact of the matter is that I don't wear those heels all that often anymore. I even had to wipe a bit of dust off the pair I wore on our last date night they were so far out of rotation. I realized I don't have a pair of current fitting jeans in a heel-appropriate length, they're all cut for flats.

For all intents and purposes, I have given up the heels.

And that nags at me a bit.

Certainly if giving up the flip flops means giving up my day-to-day, rough and tumble playground, sock-footed baby music class, criss-cross-applesauce Hot Wheels play life with the boys, than screw it. I'll ditch those heels in a heart beat. But I don't think it needs to be mutually exclusive.

It's no secret I've been struggling lately with how to incorporate a professional side of my life with my decision to be a stay at home mom. I haven't found any answers yet, which is frustrating, but okay. If I've learned anything from this mothering gig it's that it's a constant balancing act with various players constantly shifting the weight around without notice: an added soccer commitment here, a possible professional project there, a new nap routine on this hand, an inflexible car pool pick up time on the other... It's never ending and constantly morphing into a slightly different version of normal that you hardly know it's changed until you're well into a new routine.

I'm doing my best to keep my eyes open to the shifts, looking for the light that seeps through the cracks to see if I can capture a bit of open space for me. I feel a bit like a surfer, waiting for the right wave. You can't force it. You know it will come. And when it does, that's gonna be one damn fine ride.

But the surfer doesn't sit on the beach in street clothes waiting for that wave. Nope. They zip up the wet suit, wax down the board, paddle out to the cusp and enjoy the sunshine on their shoulders as they scan the vast horizon.

So abandon my heels? Hell, no. I can slip them on any time to remind me of that little piece of me that's scanning my horizon, waiting for the right opportunity, the perfect wave that provides a fun ride for me all the while carrying me back to my family on the beach and the sandcastles we'll build together.

Sure, flip flops might be a little more appropriate for my analogy, but I don't have a problem getting a little sand in my heels.

Hand-Me-Downs

2011-02-26T15:42:00.002-05:00

Despite the fact that I have two boys and my sister is expecting a girl, I spent the afternoon packing up a fairly sizable bag of clothes to pass along.

I had no idea we had so many blue clothes for these kids! I suppose at that round headed, no hair, sleepy newborn phase, marketers feel the need to force us into putting our kids in obvious gender appropriate clothes to cue those we encounter that our child is a boy/girl. Luckily for my soon-to-be niece, we also had quite a few adorable sleepers and t-shirts that paired with the right ruffly bloomers or skirt could definitely pass for girl-wear.

What surprised me the most was the fact that I was remarkably unemotional during the sort. I anticipated a teary moment as I held up each tiny newborn sized garment, remembering Pumpkin and Peanut before him in it. Perhaps I would have an inability to part with a particular favorite sleeper. I thought for sure I would feel some sort of tug at my ovaries as I folded each soft little shirt and sock. I felt none of those things. Sure, I was amazed that my big boys ever fit inside that teeny, tiny little hospital t-shirt, but then I folded it and put it away.

I am excited about my sister and her husband's upcoming journey into parenthood. I am eager to welcome another niece into our circle of family. I am thrilled to pass along clothes I don't need anymore so that someone else can enjoy them.

And there it is. As much as I rationally know that we have a complete family and do not intend to have more children, I have recently been reluctant for us to make any permanent steps in that direction. The simple task of sorting clothes allowed me to face that emotional pull straight on and realize that as much as I love babies and can't wait to cuddle another little one in that adorable giraffe pajama set, it doesn't have to be my baby.

I will add this collection of clothes to the other items I will be passing along to my sister as she prepares for her first foray into parenthood. And thank her for allowing me the opportunity to find the emotional closure I apparently needed.

Then, I will go online and find the frilliest, pinkest, girliest outfits to spoil this new little girl with. After all, isn't that what the aunt with two sons is supposed to do?

Your Topic Here

2011-02-25T21:02:00.000-05:00

After my call for help for something to write about, I received a few suggestions on Facebook and in person. My cousin suggested I write something about that feeling of joy and anxiety every Red Sox fan feels each February when players start reporting for spring training. A friend said she needed advice because her 18 month old was starting to give up her afternoon nap. A few folks have asked for an update on my NaNoWriMo project.

For a few days, I've wondered how I wanted to tackle each idea. After all, I promised I would write about whatever you suggested. I'm not one to go back on a promise, even if these seemed like three completely unrelated topics.

Until I realized, they aren't. They are completely related. The commonality? Hope.

Despite two recent World Series Championships, Red Sox fans hear one phrase each February when the first players start reporting for practice in Fort Myers, Florida. A phrase whispered across generations. A phrase that very nearly is cliche except for the sincerity and intensity of its utterance after years and years of near misses in October.

"This is the year."

For me and my family of Red Sox fans, we watch the new year's roster report, analyze personalities, consider off-season injury recovery, and declare that yes, indeed, this could be the year. With "the Curse" finally being broken, we are almost more anxious having tasted the sweetness of victory. We are excited. We are very nearly giddy. Underneath all that positive emotion, we are anxious, frightened, doubting (86 years of disappointment is hard to brush off) as this group of men we blindly follow based on the jersey they wear hold our emotional well being in their hands from April until October. And so we do the only thing we can. We hope. We hope for a fun season. We hope for victory. And above all, we hope that at least if we don't win, neither do the Yankees. *shiver*

My friend with the nap-averse toddler, well, that's a whole other level of hope. Peanut gave up his nap early, not 18 months early, but he probably started showing the signs that young. He'd boycott an occasional nap, but then take them back up after several days without one. Once he hit two, he'd refuse a few more, but accepted quiet time, even giving in to an occasional nap when I thought for sure there was no way that bouncing in the crib was going to stop. At two and a half, about the same time I got pregnant and my body desperately craved being vertical for at least an hour each afternoon, he was done. I still put him in his room, hoping against all hopes that maybe, just maybe, that would be the day he would quietly sit in bed reading books or by some miracle, fall asleep.

It wasn't meant to be. I hope, for my friend, that her little one is simply in a phase and quickly remembers the joy of her nap time because I haven't a clue what to tell her to do. Other than to keep putting that child down each afternoon and hope for the best.

Finally, my NaNoWriMo project. In all honesty, I haven't even opened the file since November 30th. As proud as I am of accomplishing 50,860 words in 30 days, I am just as disappointed in myself for ignoring its presence the last 87. It's a scary prospect, reading back words that I pounded out. I'm convinced it must be horrible and it seems easier to ignore it rather than confirming my worst fears.

As long as it remains unopened, I can still hope that maybe, just maybe it's at the very least mediocre. I can hope that I have what it takes. I can hope there is a nugget of some measure of talent in its pages that will propel me on to fight to the finish and eventually see those words, my words, in print one day. On paper. In between two hard covers. On a book shelf. In a real store.

So I hope. I hope I have the courage to open that document. I hope my friend's child takes a nap. I hope the Red Sox win it all again this year.

Because what do we have if we don't have hope?

Well, Cheerios on the floor. I always have those.

Topicless

2011-02-21T20:29:00.002-05:00

I'll be honest, I've been wanting to post, trying to post, needing to post. The problem is my brain is a blank slate. Or, more accurately, my brain is a mess of distraction. The heart monitoring has been a distraction. The unseasonably warm weather has been a distraction. The mounting to-do list is a distraction.

So, dear readers, leave me a comment about something, anything, you'd like to read about. A parenting challenge you've encountered. A transition to the stay at home lifestyle issue. A question you've been dying to ask. Inspire me. Challenge me. Dare me. Whatever. Consider it a little blog experiment.

I promise to write about whatever you come up with, so don't disappoint me all you lurkers! Come out from behind the shadows and give me something to write about.

Please! :)

Valentine's Day: Mom Edition

2011-02-14T14:53:00.002-05:00

The hubby and I have never been a big Valentine's Day couple. Between Christmas and both our birthdays in late January, Valentine's Day comes along and we're done. There is typically a card, maybe some flowers, and that's that. We express our love throughout the year and certainly have never needed a holiday to remind us.

But this year, I've been pretty excited about Valentine's Day. For my boys.

There have been heart shaped pancakes served in bed (there is apparently nothing more fun than eating breakfast in bed to a four year old!), cards, small treats, heart shaped PB&J in the lunch box, banners in the living room and treats to come after dinner. I'm having a blast lavishing goofy love on my boys this Valentine's Day.

Someone recently told me that no matter how close I was to the boys it wasn't at all the same as the closeness of a mother-daughter relationship. I'd agree with that. It's not the same at all. But that doesn't mean it's inferior. So far, in my young mother-son relationship with my boys, it's full of sweetness, hugs, tickles and a connection that can't be beat. I am the woman that my boys will compare all other women to. If that's not pressure, I'm not sure what is.

So this morning, I had fun getting up early to treat my boys to special pancakes, enjoyed some snuggle time with my munchkins in bed and happily accepted the treats they had picked out for me.

And then, as a mother of sons, I cleaned misdirected pee off the bathroom floor.

Happy Valentine's Day!

February is American Heart Month

2011-02-11T15:19:00.004-05:00

The timing seems especially appropriate this year.

As I type this, I am hooked up to a 30-day heart monitor - electrodes stuck to my chest, monitor on a lanyard under my shirt, cell phone monitor in my pocket. I have to say, it's actually pretty cool - it's not nearly as bulky as I anticipated, it's wireless and sends my information via Bluetooth to a cell phone that magically transmits my every heartbeat to a monitoring company that then sends reports each day to my cardiologist. Very cool.

Until I notice that I just typed the phrase "my cardiologist." I'm 35 and have a yearly appointment with a cardiologist. I recently sat in the waiting room for my check up as the youngest person by at least 3 decades. I smiled behind my magazine as I realized this. Then I noticed the pitying glances of several octogenarians as they must have been wondering, "What is she doing here?"

