Super Why is Super Cool!

"Supah why! Supah why! On da TV Mama!" She begs for it every day. It's a show that teaches reading and writing and she isn't even two yet, but she begs for it every day.

To be fair, C, who is the perfect age for the show loves it too. And she's actually learning things when she watches, which is great.

Two weeks ago if you had asked me, I would have told you that it was an "eihn" show. It was OK, the girls liked it and it met the educational level I look for in the shows they watch. But I just couldn't get into it. There was all this switching of characters, jumping from one world to the next, jumping back, and taboo of all taboos in my book, changing words around in books.

Then I went to a special Super Why presentation hosted by PBS and the creators of the show and I learned that the characters transform into super heroes when they dive into books because preschoolers feel like superheros when they first learn to read. I learned that they fly from one world to the next, because duh, diving into a book feels like changing worlds. And I learned that they change words in books because reading is all about power and words are the key to that power.

Each Super Why episode poses a problem that any preschooler can relate to - a baby sister that won't stop crying or a parent who is too busy to help, then takes the viewer on a journey into a book to find the solution. They jump into little spaceships and shout something about always finding the answer in a book. The reader, the writer, and the avid book buyer in me loves that part.

Super Why is a PBS show created by the same person who created Blues Clues, another old family favorite. That's the show that taught C all about colors and shapes, about mail and yes even a bit about friendship and new siblings. It was a great show and now that she's outgrown it I'm delighted to find some of the same great thinking is behind their new favorite show.

Tomorrow when the usual litany starts up I'll be switching the channel to KQED, our local PBS station, and who knows, I might just start singing along when they fly into a book.

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Oh! Oh! Oh! Almost 100 votes! Swoon. I pink puffy heart each and every one of you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
There's still time to vote in the BlogLuxe awards! You'll find It's my life... in the Blog I've Learned The Most From category where you can cast your vote once a day until July 6th.

When the best isn't the best after all

We finally figured out the preschool thing. C is headed to a new place in the fall. It wasn't an easy decision, but a necessary one. In the end we just wanted to do what was right for her.

And isn't that always the case?

Parenting is all about making choices, making decisions. We're given options and we chose what we think is going to be best for our kids, our families, our lives.

So yes, we switched preschools because the class sizes and school are bigger, which we think will help C prepare for Kindergarten, the schedule works better for all of us, and the price tag is smaller. But other than that we're flying blind. Well not so blind since the school comes highly recommended, but still.

My fear as a parent is that I'll someday make the wrong decision. It won't be wrong based on the information that I had, it'll be wrong because of a factor I didn't even know about. Which, technically can't possibly be my fault, but which I'll never forgive myself in any case.

The list of 'what ifs' is endless. I mean, what if some child next year brings some rare dread disease to school and C catches it? What if there's a child in the class that she fights with every day? What if she doesn't get along with her teachers? What if I get into a car accident turning into the preschool's driveway? All things that would have been avoided if we'd stuck with the original preschool.

And technically all things that could just as easily happened at the original preschool. (Except for the teacher thing, because they rocked. And I didn't just say that because one of them might happen to maybe read this blog. Hi S-R! Ahem.)

In the end there's only so much planning you can do. You make the best decision possible with the information you are given and you hope that it all works out for the best.

In Anita Shreve's Testimony parents learn the hard way that sending your child to an expensive elitist private boarding school might seem like the right thing to do. Or at the very least is what society might assume is the right thing to do. But in the end it doesn't protect them any better than keeping them home and sending them to public school. It's the story of every parent's worst nightmare. You make that choice, the one you think is best for your child, and you learn the hard way that you were very, very wrong. Which only goes to show that sometimes "best" doesn't mean "most expensive" or even "what other people might think is best."

I'm taking this lesson to heart and I'm struggling to keep my family and more importantly my child in mind as I make decisions about her future. I truly think this school is what's best for her and I just hope that I'm right.

Which takes care of preschool for next year, leaving me to just figure out what to do about Kindergarten the year after.

This post was inspired by this month's Silicon Valley Moms Blog book club. Click through to see other posts inspired by Anita Shreve's Testimony.