What am I doing here? Honestly, it's not a big deal. It's just a follow-up on some symptoms I've had the last few weeks related to the arrhythmia episode I had right after Pumpkin was born. I trust my doctor. I believe him when he says it's not serious. I understand that this is simply for a better understanding of what is going on inside of my body. I know I'm being responsible by monitoring this condition instead of burying my head in the sand and hoping I'm fine.

BUT.

It's the buts that have been torturing me this week. The buts that have been creeping up on me in the dark hours. The buts that have me holding my babes a bit closer at night.

So this month, this month of heart health awareness, I feel compelled to tell you all to take care of your hearts. You only have one. Although mine has expanded a hundred fold to hold the love I feel for my kids, if it's not working right, no amount of love will make up for a less than one hundred percent healthy mama.

And so I face the fear of the monitor, take ownership of my health care and will spend the next 30 days dutifully replacing electrode stickers and monitor batteries. Because I love my kids. Because they love me. Because it's not cliche to say that a mother needs to care for herself first, it's an obligation.

Get your physicals. Don't ignore symptoms. Heart disease is the number one killer of women. Don't be one of them.

Stars Go to the Library Just Like Us

2011-02-07T21:09:00.004-05:00

Saturday morning found the Peanut and I trolling our local library. Our strategy at the library tends to consist of picking an aisle and randomly perusing the shelves for a book that has cool illustrations, space ships or pirates. While chasing after the Peanut as he went from the "B" to the "K" aisle, a woman and her daughter passed me. I had the quick sense of recognition and glanced back to see if it was another mother from Peanut's school or someone from Pumpkin's music class I should acknowledge when I realized it was Jennifer Garner.

Talk about double take.

She is apparently in town with her family filming a movie. She was looking completely laid back yet still glam in her jeans and hair pulled back. I'm not sure if anyone else recognized her. If they did, they kept their distance, too. I enjoyed my moment of spotting a star and then gathered up the Peanut and his stack of books and headed home.

Later, I had to laugh. I figured that even though movie stars are normal people and can spend their morning in the local public library entertaining their kids on a Saturday morning, they probably weren't spending their Saturday afternoons scrubbing their floors followed by watching their husbands assembling an IKEA cabinet.

Although, the IKEA cabinet instructions did indicate that I should have been wearing heels when I helped:

Perhaps there is hope for my Saturday afternoons yet.

At Least It's a Short Month

2011-02-03T20:01:00.002-05:00

Imagine, if you will, a cozy bed. It's cold, probably snowing, outside, but you're snug and warm. Perhaps you nestle down in your little nook of the world a little deeper, relishing the drowsiness, uncommitted for the moment, a sigh slipping through your nose as you drift back into a dreamy state of bliss.

When...

*BAM*

Some jerk pulls you out of your bed, holds your ill-dressed for the cold weather body over the frozen snow to see if you're casting a shadow while flash bulbs blind your sleepy eyes. You are then thanked for your service and shoved back into your hole to sleep off the rest of winter.

Thanks, dude, but I'm pretty much awake NOW.

Unlike Punxsutawney Phil, I have not been sleeping away the winter, but the hustle and bustle of the holidays and our subsequent busy January lulled me into a similar false sense of security. Strange since busyness is the antonym of lull, but the constant treadmill distracted me. Now that February has reached its cold hands to rouse me from my bed, I've been feeling a little stuck, a little like when you can't get back to sleep at 3 AM because your mind is racing ahead of you into the day while the minutes tick by at seemingly half speed in the red digital display of your bedside clock.

I came back from DC inspired, eager, ready. A week later, I'm confused, frustrated and paralyzed. The difference? February brought back routine.

We're back to the normal grind and with it the normal time sucks. I feel the tug of new ideas in the midst of my day and find myself telling them to take a back seat, that I'll deal with them later. Unfortunately, later hasn't turned up yet. It's going to take hard work, on all our parts, to make changes so that mama has some time to allow these ideas to take root and grow. I take the time with my kids to allow them to experience their environment, make discoveries, master a new skill, shouldn't I give myself the same space?

Although February snuck up on me, and poor Phil, I'm hoping to channel this frustration into change. After all, Phil didn't see his shadow. Maybe that means things will be blossoming soon for both of us.

The Princess and the Pea

2011-01-24T14:30:00.003-05:00

Our trip was a success. The boys were stellar for Grandma and Grandpa. Pumpkin managed to not take his first steps while I was away. We ate. We drank. We walked. We talked. We saw friends. We ate and drank some more. For the first time, in a long time, I heard myself think.

Then, somewhere on H Street during day two, I found my stride. The hard concrete met my steps with familiar purpose. A part of me I haven't seen in awhile snuck up around a corner and clasped my gloved hand. She was completely familiar and unchanged. She led me down side streets of thought I haven't had the time, quiet or guts to travel down myself in a long, long time. I realized that I missed her.

And, *GULP* that I miss work.

My kids fill me up in places I didn't know I had. I love that I have the opportunity to stay home with them and experience their firsts, explore their worlds and get to know them in a very personal way. But (and it's taken me four years to get to this but), just like that infamous princess could not sleep on a stack of super soft mattresses because of a teeny, tiny, hard pea at the bottom, there is a part of me that my kids can't fill, no matter how much I stack on top of it. Perhaps that pea has been present for awhile, starting as a small grain of sand the moment I started this blog and has been slowly growing, hardening and needling me. Perhaps I picked it up somewhere last week on memory lane as I remembered the best moments of my career.

While we walked the familiar streets of my professional life, I felt that little stone nagging in my shoe. It rattled around in my pocket. It settled in under my chair at dinner. Stowing away in my luggage, it came home with me.

What to do with my little pea now that I know it's here? I'm not sure. I know I'm not ready to go back to work full time. I know that I have grown and changed a lot in the last few years. I know that I have gained a different sort of confidence about my skills, my priorities and the value of my time. I know that I have a lot of work to do before getting back to work.

Knowing that my little pea is here, however, has allowed me to take it out and roll its hard, cool sphere in my palm. The pea is no longer the nagging enemy in my shoe, but a beautiful opportunity.

I Asked For It

2011-01-13T13:38:00.005-05:00

Every Christmas, birthday, Mother's Day or anniversary, I answer the hubby's gift inquiries with the same stock answer: "I want a vacation!"

Friday night at our most fantabulous date night ever (seriously, Atlanta, if you want a fantastic date night, check out the chef's table at the Four Season's Park 75. Eight courses, wine pairings, chatting with the chefs, insanely great service. Call now and make your reservations. You can thank me later.), the hubby presented me with an early birthday gift. He had organized a dual trip - a trip for me and a trip for us.

Saturday morning, I will board a plane for Raleigh and spend the day and night with my sister helping her register for baby and planning a shower. Sunday, the hubby will bring the kids up where we'll deposit our children into Grandma and Grandpa's care and head to DC until Thursday.

I know, I know. DC in January. But DC was our grown-up home. We spent the early years of our marriage there, disposing of our income at nice restaurants, spending afternoons in front of Monets, wandering through shops with steaming cups of coffee. The fact that the hubby knew to give me that is almost more impressive than the coordinating of the child care and girl time with my sister.

Yet somehow, here I sit trying to make lists of things to pack for me and the kids, terrified. We have left Peanut before, but haven't left both boys. I'm not even sure if that's what I'm nervous about. I know it's important for the hubby and I to have time together. I know it's important for the boys to have time without us. I will be able to sleep in, see friends, visit my Monet, enjoy some of our favorite restaurants, relax.

Motherhood is so pervasive. Once you have children, you are forever a mother. There is no going back. And that is a wonderful, wonderful thing. The only difficulty is when faced with time to spend with the non-mom-me, I'm worried I won't know who she is anymore. Is she still fun? Can she still participate in an intelligent conversation? Can she still pack a pair of heels and spend a day in them? Can she eat in a leisurely manner instead of throwing down her lunch before someone melts down?

Maybe I should be more excited than nervous. After all, meeting new people is one of most interesting parts of travel - I just never thought I would be one of them.

It's Over

2011-01-11T20:08:00.002-05:00

I was lucky enough to not have trouble nursing either of my kids. They both took to it easily, few painful side effects (other than stretching my poor little Bs to Fs (seriously, Fs!)), and both boys thrived. When Pumpkin proved allergic to milk based formula when we attempted a bit of supplementation, I was bummed by the inconvenience, but wasn't too worried since everything else was, um, flowing.

As we delayed introducing milk products for fear of Pumpkin's reaction, I clung to nursing even as his first birthday came and went. The doctor assured me I needn't feel guilted into nursing, there were other ways to provide my little dude with the nutrients he needed during this transition period. Easier said than done. I most definitely felt guilted into it when Pumpkin's only other liquid was water. So I kept going, even if it was just twice a day. And honestly, I wasn't ready to give it up. Our days are so busy, that it was nice to have that quiet time, to have those moments when Pumpkin needed me with a primal desire that no one else could fulfill. Maybe it was selfish, but he didn't seem ready to give it up either.

Until he was. And I kept attempting to hold onto that pre-bedtime feeding. It was shorter and shorter every night. Friday night, we went out for dinner and decided that would be it. Our sitter put the baby down, obviously without a feeding, and I decided I would not try to nurse him again.

And the little guy hasn't noticed. Part of me is overjoyed that weaning was so successful. The other part of me is a little insulted that he's taken this step away from me so unceremoniously. But that's what we do as mothers, isn't it? We nurture them, provide for them and raise them to be independent and to take those steps without us.

So why does it feel so hard and a little sad?

Some Days the Stars Align

2011-01-03T20:18:00.003-05:00

Lately, taking Peanut to a public shopping venue has been more than this mama can handle. The grocery store typically involves hands swiping items off the shelves and into the cart when I'm trying to find the right product or bargain. With the behemoth race car carts built for two kids (please oh please someone at Publix read this and give me a better, more maneuverable cart) taking up most of an aisle as it is, I can't really avoid having the shelves out of his reach. Oh, and did I mention that said shopping cart built for two leaves my boys in entirely too close proximity for the surreptitious bop and bonk? Target, where the carts built for two aren't quite amenable to my 14 month old, typically involves me chasing after Peanut, fussing for him to stay near the cart. I mean it, stay where YOU CAN SEE MOMMY!

During the holiday rush and with school out, these trips have been painfully unavoidable.

This past weekend, the hubby and I braved a trip to IKEA with the boys. Part of my new year's reorganization requires new storage in the kitchen and a possible new book shelf. The only thing to make this trip bearable was IKEA's fabulous child play area - toys, ball pits, walls far away from breakable items, responsible staff. As a result, we were able to browse at a leisurely pace, finish sentences while discussing options and enjoy our shopping experience.

After picking Peanut up from 45 minutes of play time, we hit up the IKEA cafeteria (hello - lunch for four for $13.00!). A mom and her grown daughter were eating across the way from us and the mother approached us as they were leaving.

She leaned in close and said that we had the most well behaved children she and her daughter had ever seen. PAUSE. Wait. What? Really, she went on, they were absolutely delightful to watch during lunch and I must be a great mom.

Huh?

Some days, I suppose, the stars align and your children behave at just the right moment and just the right person happens to notice and says just the right thing to remind you that maybe you aren't so bad at this mothering thing after all.

Thank you, mysterious IKEA lady. You have no idea how much your random comments of kindness mean to me.

Now, please, just don't go to Publix.

If You Can't Beat 'Em, Join 'Em

2011-01-02T20:54:00.002-05:00

Christmas has been crazy. The boys had a great time with all their family, as did we. There was Santa excitement, five inches of snow (in NC!), visits with cousins, toys, toys, Christmas cookies, and more toys.

Whew.

Christmas was all about the kids. As it should be. So when we received an invitation to celebrate New Year's Eve with some adults, we jumped. Especially when it was an invitation that included the kids spending the night eliminating the need for a babysitter.

So, New Year's Eve night, we watched our kids play, ate some yummy take out and managed to get a four year old boy and three year old girl to sleep in the same room (by 9:30pm - oh yeah, we totally earned parents of the year JUST under the wire!) as well as two infant-toddlers to bed. Then something happened. The bubbly was opened. The laughter began. And for a few hours, we were just two couples ringing in the new year. Granted, I haven't been to bed that late in a long time and when Pumpkin woke up at 4am a mere hour and a half after I had dropped off, I was back to reality.

During the remainder of the holiday weekend, we have continued to dig out from Christmas craziness, thanks in large part to my let no closet, shelf and cabinet go unorganized mantra to make room for all the new toys. The fridge has been stocked with "regular" food and snacks. The tree is by the curb. The bubbly buzz long gone and a list of 2011 goals is starting to formulate in the journal by my bed.

One of the top items, like every year, is to make the non-mom-me a priority. Thanks to our lovely friends, I think I'm off to a good start.

Next on the list, wipe off the dust that's collected on some of those heels in my closet and take them for a walk outside. Date night this coming Friday should take care of that - for one pair, at least.

Sounds of the Season

2010-12-20T20:26:00.003-05:00

At our house, the sounds of the season have included someone falling (twice) through our ceiling that wasn't Santa, the sounds of the tummy bug, mama's frustrated yelling at cranky children, stomping feet by said cranky children and the crunch of being rear ended. Despite my best attempts at perspective, I was starting to think agoraphobics are onto something.

And then, there are my babes, constantly reminding me (in their brightest of moments) of the joy and humor of the season. There was the uncontrollable giggling in the back seat from both boys when the dogs barking jingle bells song came on the radio, Pumpkin's eyes lighting up as he helped me shop for his gift (ah, the beauty of a 13 month old memory) by testing out toys in the store, Pumpkin screaming and crying when we attempted the sit on Santa's lap, riding the infamous Pink Pig, watching Peanut "sing" (and pick his nose) during his school's Christmas performance.

As I pack up the clothes, gifts, Santa, car activities and snacks for our trip to North Carolina later this week, I will do my best to remember that my kids, playing with the wrapping paper instead of the gifts while decked out in their matching Christmas pajamas, will more than make up for the crazy that was the rest of December.

Never doubt the power of the matching Christmas pajamas.

More Perspective

2010-12-08T20:29:00.003-05:00

Nearly two years to the day, I wrote about getting a little perspective. Funny, but I'm back in the same place.

We spent November sharing a nasty cold from one member to the next. It hung on at least two weeks per family member and it spared no one. Then, last Wednesday, a freak chain of events led to a flooded crawl space and a therefore flooded water heater. From Wednesday until Friday we had no hot water. None. The hubby and I were showering at the Y. The kids were getting sponge baths that we told them were space baths like the astronauts do it (hey, it worked). I was heating up water on the stove to fill the sink to wash our dishes. Thankfully, we got the pilot light relit Friday on a fluke...only for it to go out again today. Looks like our glee at avoiding a several thousand dollar new water heater expense around the holidays was short lived.

Friday, I got a stomach bug. And although it could have been much worse, I was really not myself until Sunday afternoon. Monday, work began in the house to remediate mold found in our crawl space and attic. I can't tell you how stressful of a project that has been to ensure the kids are safe during the process not to mention having to turn our heat off during some of the coldest days Atlanta's seen in December in years while they cleaned the HVAC (um, Brrr?). Then, Peanut got the stomach bug Tuesday night.

Luckily, on the brink of falling into my own pit of self-indulgent pity, I was hit again by the perspective stick. Tonight, I'm making dinner for a neighbor's family. A neighbor who at 46 was struck by heart failure and a series of set backs that laid him out so badly in ICU he was given a one percent chance of survival forcing his wife to prepare their two daughters for daddy's death. That was several weeks ago and through the power of love and prayer and sheer determination, he is coming home soon. He has miles to go, but he's alive and ready to take those miles on.

Then, there was the mail today. The arrival of a Christmas card. From my aunt. Signed with a single name. The absence of a name on the card speaking louder than my aunt's neat, nun-taught script.

As I filled the sink for tonight's primitive dish washing episode and planned tomorrow's schedule around an early work out just to earn a shower at the Y, I took a deep breath. Although my problems are still annoying. Although the sicknesses and the caring of the sicknesses have left me exhausted. Although our wallets are not enjoying the Friday installation of our new (tankless!) water heater. I have my boys. I have the hubby. I have the promise of our blank Christmas tree awaiting trimming.

And I will enjoy all of them a little bit more thanks to this year's perspective.

30 Days of Thanks: Day 31

2010-12-01T13:08:00.004-05:00

I got pretty slack there at the end with my 30 days of thanks. Sorry about that. It's not that I wasn't thankful, I was just tied up with NaNoWriMo and taking the time to enjoy our trip away to the NC mountains for Thanksgiving. It was a lovely trip and unfortunately, I came back woefully behind in my word count. It took some serious buckling down to complete it before yesterday's deadline, but I did it.

That's right. In 30 days, I wrote 50,860 words that included a beginning, a middle and an end. I can now claim for all eternity that I wrote a book. WHAT?! Seriously, this still amazes me. Okay, it's got some serious flaws, needs some major continuity help, and I already want to cut a whole character's point of view and develop another character more fully, but those are all things I didn't have 31 days ago.

I learned a lot about my own process during this experiment and how I work best. More importantly, I learned that inspiration is a fickle mistress, but most of the time all you have to do is sit down and start. I battled my fears and proved that yes, I can do it. It's not impossible. And despite all its problems, there are parts of this book I wrote that are darn good. All in all, it was quite the rewarding experience.

That being said, today I am supremely thankful for my family and friends. I made my journey public to my family and was quite vocal about it on Facebook as well as in this space. I can't tell you how the words of encouragement and questions throughout the month of November helped me. Having a personal cheering section made all the difference. So to all of you out there who offered a virtual high five when I was feeling successful, who offered a word of encouragement when I wasn't, asked me how it was going when we ran into each other and who helped me celebrate my victory last night and today now that it's complete - THANK YOU!

So, what's next? Christmas. Catching up on a month's worth of DVR programs. Sleep.

Then, come January, I'll print this sucker out and read it to see what I've truly got. Then the real work begins. After all, it takes most writers years to write a book, not a month. Thanks to the experience and all of the fantastic people in my life, I'm confident that I can handle it.

30 Days of Thanks: Vacation

2010-11-22T21:44:00.003-05:00

With children, it's not really a vacation anymore, more a change in location. But a change in location is what we have this week.

My parents rented a house in the North Carolina mountains for us to spend Thanksgiving and luckily were amenable to us being here all week with them. I'm not sure what the week holds but I have a feeling there will be some hiking, some waterfall finding, some trains, some movies, some cocoa, some game playing, some eating and most of all, some laughter. We really needed the break. Although traveling with two kids is a lot of work, there is a lot to be said for a change in scenery. And from the sunset we watched over the mountain this afternoon while Peanut identified cloud shapes (we for sure saw a dinosaur and an alligator), this change in scenery will agree with us.

The only thing that would make it better would be if my sister and her hubby could be here now instead of coming up Wednesday (boo work commitments!). Although if they saw the way Peanut was running around here tonight trying to avoid bedtime, they would probably be thankful they aren't here yet.

After all, the crazy came with us.

30 Days of Thanks: Teachers

2010-11-20T21:17:00.002-05:00

As I continue my NaNoWriMo journey, I am reminded of a couple of teachers in my life.