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I'm blown away. 90 votes and counting! I feel special and honored to have wonderful blog readers like you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
There's still time to vote in the BlogLuxe awards! You'll find It's my life... in the Blog I've Learned The Most From category where you can cast your vote once a day until July 6th.

The return of Egmos, the Evil Green Monster of Self-Doubt

First there was Egmos. (For those of you who don't feel like clicking through, Egmos is my own personal Evil Green Monster of Self-Doubt.)

Then there was plain ol' laziness and procrastination.

Third there was life which has a tendency to get in the middle of everything else. (Though some would argue that everything else is also life, which makes that analogy a bit convoluted and complicated and a bit like a snake chasing its own tail.)

But despite all that I was pretty darn close to reaching my self imposed goal of 80 000 words by the end of June.

In fact, if I had stayed on track I would have reached my goal without any issues.

But last week I started to doubt myself. I started to think that the whole book sucked and that I was wasting my time. So I took a day off. Worked on a ton of other stuff. Then I took another day off, and another. Not surprisingly I fell behind. A lot behind. So far behind that it's June 28th today, there are three days left in June, and I'm only at 70 699. And while I know that it's not really about the numbers, it's about the story, my story isn't done. It needs a few more words. Like maybe another 9 301 words.

All the writing books I've been reading (shh don't tell my dad, he thinks they're useless) say that your first novel is usually unpublishable. And if it's going be unpublishable maybe it's not even worth finishing, right?

Well, uh, no.

After a week of that kind of lamentation I realized what was going on. Egmos is changing his tactics. He's getting smarter. But I'm not falling for it. I'm taking a stand.

First of all, not all first novels are unpublishable. Some are quite good.

Second, even if it's never published at least it will have helped me learn and grow as a writer. Something I can definitely use.

Third, after all this time and hard work I owe it to myself to at the very least finish the first draft and then rework it until it's as good as possible.

So there Egmos! Get back in your lair. You aren't going to win this round. I will finish this draft, and the ones that follow. Even if it takes me to the end of the week instead of the end of the month.

Friday Flasback - Letting family in is a double edged sword

Friday Flashback is all about bringing to light some of my favorite posts from my archives to breathe new life into them. Some days it's just good to remember that we have to stay true to ourselves as writers. This was originally published in December 2008.

Letting Family in is a double edged sword

I love that my family reads my blog. (Hi guys!) I know a lot of people go to great lengths to keep their families out, but I really, honestly, love that they check in on me on a somewhat regular basis.

That said, I'm not a person who finds it easy to open up to people in person, especially to my family. I like to maintain the illusion that everything is always hunky dory, peachy keen. I'm the tough one, the one you can rely on, the one who'll put on her big girl panties and just deal so you can fall apart. I'd have to say that 90% of the time it's not even an act, but trust me, you probably won't ever know when I'm in the throes of the 10% when I am acting all cool and collected and melting down inside.

The only time I feel comfortable opening up is when my fingers are tippy tapping on a keyboard. Ask M! If I have something I need to vent about I do it over IM or over email. The words just flow better when they're coming out through my fingers. They somehow always get jumbled up between my brain and my mouth. So I let lose on my blog. Venting to the Internet gets out all the stress and the angst, then I feel better and I can get on with my cool and collected life.

Are you seeing where this is going?

Right. If my blog is where I lower my guard and show my true murky angsty colors, and my family reads my blog, then they know that I'm not always doing awesome.

Now, when I started blogging, I really wanted to shut them out so they would never know about that side of me. Then I realized that having people know that I wasn't Super Girl wasn't a bad thing, and could even be a good thing, so I threw the gates open and let them in. And then I discovered the one drawback. These people, they love me (Oh, shush, yes you do.), and it turns out that they worry about me. So, every time I write about having a middle of the night meltdown, or about not getting any sleep, or even about depression, then they all call to see how I'm feeling, and I feel terrible for having worried them.

So then the one thing I really didn't want starts happening, I start to censor myself before I write. I stop and wonder if what I want to unload will cause my family to fret. I agonize over how what I write is going to make them feel, I imagine how they're going to react, and I discard great blog posts, fantastic topics, and tough emotions that I really should be sharing with the world both because it makes me feel better and because I know it helps people to know that they aren't alone in the world.

The more I think of it I realize that the issue isn't really that I don't want to worry them, it's that I'm back at that "I don't want to admit that I can't always deal" and that I'm hiding behind a smokescreen so I don't have to confront my true feelings.

Well, guess what feelings, you're busted! I'm on to you and I'm going to out you to the world. Heh.

And no, in case you were wondering, this is not a post about me being covertly depressed. Things are actually pretty good these days, if you ignore the fact that I still never get to sleep and the fact that my writing is bringing in close to $0 at a time when we need more money, not less. It's a post about the challenges of opening up to the Internet when it's filled with familiar faces. It's a post about baring yourself to the world and then putting your clothes back on and looking your readers in the eye.

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RIP Michael Jackson... finally.

When I was a kid Michael Jackson was the epitome of cool. I remember practicing my moonwalk and thriller dance with a friend. We were young, really young. Maybe 7? Or 8? He wasn't weird yet. Just cool. And maybe a bit odd, or rather hip, which is how odd rock stars seem to the general public.

I don't really have any other Michael Jackson memories from my childhood, other than the one of that odd girl in High School who worshiped him to the point of having his life-size poster in her room. I bet she's crying tonight.

I know all the music, can sing along to most songs, so obviously there were more encounters along the way. But none quite as vivid as those two.

Until he starting making headlines for less savory reasons than record breaking songs, that is.

Child molester. Crazy man. Unhinged. Bleached skin. Excessive plastic surgery. Hanging babies from balconies.

He got called so many ugly names. The press loved to pick on him. But in all the videos they showed all I ever saw was a sad, sad man who just looked lost and confused.

A huge chunk of the master's thesis I wrote on children's literature covered the life of J.M. Barrie, a man who didn't just write about being an eternal child, but lived it.

Michael Jackson didn't have the same life as the author of Peter Pan, but he definitely identified with the man, or at least his main character. And for good reason. He always struck me as a confused child stuck in a grown man's body. A man-child who had never been given a chance to grow up properly.

The whole thing was just tragic.

A child caught in a man's body, trying hard to recover a childhood he hadn't been allowed to live, but only managing to horrify countless adults who expected him to act like them.

The aerial shots of his personal amusement park never fail to make me sad. All the money in the world couldn't make him a kid again. And then he ran out.

I hope that wherever Michael Jackson is now he finally gets to be the person he wanted to be in the body he wanted to have. I hope he gets to play as much as he wants without people criticizing his every move. I hope he gets to be the kid he never got to be.

Rest in peace Michael Jackson. Thanks for the musical legacy you left to us. We'll be sure to hand it down so that it wasn't all in vain.

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Thank you to everyone who has voted once or more in the BlogLuxe awards! There's still time to vote! You'll find It's my life... in the Blog I've Learned The Most From category where you can cast your vote once a day until july 6th.

The blogosphere is a magical place of love and support

Sometimes you come across a blog that tells a story that makes you stop and think. The blogger's story strikes a chord, sparking a slew of "what ifs" or "oh shits."

The story and the circumstance draws you in. Fascinates you. You want to just dip a toe in, but you find yourself wading in, deeper and deeper.

Most of the time you'll read until your curiosity has been satisfied. I mean, let's be honest, part of why we read blogs is because we're all a bit voyeurs at heart, right?

But sometimes it goes beyond morbid fascination. Sometimes you get pulled in further. The writing is amazing, mesmerizing. The chord keeps getting struck. You can't tear yourself away, no matter how much work or life beckons. You find yourself going to the beginning of the archives and working your way through the whole story, getting more attached to the characters and more invested in the story as you read through the posts.

By the time you've caught up, you've already put the blog in your reader, or you've signed up for the email updates. You don't want to miss the next post. You've cried and laughed along with the blogger. They have no idea you've been along for the ride (even if a bit belatedly), but you feel as close to them as you are to your "real" friends. You know you're not the only one who feels like this, and that's more than OK.

That closeness and that investment is what makes the blog world so unique and wonderful. The strangers who reach out and become friends make this space magical. Complete strangers stop by a blog on their way to some other Internet destination, get pulled in, stop, pull up a chair, and in the process stop being strangers and become part of a support network. It's a community of people who for the most part have never met, but who will move heaven and earth to help each other. Amazing.