Mrs. Morrison was my second grade teacher. If I remember correctly, we were all a little afraid of her. She was pretty strict and a lot no nonsense. But, in second grade, we started writing stories. Around St. Patrick's Day, we were given a story prompt and we were tasked with finishing the story. Mine turned into some leprechaun story with 17 little leprechauns making mischief in my house, my parents were dismayed, but no worries (here comes the happy ending), they were the leprechauns who guarded the gold at the end of the rainbow and they agreed to share it with my family. Oh, and they promised to clean up their mess, too. A literary gem of a story, no? Probably not, but Mrs. Morrison liked it and commented on how well thought out of a story it was. She praised it so much, my English teacher aunt framed the story for me and it hung on my bedroom wall for years.

Ms. Solem was my fourth grade teacher. She was a bit more of a free spirit. We had to write and perform several skits portraying historical scenes and mythology that year, if I recall. Anyway, at the end of the year, she signed my little elementary school yearbook suggesting I become a playwright. I was on cloud nine all the way home. Where I promptly looked up what a playwright was and then deciding that yes, I wanted to be one.

I had several other teachers along the way who encouraged my writing, but I have to say, these two early educators planted a seed that continues to grow. When I sit down to put pen to paper, or fingers to keys, it is the little girl that they knew and taught every day that takes my place - the insecure, unsure, novice full of hope. And it is their words of encouragement that I hear that keep me going.

I have no idea what happened to Mrs. Morrison or Ms. Solem. I would like to tell them how important their confidence in me was and still is. I would like them to know that the influence they had on me wasn't relegated to the year they had me in their class. I would like them to know that decades later, I still think of them and wish to thank them.

So, Mrs. Morrison, Ms. Solem and all the teachers who ever truly believed we, their students, could be something, thank you.

30 Days of Thanks: Month 12

2010-11-18T21:15:00.002-05:00

Pumpkin is at that stage where he's becoming himself. He's finding his sense of humor and giggling at things he finds funny (mostly his brother, dogs and when I make animal noises for him). He's pointing along at books during story time. He imitates anything and everything that his older brother does. He has the most contagious full faced laugh when you tickle him that I have to remind myself not to take advantage of that trick just to get a belly laugh fix. He's learning how to ask for things, even if it's just a point, a grunt or the old "gimme" hand gesture.

He's at that wonderful age where he's on the cusp. On the cusp of communicating. On the cusp of walking. On the cusp of toddlerhood.

I love this phase. I know it won't last forever, so today, I am thankful that it's here. More importantly, maybe, I'm thankful that I recognize it.

30 Days of Thanks: 3 Hours

2010-11-17T21:52:00.003-05:00

Today I am thankful for three hours of peace and quiet found in the salon chair while my fabulous stylist cut and colored my hair and kept my hands filled with trashy magazines (oh, Nikki knows what I like).

Not only did someone massage my head during a shampoo, did I find out Jake Gyllenhall and Taylor Swift are dating (WHAT? Seriously?) and I came out with a fabulous blow out I won't have to wash for at least three days (don't judge me), but I returned home with a fresh perspective. It's amazing what a three hour break from the whining and the nose wiping and the train track building can do for a gal.

Only 10 weeks until the next appointment. Not that I'm counting or anything...

30 Days of Thanks: The Sweater

2010-11-16T21:13:00.003-05:00

Today I'm thankful for my favorite sweater. Oh, it's nothing special. Just that nice, snugly sweater that looks great with anything, I feel great in and would wear just about every day if I could get away with it.

I finally broke out that sweater today for our parent-teacher conference at Peanut's preschool. All day, I felt good in that sweater.

And when you are sick with a cold and just barely holding on while caring for a sick infant and a preschooler who has no school for two days (two days, people!) because of the aforementioned parent-teacher conferences, you take what you can get.

Today, I'm thankful for that sweater. And don't judge me if I'm wearing it again in another day or so.

30 Days of Thanks: Breaks and Halfway Points

2010-11-15T21:21:00.002-05:00

You may have noticed it was dark here yesterday. Yes, I missed a day of the 30 Days of Thanks. Oh well. I'm sure I was thankful for something, but to be honest, I was most thankful for giving myself a break and just not writing over here. I have the horrible cold Peanut had last week and making myself sit down to write for NaNoWriMo was enough. When I was done, I was done. And I don't feel guilty for making myself a priority (well, after spending all day with the kids, going grocery shopping, making my own comfort food, starting the laundry and writing 1,778 words).

Today, however, I am thankful for Kleenex, pain relievers, hot tea, steamy showers and Breathe Right nasal strips. I am also thankful that I am halfway through this little experiment. Today is the 15th of the month, which means only 15 more days to go. In terms of word count, I'm 794 away from actually hitting the 25,000 halfway point. However, THANKS to my favorite character, we racked up the words tonight to nearly obliterate the deficit I was in from a skipped night early on. I really can't thank her enough for having so much to say today. Here's hoping the rest of these yahoos I'm writing about have something to say tomorrow.

In the meantime, me and the Kleenex *sniff* are headed to bed *cough*.

30 Days of Thanks: Throat Drops

2010-11-13T22:11:00.002-05:00

The hubby had a cold that started Halloween weekend. Pumpkin was sick that following week. Peanut got the cold and cough this week. And now? My throat hurts.

I shouldn't be surprised. I've been wiping up Peanut's nose for the last three days and although I try to wash my hands after each time, I'm not sure what was rubbed on me Thursday night when he ended up in bed with us, insisting on snuggling with mama and coughing and sniffling all over my pillow. Bleh.

Today is that day of a cold where you feel it coming. The drip is in the back of your throat making it burn when you swallow. Your eyes feel tired. You know that there isn't anything you can do to stop it.

And so today I am thankful for the good old Ricola throat soothers that ease the discomfort for a little bit. Tomorrow, I imagine I'll be thankful for the soft tissue the hubby picked up from the store for me. Or cough medicine. Or both.

Although, as crappy as I'm starting to feel, I'm also thankful that Peanut still needs/wants mama snuggles to make him feel better. I suppose the cold is a small price to pay for my child's comfort.

Or so I keep telling myself as I avoid swallowing.

30 Days of Thanks: Sticking with it

2010-11-12T21:25:00.002-05:00

Today I am thankful that I haven't given up.

It's true that most nights I sit down at the computer complaining about how hard NaNoWriMo is, how what I'm writing is totally trite, how I hate this character one day only to hate this other character the next, how I'll never be able to write 1,667 words tonight, how this stinks and blah, blah, blah.

And most nights, I'm wrong. Most nights I don't have much of an idea of where the story is going. Occasionally, I have a brainstorm in the middle of the day and can't wait to see where it's going to lead. A lot of the time, I'm writing a whole lot of crap only to find a nugget of potential buried in there somewhere. And it's that nugget that keeps me going, keeps me coming back, keeps me interested enough to see where it's going to go.

There has only been one night where I didn't write at all (but I had some really valid excuses, really) and then one night when some technical issues drove me to the point of panic and I wrote about 500 words and then nearly face planted on the computer from exhaustion so the hubby sent me to bed.

Although most nights you'll hear me complaining, I'm still sitting down each night to write.

18,451 words to date. 31,459 to go.

30 Days of Thanks: Veterans Day

2010-11-11T22:16:00.002-05:00

Today, I am thankful for veterans - past, present and future.

Forgive me for linking back to an earlier post, but I wrote this during the inaugural 30 Days of Thanks in 2008 and I couldn't think of a way to say it better, so...I'll say it again.

And I'll say this again: Thank you.

30 Days of Thanks: Tech Support

2010-11-10T22:32:00.003-05:00

Sure, I was thankful for the hubby already during this little exercise, but tonight, he came home from the gym when I called him in a panic because my ancient computer ate my homework.

More specifically, my ancient, evil, spiteful computer ate my 13,739 words (yes, I'm counting) before I started the night's writing.

Luckily, he found them and they are since backed up. A lot.

As frustrating as this NaNoWriMo project has been so far, when I was faced with losing it all, faced with having to start over, I was scared. I didn't want to lose the people I've created so far. I didn't want to lose the journey they have started on. I want to see where they end up. Thankfully, my own personal tech support guru has given me back that opportunity.

30 Days of Thanks: It's a Lame One

2010-11-09T21:10:00.003-05:00

Today, I'm thankful for frozen pizza. Oh yeah, I said it.

We spent a lovely afternoon at the Atlanta Botanical Gardens with some friends. A long enough afternoon that the roast chicken I originally planned to do for dinner would not have enough time to roast. No problem, I'll just do some quesadillas instead, except the avocado for my black bean, corn, tomato and avocado salsa wasn't ready yet.

Like I said, today I'm thankful for a frozen pizza in the freezer and the fixings for salad in the fridge. Dinner saved. Not dinner great, but dinner saved.

30 Days of Thanks: A Change in Direction

2010-11-08T22:06:00.004-05:00

Let's just say this morning was chock full of bad mommy moments before 9am.

Thanks to a finally fever free Pumpkin, a morning break with Peanut off to preschool and a workout on a beautifully warm fall morning, the afternoon did not follow the same path. A deep breath and a conscious decision to not repeat the same morning mistakes made for a calmer, more patient mommy.

Sometimes recognizing the pattern doesn't always lead to breaking it. I am thankful that today it did.

Here's to hopefully getting on the right road the first time tomorrow.

30 Days of Thanks; Applesauce Cake

2010-11-07T19:13:00.003-05:00

My great-grandmother made an applesauce cake she would send to my Uncle B. (a different uncle than has recently appeared in this space) while he was in the service. As legend would have it, the guys in his unit would fight over pieces of the cake, devouring it within moments of the care package having been open.

Today, I am thankful for this super simple, dairy-free cake and the fact that Pumpkin's fever appears to have broken this afternoon long enough for him to enjoy it. Two days late, we finally had a good old cake-smashing time for his first birthday.

I'm not sure of the truth of the tales that my uncle's buddies watched his mail call just to see if a cake had arrived for him, but I can attest to the fact that my little guy thought it was pretty much the best thing he's ever eaten.

Although, in all honesty, he's been subsisting on a diet of plain noodles, bananas and Cheerios for the last 5 days.