Whenever I discover one such blog and witness that blog magic all over again I'm moved and thrilled. I'm a part of that world. I reach out to bloggers who need the support and I'm comforted by the knowledge that should I ever need that support my community will be there for me. It's a good feeling. No, it's a wonderful feeling.

Matt, Liz and Madeline is the blog that inspired this post. Before you click through, please be warned that you're going to need tissues. Lots and lots of tissues.

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The things that go through my mind all day every day

At any given time during the day the following thoughts rotate again and again and again through my head. Welcome to my madness.

- Probably should pick that up and put it away.

- Darn it. Who left that there so I could trip on it?

- She's almost two. She's supposed to be a belligerent hard-headed brat explorer.

- Work, right. Work need to focus and do some work.

- Oh! Twitter! What's going on on Twitter?

- Mmm. Candy. Do we have any candy? Should I go get some candy?

- When did I last exercise? I should probably do that more often.

- Mmm. Coffee. Darn. Too late for coffee.

- So tired. So very, very tired.

- She's 4. She's supposed to... wait, no, she's not supposed to act like this until she's 12.

- Dinner. What to make for dinner? Dinner. Dinner.

- How many times have we been to McDonald's this week?

- Work. Need to work more so we have more money so we can go out to dinner somewhere other than McDs.

- Dinner. What to make for dinner? Dinner. Dinner.

- Oh! Plenty of time before I go get the kids!

- Novel. Novel. Novel. What are these guys supposed to be doing now?

- Why do I even bother? This is no good. No one will want it.

- Just get it out. Just write it down. I can edit it later. I can edit it later.

- Hey! This isn't half bad.

- Oh, wait. It is.

- Oh! Now this is more like it.

- Damn. Time to go get the kids and I was finally really cranking the words out.

- Dinner. Dinner. Never decided what to make for dinner.

- Seriously, should have picked up at least some of this stuff.

- Wonder what I should blog about tonight.

- Wasn't I supposed to post something at The Lemonade Stand today? I should probably get on that.

- Wow. It's late. I should get some sleep at some point.

- Wonder if the kids will sleep through tonight. Doubtful.

- When do they leave for college?

- When do I leave for Chicago?

- Hey! Wonder what's happening on Twitter.

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To all the friends and family I really want to visit

I know you're waiting for us to come visit. I know we've been saying we were planning on coming for years.

And we are. Honest!

It's just...

Well, it's just that traveling with kids is... is... challenging. Yes, let's go with challenging.

First you have to pack the entire content of your house into a bag that you can easily handle while carrying a kid, a car seat, and your own stuff while running to catch a plane that you've almost missed because you forgot some essential something like a lovey or a bottle.

Then you actually have to get where you're going. Now flying with a kid or two is not exactly relaxing or fun. Sometimes it involves bodily fluids, but only when you've forgotten to pack a change of clothes for yourself.

Once you get to your destination, it's crazy, but you can't just expect your children to be as excited as you to be in a fun new place. Nooooo. Kids like routine. Kids like their own home, their own room, their own beds. They don't usually deal well with strange cribs or, say, time differences. So they don't sleep well. Or eat well. And they get clingy. And whiny. And they make it very hard to, say, I don't know, socialize with the friends or family you've traveled so far to see.

And all that is on a good trip! On a bad trip you or your kids get sick! Ear infections, stomach bugs, croup, laryngitis - we've had them all on trips. And nothing says "I'm thrilled to be here with you" than spending a week moaning on someone's couch. Unless it's spending a week crouching over someone's toilet.

If you don't get sick and the kids actually cooperate you can possibly enjoy a nice trip. You know, between naps, snacks, and all the other kid related interruptions that will pop up throughout the day.

At the end of it all you have to repeat the crazy packing and traveling rigmarole that you did at the beginning, just to get home where you will finally crash in dire need of a vacation to recover from your vacation. Precious little catch up time will have been enjoyed. Plenty of whining will have been endured.

So please, dear friends and family awaiting our visit, trust me when I say that it's not you, it's us. We're just not ready to commit. We'll be there soon. You know, once the kids are off to college and we can finally travel in peace.

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Whirlwind trip to Tahoe

5 hours by car to get there and 5 hours by car to get back. For a week long vacation that makes plenty of sense. For a short weekend getaway it's a little crazy, but it was well worth it.

We headed out on Friday and after a looooooong couple hours we got out of a traffic jam for an impromptu tour of the Jelly Belly factory. Sadly there were no pictures allowed on the tour(and I forgot my camera in the car), so I have nothing to show for that awesome part of our weekend. But suffice it to say that I'm pretty sure that every trip to Tahoe will now include a side trip.

We arrived at the lake late Friday night and hurried to get the kids into bed so we could enjoy a nice long soak in the hot tub. Karma followed us to Tahoe and the counter to that short moment was that Little L was up half the night and in our bed the rest of the night.

Despite being exhausted come Saturday morning we pulled it together so we could make the best of our short time in the mountains. M headed out to play a short round of golf with his dad and the girls and I went to a playground with M's mother.

C showed everyone how much of a monkey she has become.
And she spent some time upside down.

It was hard not to.
This was the view from the playground.

And this.

Little L focused hard on climbing stairs.

So she could go down the slide.

Then they worked on a joint masterpiece.

Beautiful. No?

Not quite as pretty as this...
But they're still young.

On Sunday we took a trip up the mountain in some gondolas repurposed during the summer months for hard core mountain bikers. We sidestepped the fully kitted out bikers and their muddy bikes and rode up to enjoy the view.

And we took advantage of the backdrop
to get a few family shots.

Little L was not a fan of the gondola.
She quietly informed us repeatedly that "she no like it."

C wasn't too sure either.

But she relaxed enough to goof off with dad.

Back on the ground and with some pizza in her belly
Little L was much happier.

We finally packed up and headed home. It was a whirlwind of a trip, but successful in every way (except for the sleep thing which was no better the second night.)

We loaded up some very tired girls.

Who fell asleep shortly after I shot these two pictures.

And completely missed the last view of the lake.

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Friday Flasback - Late afternoon at the beach

Friday Flashback is all about bringing to light some of my favorite posts from my archives to breathe new life into them. Since we just arrived in Lake Tahoe (where we're spending the weekend) here's a post I wrote last time we were here. When Little L couldn't even walk yet... This was originally published in August 2008.

Late afternoon at the beach

The water tickles their toes as they play on the sticky wet sand, each too engrossed in the moment to notice the pesky lake. One child gathers rocks for their stone pit, another futilely tries to gather sand with a snowball maker, but the recalcitrant dry sand escapes in the wind.

The warm sun is setting off to the right and the lazy breeze chills the grown-ups resting and reading on the sandy towels close to where the kids are playing. They shift and try to shield themselves from the increasingly persistent wind, reluctant to admit that it's getting a bit too cold to prolong the beach afternoon. It's hard to admit that the lazy afternoon must come to an end and that everyone must be roused from their blissfully relaxed state.

A brave few venture back into the lake to rinse off sandy hands and feet. Others start to gather towels and beach toys. “What are we doing for dinner?” someone asks, as they finally turn their thoughts to the rest of the day.

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It's your lucky night. Since I'd rather go sit in a hot tub and have some wine rather than pull winners tonight, I'm leaving the ActiveIon contest open a couple more hours! Enter to win the cleaning tool of the future! Come on, you know you want to clean your house with electrified water! Learn all about the ActiveIon Pro and enter to win one here. ($300 value! No joke!)

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Did someone see the truck that hit me?

This week has been brutal.

Stressful, fun, angst-ridden, uplifting, tiring, and everything in between.

Even though I still feel somewhat out of my depth, I'm loving the thrill of doing something new and having people think I'm doing a good job. Even better I'm thoroughly enjoying having someone challenge me to be more than I was and trusting me to succeed.

Do you know how long it's been since someone thought I was worth challenging?

A long, long time, that's how long.

In the middle of all this inspiring stress I've been running around going to blogger events and staff parties. And then coming home to deal with a crabby somewhat out of sorts toddler who thought that it would be a hoot to wake up four times between midnight and 5am last night.