Either way, I know I'm looking forward to a piece.

30 Days of Thanks: Saturday Doctor's Hours and Mom

2010-11-06T14:07:00.002-04:00

Pumpkin has been sick all week. The lovely "D" word. Ick. However, he'd been acting normally, despite the current state of his intestinal track. I made the obligatory call to the nurse's line, got my instructions and happily went about my week planning our next trip up to NC. We were planning on going up this weekend for my uncle's memorial service, which meant we canceled Pumpkin's 1st birthday party we had originally planned for at home this weekend and decided to do a smaller, immediate family lunch in NC.

Until last night. A half hour before leaving to pick the hubby up at the airport, I noticed Pumpkin had a fever. Ugh. Fever, of course, being one of the symptoms the nurse said we should watch for, advising we bring him in if one developed.

Thankfully, our pediatrician has walk-in hours on Saturday mornings. I packed us up last night for our road trip, hoping we could simply depart a little later than planned and then brought Pumpkin to the doctor first thing this morning. Although it's nothing serious and probably just a virus, the doctor "could not in good conscience" advise us to go on this road trip.

After the week I had, I made it to the elevator after checking out before I started to feel the tears coming on. Losing my uncle, the trip up to NC and back last weekend, a sick baby, the hubby out of town all week, a 4 year old's rebellion on day 4 of hubby being out of town, unpacking from one trip just to repack for another, canceling one party just to plan for another 7 hours away, locking Pumpkin and my keys in the car yesterday...let's just say a kink in the plans was not exactly what my psyche could handle this morning.

Thankfully, there is my mom. When I called and told her Pumpkin wasn't any better, what the doctor said and that I had looked up flights to fly up to the memorial alone, she in no uncertain terms told me I needed to stay home. She said everything I knew was true and everything I needed to hear and listened to me cry and hem and haw and try to reason my way into going, but, in the end, won. We are staying home.

It's not that I don't think the hubby could take care of Pumpkin while I was gone, I know he would. It's the thought of Pumpkin reaching out for me and me not being there. It's the reality that every minute I was gone, I'd be thinking about Peanut - and would that be fair to anyone else?

My family means a lot to me. It's a big, rambunctious group who live and love loudly. Not being there to support a branch that's been damaged is tearing me up inside. My thoughts, prayers and heart will be with them all on Monday. But, I know I have to do what's best for my little ones.

If I've learned anything since becoming a parent it's that kids have impeccable timing.

30 Days of Thanks: Happy Birthday, Pumpkin

2010-11-05T12:43:00.004-04:00

Today, little Pumpkin, you are one. You are on the brink of toddlerhood and I have no idea how it happened. Everyone told me to cherish your babyness since the second time around goes so much faster. And I tried, really I did. But somehow, here you are, all bright smiles and toothy grins and I can barely remember that newborn squishyness.

Luckily, for me, you aren't walking yet, so I can hold onto your babyhood for awhile longer. You've started to ask to be picked up in your own little hold onto mommy's knees attempting to climb up her leg until she picks you up kind of way. You babble constantly and we're all trying to latch on to any words or consistent sounds for things. You idolize your big brother. Dinner has gotten out of control with the two of you egging each other on. You spent the other night imitating every action Peanut did, much to the delight of both of you.

I can barely remember our family life without you, proving that you were the missing link to our little family. Not that it wasn't perfect before, but you've brought our little clan to a whole new level of perfection. Oh sure, adding a second one to the family has brought its own kind of stress with it, managing schedules and various needs. But the new laughter? The wonder when you discover new skills like clapping or waving? The squeals when you're crawling all over your big brother in his bed during bed time stories? Let's just say I wouldn't change it.

We've been through a lot, you and I. There was my hospitalization when I was separated from you on your 12th day for the longest 24 hours of my life. There was your trip to the children's hospital when I had to forcefully hold down your arm to keep the IV in. There was the time I locked you in the car with the keys and had to play peek-a-boo with you until help arrived (oh wait, that was today - happy birthday).

You're brother made me a mother. You've made me a better mother. And for that, I will be eternally grateful.

Here's to another year of belly laughs, discovery and a few bumps along the way to keep it interesting.

Love,
Your Mama

30 Days of Thanks: The Hubby

2010-11-04T14:30:00.002-04:00

The hubby is currently out of town on a trip that keeps getting longer and longer each day NASA doesn't send Discovery into space. I've written about the hubby's love of space before and his attempts to see a shuttle launch as a bystander. Since then, however, he's leveraged his space knowledge into an asset for his employer and is in Florida to cover his second space launch. I'm so proud of all that he's done and is doing.

That being said, I'm really ready for him to be home. Especially at about 4pm when the witching hours begin and I realize that I don't have a reprieve at 6pm like I usually do. Factor in a sick Pumpkin this week and planning Pumpkin's second first birthday party (it's complicated) and I'm simply exhausted. Having the hubby gone shows me just how much he does do around here.

It's really easy for me to feel like I'm doing all the heavy lifting since I'm the one home all day with the boys. I manage the school stuff, handle the meals, do the grocery shopping, laundry, etc... But I'm truly lucky in that I have a hubby who handles breakfast every morning for the boys. He takes care of bath and bedtime, too, while I clean up dinner and pop in for a last nursing session and good night kisses. He's always there for me when I need him and it's been pretty lonely without him around to just be a presence in my day.

Plus, let's face it, I really enjoy being able to sleep until 7:30 while he gets up with the kiddos. 6:05 just isn't all that fun for me.

So, sweetie, in case I don't tell you enough, thank you. Thank you for taking risks at work and showing our boys what hard work can accomplish. Thank you for all the you do here to keep me sane. Thank you for being a wonderful father. Thank you for all the little things you do to try to make my day easier.

Try to remember that when I complain about the "to file pile" when you get home. :)

30 Days of Thanks: Dessert

2010-11-03T21:53:00.002-04:00

Today I am thankful for honey vanilla chamomile tea and shortbread cookies. The promise of those two items have honestly been the only things to get me through the last three hours of solo parenting during bedtime, dinner clean up and writing.

I really wanted to pack it in and fire up the DVR tonight after getting the kids in bed. It's been a long day. The hubby's out of town on a business trip. I have 800 different things to get done before another trip out of town this weekend with the family. Pumpkin's been sick and was up at 4:30 this morning.

Instead of giving into DVR temptation, however, I promised myself the orange frosted shortbread cookie (sorry honey, you leave it here, I eat it) and a cup of tea at the end of my day's writing. And that's really all I have the energy to say about that.

Excuse me, I have a cookie to eat before I pass out in bed.

FYI:
NaNoWriMo update: 1,996 words tonight, 4,904 total. I'm just 97 words shy of where I should be on day 3.

30 Days of Thanks: Impromptu Field Trips

2010-11-02T15:16:00.002-04:00

Today, I am thankful for a last minute field trip to the Georgia Aquarium.

School was canceled today for Peanut because the church is a polling place. We just came back from out of town yesterday, meaning a tough re-entry day as it is, not to mention a tough day fooling with the school routine. Oh, and did I mention that the hubby left dark and early this morning for a several days long business trip?

Months ago, I had purchased a discounted ticket from the aquarium during Mommy & Me promotion. And so we put it to use. Peanut LOVED it. We found lots of cool things to explore and learn about. Pumpkin was happy to just stare at the fish from his stroller. We had a nice, if overpriced, lunch. We played, we goofed off, we giggled.

As we were driving home, talking about all the interesting things we'd seen, Peanut piped up from the back seat and said "I had an awesome time at the aquarium, mommy."

Despite the unpacking, the mail piles to sort, the exhaustion I feel from a busy weekend of travel, I am thankful for blowing it all off for an impromptu day of fun. The great thing is that Peanut appreciated it, too.

Now, what to do to get us through the afternoon until bedtime? I see drawing pictures of fishies in our future!

30 Days of Thanks: 1,113 Words

2010-11-01T21:30:00.002-04:00

Hi, my name is High Heeled Mama and I am a glutton for punishment.

While attempting to tackle NaNoWriMo, I was also reminded that 30 Days of Thanks has arrived. Back in 2008, I was in need of a little refocus and therefore challenged myself to write every day about something I was thankful for. Last year, a friend took on the task, since I was busy getting to know my little Pumpkin, and turned it into a movement. Since I am oh so thankful that a little idea I had blossomed into something so much bigger than I could have imagined, I feel the need to show my gratitude by joining in this year.

Today, I am thankful for 1,113 words.

We spent the weekend in NC for UNC's homecoming and drove back today. After seven hours in the car, a super fast grocery run to stock up for the week, two loads of laundry, making dinner, taking a shower, kid bedtime and profusely thanking the hubby for all his help accomplishing all those things, I finally sat down and forced my brain into "creative mode."

THANKFULLY, something came out and 1,113 words found their way onto the computer screen. Sure, I could have pushed myself a little further instead of coming to a stopping point and doing just that, but 1,113 words seems like about 1,100 more than I thought I'd come up with and for that I am grateful. If I can squeeze out 1,113 when I haven't got a clue what I'm going to say and am bone tired on top it, than tomorrow should certainly be a better day for writing.

Time will tell.

Today, I Went for a Run

2010-10-28T22:05:00.000-04:00

Today, I went for a run.

The first member of my family in my parent's generation passed away early this morning. My uncle has been fighting a valiant fight against prostate cancer for the last 15 years. I hear he went peacefully, on his terms, with his wife by his side and a smile on his face. No fear, he has said through this process. No fear.

My uncle was a high school teacher and track coach. When I was in middle school, he would tell me I should run track. Hurdles, he said. I want to see you run hurdles. I never did. Running never appealed to me. As I've gotten older, I found I wish I did want to run. There's a romance to it. A peacefulness I recognize, now. But the fact of the matter is, I'm just not a runner.

Today, I went for a run.