The sum total of all this is that I'm ecstatic and exhausted. And my body is failing me. I'm losing my voice, my stress induced gum infection has flared up, and I've been battling a migraine that comes and goes at will. To say that I'm a bit of a wreck is kind of an understatement. I feel like I've been hit by a truck. A truck with spikes on its wheels.

Tomorrow we're heading to Tahoe for the weekend. I'm hoping for a long lazy afternoon lying on the couch with a nice thick novel. Instead I'll probably be on the floor playing with the girls or out hiking around the lake. Assuming of course that I get through the to do list that was sorely neglected during all the running around and partying.

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Not just Mommy Bloggers out there!

For the last year every blogger event I've attended has essentially been a mommy blogger event. For the most part a mommy blogger event organized for the Silicon Valley Moms Blogs writers.

I love my SV Moms buddies. I might have even raved about them last night in my exhausted rambling that usurped the brilliant and coherent blog post that I should have written. I'm happy to call many of them my friends and I never fail to be delighted to see them when we congregate.

What's there not to love? They're writers. They're moms. They're writers who like to talk and write about being moms. Dudes, these are my people!

This year has been a good year for Mommy Bloggers. We've been, ah, loud (Some louder than others.) and for the most part we've been heard. Between the blogger events, the fun on Twitter, the hanging around each other's blogs, it's not impossible that I've forgotten about all the other kinds of blogging that women are doing.

I've been sitting here, delighted to be heading to BlogHer in a couple short weeks, thrilled about meeting all these other Mommy Bloggers that I've only ever met on line. And I somehow forgot that BlogHer isn't BlogMom it's BlogHer. As in her, she, all the other women bloggers that get forgotten and even at times shoved aside by the Mommy Blogger tornado.

Last weekend's Pre-BlogHer meet-up was a gentle reminder of the great big wake-up call that I would have been hit with in July.

We Mommy Bloggers, we may be loud, but we're definitely not alone out there. There are food bloggers, movie bloggers, bloggers who rant on politics, bloggers who take on feminism, and any number of other crucial topics.

These women are cool. They are smart, they are sometimes phenomenal writers, sometimes brilliant thinkers. They take to their computers and they pound out blog posts that I would never in a million years be able to write.

And they rarely if ever write about their kids.

These women are cool. And they intimidate the heck out of me.

So if you're at BlogHer you'll probably find me standing with a ton of other mommy bloggers being loud and goofy so that you won't notice how nervous your ability to talk about things other than kids and family life makes me. Do me a favor, come on over and chat me up. I swear I do have other things to say. I just don't always have the nerve to come out and say it. It's just so much easier to distract everyone with funny stories about my kids.

Too fried for paragraphs or even sentences

Slept terribly last night.

Morning caffeine buzz never left my system.

Jerked awake every hour or so.

Woke up crabby and tired.

Spent four hours in a meeting.

Or was it five?

Then headed to another event.

Got to sit and write for an hour in between.

Got lots done.

Then Open Office crashed.

Had to rewrite a whole scene.

First time around was better.

Still reached 66 580 words.

Total.

Not just today.

Today was all of 681.

Not my best day.

Spent the evening learning about Super Why and PBS kids shows.

And schmoozing with SV Moms bloggers.

SV Moms bloggers ROCK.

Went out to P.F. Chang's with some of the bloggers.

Did I mention they rock?

Not really sure how I managed to drive home.

Driving when you're this tired is scary.

And probably dangerous.

Five more things to do before I can let my eyes close.

Then it's sleep glorious sleep.

Until I start all over again in the morning.

Faking it 'til I make it.

Back in the day I used to spend a my summers at horse riding camp in Surrey, England. It was a fabulous place - a huge farm in the middle of nowhere. There were endless rolling hills and an amazing number of horses. It was a small camp, run out of a lovely couple's home, where a dozen or so campers would be dropped off every Sunday at noon and stay until the following Saturday when we would be picked up by our parents - tired, grimy, and happy.

The routine was always the same - up at dawn, shower, dress, clean up the rooms. Rush down to a delectable home cooked breakfast, clean up, then head outside to wait for the day's horse assignment.