Friday night, the high school my uncle dedicated his career to, will be dedicating its track in his honor. It's been scheduled for some time now and he had hoped to attend. Until last week. Instead, my cousins and my aunt will stand surrounded by the community they gave so much to and that gave so much to them and see the Acton Boxborough Regional High School track named for Richard E. Dow.

Today, I went for a run.

The news this morning wasn't unexpected, but it still hurts. It still scares me that someone so close to my parents' age is gone. It still pains me that my cousins have lost a father, that my aunt lost her husband, that my father lost a brother-in-law, that my other uncles lost a friend.

Today, after Peanut's preschool Halloween parade, class party, and packing for a trip we leave for tomorrow, I loaded up the kids in the Double BOB and I went for a run. I felt my head clear. I watched Peachtree Creek, full from yesterday's rain, run the opposite direction. I smelled the damp ground. I felt my physical self as my feet found their rhythm against the pavement, my breath evened and my heart pounded in my chest. I heard a crow in a nearby tree, the distant rumble of the growing rush hour traffic. I found myself completely focused on the present. A rare gift.

Today.

In honor of my uncle. To take a moment and mourn him. To join his legacy of runners (if only for a half an hour).

I went for a run.

Busy Day: Then and Now

2010-10-26T10:29:00.004-04:00

I have a lot going on today: play date this afternoon, dinner with a friend who is in town for a conference, followed by book club at 8pm.

And I found myself stressing about all this activity before I went to bed last night.

This morning, however, as I was making muffins for the play date and debating whether to blow dry my hair or pray that the humidity gods will make the curl livable, I laughed at how times they have changed.

There was a time in my working world where one meeting at 2pm, a happy hour with a client, ending with a book club date in the evening would have been nothing. That would have just been a Tuesday. Nothing special. Nothing to stress about. In fact, I probably would have been stressing that there wasn't a 10am and a lunch meeting in there, too.

So how come it suddenly seems so daunting when I have three items on one day's calendar?

The pace of life as a stay at home mom is certainly different. The monotony of the day to day tasks move at a snail's pace sometimes compared to the fast paced meeting-to-meeting-to-proposal-writing-to-conference-call-to-commute that made up my working days. Routine is a mommy's friend, so three changes to that routine in one day is actually quite an anomaly. Not to mention the fact that I was only responsible for getting me and maybe a presentation or proposal to a meeting - not two kids, a diaper bag, snacks, activities to distract them during dinner and a plan to make sure car seats are in the right cars for the kid switch post-dinner.

Oh well. Times they have changed. And I'm okay with that. Let someone else run the rat race for a little while. I'm good.

NaNoWriMo Pre-Update: Under Pressure

2010-10-25T20:21:00.004-04:00

I am starting to panic.

My throat is tightening at the thought.

And yet every day. There it is. One day closer.

November.

Holy cow, what was I thinking committing to Nanowrimo? Really? Why hasn't anyone tried to talk me out of this? Instead, you've all been so blindly supportive that I thought, no problem. I GOT this.

Now? With only 6 days separating me from November 1st? Freaking out a little bit.

In all honesty, I'm not totally clear what I want to write. Probably not a good sign, huh? I have some characters in mind. I have a general premise. But plot? In need of one. Background? Might be nice to have one. Setting? Cluelessville.

And so I've started to panic.

I really don't know what's going to happen in November with this self-imposed challenge to bang out 50,000 words in a month. I'm not sure how to physically fit it in considering the challenge starts during one trip and ends shortly after another. I have no idea where to start. And instead of being proactive and seeking out advice, getting some research done or jotting down some outlines and ideas, I've been focusing on Halloween and trip preparations, cleaning out my closets and organizing the desk.

I have to admit, part of me is enjoying the panic and is excited by it. I'm curious to see what will happen. Will I sink or swim? Will magic happen? Will it be completely painful every minute? Will I finish? The fact is, I haven't done this before and the whole point of this exaggerated exercise is to force myself to find out what it's like, where my weaknesses are, how I work, what my process is.

And the other part of me is screaming into a pillow: WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING?!

So thank you for all your encouragement and support both here and in person. It means a lot to me, your unconditional faith. I will try not to let you down. I will try not to let myself down. Let's just say, at this point, I will TRY.

Now where did that pillow get to?

Bad Mommy Moments

2010-10-20T20:32:00.002-04:00

I have mentioned before that I am a Stroller Strider. Make no mistake, this is no stroll. The trainers here mean business and as much as I vocally complain during class, I totally love it for the camaraderie, the fitness example I can set for my children and the less jiggle in my jeans than would otherwise be there post babies.

During a recent class, we had several new moms to the group. The day's trainer came up with a fun way to distract us from the push-ups and step-ups and lunges and ab work by asking an endless number of get to know you questions. We spent the class learning each other's favorite junk foods, movies that make us cry, trend we just can't pull off, teen heart throbs and list toppers (you know, that list?).

Towards the end of class, she benignly asked, "What's your worst mommy moment?" The answers started with some of the moms of the youngest babies. Cute answers emerged like, "I totally scratched my baby putting him in the car seat." Or "I forgot to change her diaper and then wondered why she was upset at dinner." Or "I let him cry in the exersaucer for a few minutes so I can check my email."

I shot a look to my friend who has two kids about the same ages as mine and with whom I share my truly bad mommy moments and we giggled to each other quietly, "Just wait."

Just wait until you yell at your child. In public. Just wait until your child is choking on a grape you gave him and you're on the phone with 911 waiting for the paramedics to arrive. Just wait until your 5 month old falls off the bed while you're trying to put your older child in time out. Just wait until you snap at both your kids that mommy needs quiet time. Just wait until you wonder if all your mommy moments are bad mommy moments.

But they aren't. They happen. To all of us. And we survive them. More importantly, our children survive them. We aren't perfect, as much as we strive to be. Our children, as much as we wish they were or expect them to be, are far from perfect, too. And that's okay. If everything was so perfect all the time, would we laugh as hard at the malapropisms of a four year old at dinner? Would the slimy, squished avocado all over a naked baby belly and elbow and cheeks and hair be as endearing? Would the moment of quiet that descends on the house after bedtime be as peaceful? Would the glass of wine taste as delicious as it does after one of "those"days?

I like my life a little messy. I'll own my bad mommy moments and try hard not to repeat them. God knows there will be plenty of new ones to meet me down the road.

There is a reason that people don't pull you aside at your baby shower to clue you into the sheer number of moments you'll feel like bad mommy. It's because the good mommy moments are that much sweeter because of them.

So all you new moms who are feeling guilty for accidentally clipping that pesky baby nail too short or not checking on that weird cry in the middle of the night only to find your son covered in dried vomit the next morning, don't worry. It gets worse. And it gets oh so much better.

Thank You, Thursday

2010-10-14T14:33:00.002-04:00

Thursdays, the Peanut stays at school until 2pm. I can't even begin to describe how much I love those extra two hours once a week. Part of me feels guilty for feeling this good, but it's less about Peanut not being here and more about relaxed, one-on-one time with one child. Admittedly, one child who is a lot easier to entertain with a wooden spoon and stainless steel bowl than the other is. Not having to rush after Pumpkin's morning nap to make carpool doesn't hurt my goodwill feelings towards Thursday, either.

So today, I had a second cup of coffee, did some online research for that pesky November project, surfed eBay for some vintage hardware I'm in need of and cleaned up the kitchen. And that was only during Pumpkin's morning nap. Once he was awake, we read some stories, picked up some toys, put Little People in a bus, took Little People out of a bus, put Little People in a bus..., had lunch, played with a ball, giggled, watched the curtains move in the breeze.

I can't afford a nanny or regular babysitter. I don't have a cleaning lady. Shoot, we don't even have our yard service anymore. What I do have is lunch bunch every Thursday afternoon to give mommy a little breathing room. And it is worth each and every penny.

The bonus? Once we got home, Pumpkin went down for his afternoon nap and Peanut's having some rest time...even more time for mama! Did I mention how much I love Thursdays?

Running My Own Race

2010-10-08T08:23:00.000-04:00

I recently had the opportunity to see Secretariat*, Disney's newest inspiring true story movie along the lines of Miracle and The Rookie. Now, I'm no movie reviewer, so if you want a real review of the movie, I would trust this guy.

I did, however, like the movie. And not just because seeing such beautiful creatures as race horses on the big screen is a sight to be seen, or because the movie managed to make suspenseful a story line whose outcome you already knew, but because it was a story of a dream realized. A dream realized for many involved with this magnificent animal, but mostly, a dream realized for Penny Chenery.

Penny Chenery. A mom. In the early 70s. Who recognized an opportunity and fought for it. A woman who seemed to live simultaneously in Denver and Virginia to keep the family farm alive for the promise of this one horse. A woman in a man's world who simply went about her business, and kicked a little tail in the process.

As I embark on this journey to write a novel in a month, a scene from the movie keeps coming back to me (I suppose this is a spoiler, but probably not a surprise based on the fact that it's common knowledge Secretariat won the Triple Crown in 1973 and this is billed as a feel-good, family movie): Just before the Belmont, the final race of the three, Penny (played by Diane Lane) is joined at the pre-race ball by her children and husband. Within the excitement of the moment, you see how very proud her children are of her, of what she has accomplished, of what is to come. Despite the fact that the journey was a hardship on her family, that it took her away for days and weeks at a time, that it strained her marriage, it was recognized in the eyes of her children. Recognized, honored and celebrated.

I watched my own mother go back to school when my younger sister started kindergarten and saw her struggle to fulfill her many roles as wife, mother, student. I saw her start a new career and will always be proud of all that she has accomplished, especially because I never considered her a working mom, she was just mom. I watched my father put up his own shingle, straining our family resources and dynamic as the once traveling businessman was soon working from home, expected to shuttle my sister and I to orthodontist appointments and practices. Despite our teenage angst, he managed to carve out a successful business and I am enormously proud of all that he has accomplished.