Mornings were reserved for long hacks (rambling treks on horseback) and before we could leave we had to be assigned our horses so we could go out to the fields to collect them, groom them, saddle them, and finally head out.

I remember the angst of waiting for that assignment. We stood, huddled close together, fully dressed in our riding gear, outside the quaint little kitchen window, waiting for the mistress of the house to swing it open and announce our fate for the day. Would we get a nice quiet pony? Would it be one of the annoying temperamental old horses? Would we enjoy a fun hack or spend three long hours battling an unresponsive and obstinate mount?

In the end it didn't really matter. Or at least now it seems that way. The ponies were, for the most part, equally pigheaded and the horses equally tranquil. There was always the one you had a soft spot for and the one you couldn't stand. But the fun lay in the prep and the actual excursion.

Except for that one day. The most memorable of all. The day I was assigned the owner's show horse as my morning ride.

The camp was run by a couple and their daughter, an award winning rider who happened to be a trained lawyer who had put her legal career on hold so she could devote her time to the horses. Every summer she brought to her parent's camp her prize winning horses. Purebred beasts that outshone the pony school horses in every way possible.

Where the school ponies and horses were dull, bullish animals, hers were sensitive gorgeous creatures. Campers weren't their usual riders. We were deemed to be too rough on their tender mouths and not experienced enough to handle them.

So the morning she announced my name in conjunction with her more sensitive and somewhat hyper horse's name my jaw dropped. Clearly this was a mistake. My panicked eye met her calm one and she nodded. No mistake. The kitchen door slammed shut before I could confirm that I had really heard right, but my friends' excited jabbering confirmed it for me.

I was riding her high strung, sensitive, very big, show horse.

I headed out to the field and all I could think was "She wouldn't have assigned me this horse if she didn't think I could do this." I said it again, and again, and again. And hours later, as her horse cantered out of control through the woods, my rather small body bouncing around in his saddle, following diligently in his mistresses' other horse's footsteps, I kept repeating those same words to myself.

I doubt I was ever in control of that powerful beast that day. He was calling the shots, but he let me pretend I was, even as he brushed a tad close to a couple trees, just to see if I could really hold on. He followed her, taking me with him. He stopped when she did. He went where she went. And no one knew I had no clue what I was doing. Before I got on I decided to fake it as long as I could, with the secret hope that maybe faking it would be the same thing as making it.

To all extents and purposes it did.

Years later I find myself in a similar situation. I've been offered a job that feels out of my league, but the person who gave it to me really seems to believe in my ability to succeed. With every decision I make I chant "She thinks I can do this. She thinks I can do this." and I do it. I'm faking it 'till I really make it. Which I'm hoping is soon because the stress of pretending is taking a toll on me.

I'm getting on this horse, I'm going to hold on no matter how hard he tries to throw me, and hopefully somewhere before the end of the ride I'll figure out how to steer and take control.

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Sunday Scribblings - Absurd

Between pregnancy, pumping, pregnancy, nursing and pumping, and dealing with two little kids I hadn't had a chance to go bra shopping in an absurdly long time. I was making do with old bras, too small bras, too big bras, or just plain ugly bras.

These last couple months I made do with two bras that kinda worked. That is, until Little L took one of them, tried it on, left the room, and instantly made it vanish. With just one functioning bra left I had to bite the bullet and go bra shopping.

I went a little crazy and along with two basic cream colored mommy bras I also bought a black lacy affair.

Don't get me wrong, it's not exactly a scandalous bra. It's like the ones I always get, except that it's black and it has a tiny bit of lace trim, and oh, did I mention it's black?

So, anyway, the day after I went shopping I decided to wear said black bra. I slipped it on and Little L's jaw dropped. I snapped the snaps and she gave me a look. A look that said "My mommy, she likes to make jokes. She likes to test me. Is this a joke? Is this a test?" She looked me up and down and decided that I was pulling her leg.

"Nooo, nooo." She shook her head and made the same noises that she makes when she's telling me she's caught me out on yet another joke. She looked around the room and spotted my usual mommy bra. She grabbed it and handed it to me. "Weah dis." She said nodding furiously.