Attempting to write a novel in a month is less about writing the great American novel in 30 days and more about the journey, of showing my kids that with great risk comes great reward. They may be too young to remember it, sure, but I will always have the experience to share with them. And, hopefully, the road will fork into new words that need to be written, opportunities and dreams.

Because one day, what I want is for my kids to be proud of their mom in the same way I am proud of my parents. I want them to feel a part of the woman I am and am becoming. I want them to see that reinvention, challenge, hardship and risk are what create their character and are to be invited, learned from and cherished.

We will never own a Triple Crown winner, but it doesn't mean our ending will be any less happy. As long as we remember to always run our own race.

*In the interest of full disclosure, I did receive free passes for me and a guest to an advanced screening of Secretariat thanks to Disney and BlogHer.

Gulp

2010-10-07T10:59:00.002-04:00

It's so easy, as a parent, to let time slip through my fingers. At the end of a long day, it's entirely too tempting to just throw on the sweats, crawl onto the couch and fire up the DVR.

The problem is that I am increasingly frustrated at how I tend to wear myself out for everyone else leaving me not only empty, but lacking the energy to do the things that fill me up. I'm tired of saying how much I want to write, yet doing very little of it. I'm tired of putting it off. I'm tired of making excuses and wondering what if...

And so, with great anxiety, excitement and a dash of crazy, I am announcing that I will be participating in this year's National Novel Writing Month. What does that mean? For the month of November, I have no more excuses. I will write something that resembles a novel before November 30th. 50,000 words. Come hell or high water.

I am confident that I will write a lot of crap. I am certain there will be a lot of tears. I am positive that there will be a lot of frustration as I try to find the time to do this. But, I needed a kick in the pants. A deadline. Accountability.

Yes, I'm scared to death. There are a lot of new what ifs that enter the picture and a lot of personal discomforts to endure. But, it's time. Time to take a risk. Time for mama.

So have some patience with me in November. I may be writing here more or less depending on how it's going. I do promise to update this space with my progress: the good, the bad and the most certainly ugly.

*Deep breath* Here we go...

Let it Be, Part II

2010-10-04T21:04:00.002-04:00

Parenting is all about the moments. The moments you stop doing the dishes to read a story with your child. The moments you hold a hurt child in your arms. The moments of laughter. The moments that shine.

Today, my little man asked me to dance. We'd been playing an intricate game of cement truck, fire truck and police car that had more plot twists than the final season of Lost, while listening to the Beatles. As "Let it Be" began to play, he looked up and said, "Mommy, let's dance." And so we did.

We stood, holding hands while we swayed, spun and dipped. I lifted him up on my hip and held tight to his little boy body, so different from the baby I once rocked to endless loops of music in the late afternoons. I showed him how a gentleman dances with a lady. I rested my head on his bony shoulder, breathing in the promise of the man he'd become. I felt his little hand on my back, the giggle in his throat as we turned.

The song played on. The afternoon sun slanted through the playroom windows and, for a moment, the whole world shone.

Pinball Thoughts

2010-09-22T14:04:00.002-04:00

Peanut was about 10 months old when I started this blog. He had finally settled into a predictable routine. I was settling into my role as a stay at home mom while the fog of his early infancy had cleared leaving me with the mental need for an outlet and the time to devote to it.

Three years later, Pumpkin is in his tenth month (yes, I'm in denial at how quickly that 11 month mark is approaching since the big bad first birthday is quick on its heels. Sniff.). He's finally settling into his little routines. School's back in and I have found a little mental breathing room in my life again.

As a result, I find my head is in constant action as a variety of thoughts, ideas, plans ricochet their way through my brain. I can't turn it off. Some of these ideas downright inspire me. Some scare the crap out of me. Some require more rumination and research. All demand more physical time than I seem to be able to conjure up and that, my friends, frustrates me no end. The time I *found* when Peanut was this age just doesn't exist this time around with an older child's demands.

My brain desperately wants to latch onto one of these thoughts/ideas/plans and dig in, get dirty in the execution/research/completion. Unfortunately, my physical self can't commit.

Am I rushing into it? Attempting to add more to my plate than my stomach can hold? Or am I afraid? Afraid of starting something I may love, something challenging, something time consuming that may make my short term uncomfortable but could pay off in the long term mama happiness bank?

I wish I knew. Unfortunately, Curious George is almost over and, therefore, so is my break time. One of these days I'll have it figured out. Won't I?

Attention, Attention

2010-09-14T09:18:00.004-04:00

Peanut is back in preschool leaving me and Pumpkin three hours together on M/T/W and five whole hours on Thursdays. I'm newly inspired to accomplish all this nonsense on my to do list with only one child underfoot. It's amazing how much I can get done, suddenly. Until I remembered that I should be inspired to pay some individual attention to my youngest.

So, last week after dropping Peanut off at his first day of school, I sat on the floor of the playroom across from Pumpkin, surrounded by toys and attempting to engage him. He, apparently, couldn't care less. He was much more interested in rolling a ball around the floor to chase after, independent of anything I was saying or doing. Hm.

I realized in that moment how much Peanut dictates the tempo of this house. I wondered what in the world was I doing with Peanut all day long when he was this age? I questioned whether I was short changing Pumpkin.

Then we picked Peanut up from school and Pumpkin's eyes lit up once the second car seat was filled with the exuberance that is his older brother. I saw how during afternoon play time, he eagerly wanted to play with Peanut, crawling after him, pulling up on the train table to see what was going on, searching out Peanut's toys to experiment with, imitating him at lunch time, squealing with delight when Peanut popped into his room after nap time.

Although Pumpkin may not get the same individual mom attention that Peanut did, he doesn't lack for actual attention. The example that Peanut sets, the silly things Peanut does to make Pumpkin laugh, the attempt Peanut makes (sometimes) to play with his little brother all give Pumpkin a level of attention and care that I couldn't possibly provide alone.

That doesn't mean I won't still try to play with the roly-poly goodness of my second born, it just means I'll relax into the moments more, not feel guilty for filling the dishwasher while Peanut's at school and look forward to the beauty of their reunions each day during car pool.

Do You Hear What I Hear?

2010-09-08T21:26:00.005-04:00

The blank page can sometimes be an evil thing. It stares at you, the cursor blinking, practically daring you to put thoughts to font. Then there is that delete button in the corner. Easily accessible to wiping out the babble, the bleh, the bad. Back to a blank page. Empty.

Somehow the clutter in my mind has manifested itself as a blank page. If only I could put that delete key to work in my brain. There has been a constant flow of thoughts, words, lists and tasks bumping around in my head. The result is a constant noise. An exhausting cacophony of to-dos, what ifs, not dones.

And so it is that I realize I haven't written in more than a week. More frustrating is that I haven't had that burning idea come to me in the shower that rattles around in my head until I just have to share it. And it's not for lack of things going on. Peanut's back in school this week. I'm tackling a side project. Pumpkin's cutting his third tooth and learning how to clap.

Maybe that's it. The busyness of life has clogged my thought process. Maybe. For now, I'll take small comfort in the words I've put down today. I'll work hard to fill another page tomorrow, or maybe the next day. And hopefully quiet the chaos enough to hear my own voice again.

That is the greater truth, isn't it? That we mother's are so busy listening for the cry on the playground, the bad dream whimpers in the middle of the night, the lack of sound when a toddler and a crayon might have been left alone too long, the yawns before nap time, that we often forget to listen to ourselves. And we need to hear ourselves. We need to hear the solutions, the dreams, the voice of our self. The self that isn't mommy. The self that isn't the speediest grocery shopper this side of the Mississippi. The self searching for words to put on a blank page.

So I'll take this rare new moment of quiet in my house while Peanut's at school and Pumpkin's napping to take a deep breath and listen. What will you hear?

A Battle I'm Going to Lose

2010-08-30T13:54:00.002-04:00

It's not often that the hubby and I disagree on parenting issues or techniques, thank goodness. We tend to agree on how to handle the kids, the discipline problems, the outings, the TV time. And it makes life a lot easier. Or at least more consistent for the kiddos.

We have, however, come to an impasse.

Next weekend is the Chick-Fil-A Kickoff Game here in Atlanta, featuring my North Carolina Tar Heels against the LSU Tigers. It's been a long time since our football team has earned such national recognition and we've been pretty excited about the game since it was announced. Of course a lot of that excitement stemmed from the fact that we can go see our beloved Heels without having to drive six hours to Chapel Hill with two screaming kids in the car. To top it off, my lovely parents are going to come down for the holiday weekend and watch the boys while the hubby and I go the game. Bonus!

So far, so good. No issues here.

Until we began discussing other activities to take place over the weekend. I suggested that we could take in a bit of the Decatur Book Festival on Saturday morning. I even found out that Anna Dewdney (author of one of some of our faves, Llama, Llama Mad at Mama and Llama, Llama Red Pajama) will be leading a Pajama Parade and reading Saturday morning. I suggested we could go with the boys and my folks that morning, be home in time for nap time that afternoon and then we can head out to the game.

I was then informed: "Honestly, I'd rather take Peanut over to the College Game Day stuff that morning. I mean, it's the Heels."

Books vs. sports. My first love vs. the hubby's. *sigh*

Somehow, I know how this one's going to turn out.

A Delayed Answer

2010-08-24T21:31:00.000-04:00

While catching up with a former colleague on the phone last week, she announced that she's expecting. I am thrilled for her and of course offered a very sincere "if you have questions about anything..." And then when asked what my must-haves would be, I drew a blank. I think I threw out some random thoughts on snap bibs over Velcro and cloth diapers as burp cloths, but I'm sure nothing that the glowing, expectant mom hoped to see twinkling on a registry list.

After Peanut was born, I had lots of answers. When friends asked for my advice or opinions, I had them. What I liked about strollers, the best bottles, the most comforting swing, thoughts on play mats and exersaucers and post-delivery expectations... Why is it that it's so hard now? Is it that those were all things I didn't have to consider this time around so the decision making process is that much more distant? Or am I too busy to care anymore?

I think the reality is that the second time around you aren't analyzing the stuff anymore. You use what works and you don't what doesn't. You move through life with a bit more of an accelerated purpose than you did when your focus could be whether this toy or that was holding your little one's attention. For example, today Pumpkin's favorite play things were playground mulch at the park and an IKEA catalog. And I'm okay with that.

So after two kids, here is my list of must haves for new mamas:

* Love - Be ready to feel love in a way that you never have before. In a way that lives and breathes separate from you but inside of you at the same time. Be prepared to lose your breath at their beauty and chunks of time staring into their little faces.

* Patience - Whether it's sleepless nights, post-partum hormones, or fitting into your pre-pregnancy pants, you'll need patience to deal with it all. Remind your spouse of this fact. He'll need this one, too.

* Confidence - Everyone will tell you that your mothering instinct will kick in. In some way shape or form, it will. That doesn't mean that you will miraculously know exactly how to handle every baby situation thrown at you or can whip up a cake from scratch, but it does mean that you will be the best observer of and advocate for your baby. Whatever you do, trust yourself to know when you need to ask for help, ask if something's "right," or stand up for what you want. It's your body (during and post-delivery) and it's your baby. Nurses, doctors, family members, grocery store clerks, they all mean well, but they aren't going to be the ones nursing your baby at 2am or pacing the floors when they've missed curfew in 16 years. It's you and your kid in it for the long haul. Start trusting yourself now.

* Rest - All moms need to recharge in order to be the best mom they can be. You can follow the whole "sleep when the baby sleeps" mantra or simply take a bath or go out for coffee or put on a pair of heels when you go to the pediatrician's office. Whatever it takes to make you feel like you, do it. It sounds easy, but can prove to be difficult. Use that confidence you registered for above to help you stand up for your rest time.

* Stroller/Carrier/Car Seat/High Chair - Yup, you're going to need all that stuff. Don't stress about it. You do NOT need a $1,500 stroller just because the latest celebrimom has it. You do need to pick products that are safe and reliable and meet whatever other standards you have. Just remember that your kid will throw up in it, at least once, no matter how much you spend on it.

* A Sense of Humor - I can guarantee that your sweet, adorable little baby will wait to spit up all over you until after you shower for the first time in two days and put on your last clean shirt. You will also experience one blessed morning when you are actually leaving on time, not 15 minutes late, and realize, as you pick up the infant seat with your precious bundle snugly snapped inside and grinning at you, that he has pooped. Big time. If you can't learn to laugh at these situations, it's going to be a long road.

* Your baby - All you really need is this new little person you get to spend the rest of your life getting to know. And all they really need is you. The gear, the clothes, the toys, it's all just stuff. The soft baby smell at the back of the neck, the lip pursing when they're fast asleep, the sighs, the grunts, the smiles, the cries, the things that only you will know about your child, that's what you'll remember down the road, not the model number of the car seat or what color the Boppy cover was.

That being said, you will actually need diapers. But you can always swipe a few from the hospital at discharge.

Grading Mommy

2010-08-16T14:04:00.004-04:00

I chose this. This life. This job. This this. This stay-at-homeness. My choice. For my family.

So, why do I sometimes stop and wonder what the heck I was thinking to leave my job, my professional persona, my heels behind? Why do I feel I'm not as good at this whole stay at home mom gig as I thought I would be?

Back in the working world I suffered through the annual review. I took those days away from real work to complete the torturous process of self-analysis and goal setting for the next year. I strangely enjoyed those meetings, dreaming up new challenges and ways to meet them, looking back on a year's worth of work to see what, in actuality, had I accomplished. New clients, client growth, story successes. All documented in a spreadsheet or report and gone over by bosses and bosses bosses followed up with a line-by-line of new goals and the all important performance raise circled at the bottom, initialed by me, put in a folder to endure the rinse and repeat process the following year.

The parameters for this new job are a bit more variable. Success or failure is fluid, the final results not in until years and years in the future. Instead, I find I measure myself against the day-to-day to-do list. And I'm often disheartened by what I see.

Cooking? Passable. Nothing too inspired.

Laundry? Onesies still banana stained, shorts still ice cream stained and really what is up with t-shirt sweat stains? And that doesn't count the laundry I forget in the washer for three days that has to be rerun.

Housekeeping? Ugh. Don't ask. The house is under a constant tornado watch. For every 10 things I clear off a surface, there seem to be 15 taking their place in the same spot by the time I return to it. I can't seem to get ahead.

The kids? Unpredictable. At times sweet, loving, funny and well behaved. Other times, hitting and pushing and obstinate.

We're all our own worst critics and how any one hour goes can define how we feel about the job we're doing as parents. So why is this weighing heavy on my mind all of a sudden?

Peanut's birthday party.

I put together a "handmade" pirate-themed party for Peanut's fourth. We did a treasure hunt obstacle course, complete with treasure map that arrived in a glass bottle. I had a great time making it theme-y without making it pricey and the kids had a blast. Peanut's still bringing it up and I received rave reviews from my friends and family.

And it felt good. Really good. That's when I realized how rare that kind of feedback is. How long it's been since I had accomplished something concrete with real results. Something that would have made the spreadsheet:

2010 Goal: Peanut's 4th Birthday Party.

Create theme and execute on a budget a two hour party with snacks that results in joy, laughter and memories for the birthday boy and 10 to 15 young guests.

Unfortunately, most of the mommy tasks don't fit so well into the corporate personnel analysis model and I'm left wondering if I'm doing enough, well enough. The fact of the matter is, who would be qualified to judge this job I'm doing anyway?

I know this is a circular problem. There are no answers. There are no yearly reviews to fall back on. There are only the day-to-day challenges. There are only the highs and the lows.

Then there are the raspberries that Peanut blew on Pumpkin's chunky baby cheeks this evening until they both dissolved into wet, sloppy giggles.

That's when I remember that I chose this. This life. This job. This this. This stay-at-homeness. My choice. For my family.

Four

2010-08-10T13:04:00.003-04:00

Four. A presidential term. A college education. The number of Beatles.

But today, four means the length of time Peanut has been a part of our world.

I've struggled with what to write about Peanut on his fourth birthday. Struggled partly because I'm still in a post party weekend exhaustion funk, partly because the past year has been all over the map. Three was not exactly an easy age. Peanut discovered his power. The power to stall, to pick the most inconvenient (read: public) moments to misbehave, to hit, to negotiate everything, to push my buttons.

Although this new found power turned a lot of our day-to-day interactions into a virtual tug-of-war that has often driven me to the brink of my patience, we have also had some super fantastic moments.

Peanut started preschool where a whole new little boy began to emerge. A confident, although sometimes coy, learner. A kid who started to learn how to make friends and negotiate those relationships on his own. A boy who is starting to find his legs (in all their gangly, knobby-kneed glory) and use them for more coordinated play, running, jumping, dancing, climbing. A curious child before school, he is now even more so.

He is a creative child when it comes to narrative play and building, less so when it comes to coloring or art. He can be literal to a fault. He is a sponge when it comes to letters, spelling, numbers, books. He is a creature of habit. He loves slapstick and will watch Wipeout with his daddy (DVR'd for Saturday morning viewing) and America's Funniest Videos just to laugh at people falling or getting hit in the face with something. I watch simply to watch him, giggling at his reactions.

He also became a big brother this year. He can be a sweet and loving big brother. He loves to make Pumpkin laugh, will offer him toys and roll a ball with him to Pumpkin's delight. And then, he can test his boundaries with baby brother with a random whack, push or bonk. Recent weeks have shown Peanut finding more joy in his brother and the potential for their play relationship and I can't wait to see what develops as Pumpkin continues to grow.

He continues to amaze, confound and tickle me. I am blessed to have him in my life, Pumpkin is lucky to have him as a big brother and our family wouldn't be the same without him. Even on his most difficult days, I count myself lucky to be his mama.

Happy Birthday, Peanut.

A Fly on the Wall

2010-08-04T21:43:00.002-04:00

I distinctly remember learning to swim at the local Y. The damp, chlorinated smell of the indoor pool. The slippery blue kick boards. The thrill of graduating to the deep end. I loved every second of it.

Peanut started his Y swim lessons last week. 30 years later, it's foam noodles and buckets with "Cars" characters on them. But the indoor pool? Yup, smells the same. Timeless.

I am able to watch the lessons from the other side of a glass wall in a little lounge area. It's been fascinating to be a fly on the wall. I have been able to observe him listening to another adult, being forced out of his comfort zone, see the excitement of achievement, gaining confidence in the water. But, almost more importantly, I have found myself learning. Learning that perhaps I hold Peanut back sometimes.

This summer, the times we've been in the pool, I am that helicopter mom. I live in fear of something happening. The first day that the instructor let Peanut go to swim to the wall on his own, he sank. I nearly jumped up to bang on that glass wall to pull my kid up. BUT before I could, there Peanut was. Swimming. Well, making an attempt at swimming. When he pulled himself up on that wall, shaking the water out of his hair, he was grinning ear to ear.

And so was I.

Tomorrow is our last class and I'm already going to miss it. I'm going to miss the activity it provides, the confidence it gives him, the totally cute, 20-something, tan, shirtless swim instructor...(yeah, I need to get out more).

I am thankful that I have had this time to take a breath and be an observant mom. Our day-to-day lives tend to be a constant conflict of the in the moment kid-centered activity and mom's

hovering, marathon long to-do list. As a result, it's sometimes hard to really see Peanut and the child he is becoming.

I'm happy to report, he is becoming one fantastic kid. Maybe not the best swimmer yet, but a happy, eager, fun little boy. And mom? She's learning to trust the boy he is becoming.

We'll see you at the pool.