Cows moo, they don't bark.
Babies are babies, not kitty cats.
And obviously mommies wear nice boring cream bras, not black lacy affairs. Anything else is just absurd.

This post was inspired by the Sunday Scribblings prompt "absurd." Click through to see other great entries.

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Friday Flasback - 50 things that fill me with joy

Friday Flashback is all about bringing to light some of my favorite posts from my archives to breathe new life into them. in light of the FaceBook 50 things meme that I inadvertently started this week I bring you my own 50 things originally published in October 2008.

50 things that fill me with joy

It's easy to forget that happiness can be found in the small moments all around us rather than in the big ones we're waiting to experience. Yeah, a Hawaiian vacation is awesome, but what about the little day to day joys? So in an effort to remind myself to live in the moment I compiled a list of 50 things that make me happy, right now.

1. The sun on a beautiful day.
2. Watching my children play together.
3. Hearing my babies laugh.
4. A wonderful book.
5. The wind in the trees.
6. A passionate conversation with a friend.
7. A silent moment with my husband.
8. Knowing that my husband believes in me 110%.
9. Hearing a whisper of a new story floating around my head.
10. A blank page on my notebook and the perfect pen in hand.
11. A perfect salad, assembled just the way I like it.
12. A biscuit panini with melted cheese and shaved turkey.
13. Feeling my husband's hand come to rest against my back in the dead of the night.
14. Reading a book with my children.
15. Discovering a book I loved as a child that I had forgotten existed.
16. Reconnecting with an old and dear friend.
17. Making new friends.
18. Melted cheese.
19. The heft of a camera in my hand.
20. My morning cup of tea.
21. The roar of the ocean, the screech of the birds, and my feet in the sand.
22. Ending a run.
23. Traveling to old stomping grounds.
24. Feeling burning passion.
25. Discovering that a friend loved a book I adored.
26. Overcoming a fear.
27. Pushing myself beyond my comfort zone.
28. Browsing in a favorite bookstore.
29. Being somewhere in the middle of the day and knowing that not a soul knows where I am.
30. Taking late night walks with my husband.
31. Conversations with my husband.
32. Making a new dish that turns out great.
33. A comfortable pair of pajamas.
34. A soft and warm bed.
35. Clean sheets.
36. Folded laundry. (Note, I did not say folding laundry.)
37. Being a part of something new (cutting edge) that's going to be huge, like Twitter.
38. Brown cardboard packages waiting by the door.
39. A hand written letter in the mail.
40. Sleeping children.
41. Following my gut.
42. Trusting my instincts.
43. A well crafted piece of writing that comes out just right.
44. A full night of sleep.
45. A well sharpened knife.
46. Watching my children discover something new.
47. Coming across a breathtaking sight around an unexpected turn.
48. My family; immediate, extended, and adopted.
49. Sharing something I love with people.
50. Being able to help when someone comes to me for help.

Got a list of your own? Post a link in the comments!

I have new respect for Stephen Colbert

What do you do if you're a world famous comedian with a prime time Comedy Central show and you're determined to do something to a) boost morale in Iraq and b) remind people sitting on their cozy couches that there are still troops risking their lives on the other side of the world?

You pick up your cameras, your staff, your whole show and you move them to Camp Victory in Iraq for a week.

You enlist every recent president to record funny speeches.

You go though some basic training.

You even go fly (and puke) in a fighter jet.

Oh, yeah, and on the order of the President, you shave your head on camera.


At least that's what Stephen Colbert has done this week. In a week of truly inspiring shows, this week Colbert has been broadcasting from Iraq where he's done an amazing, and truly un-obnoxious way of drawing attention back to Iraq. He's sporting his new army hair cut, wearing a snazzy camo suit, and he's interviewing real soldiers.

Every episode has raised the level of respect I have for Stephen Colbert. He's not there to say the war is "good" or "bad." He's just there saying "Remember these guys and gals? They're still here and they're more than just a statistic." It takes balls to do more than talk the talk, he could have sent reporters, he could have sent cameras, instead he went to deal with the heat himself.

I don't know how much good these shows have been for troop morale, but I'd say they've been quite helpful in raising awareness and reminding the nation that the war isn't over and it's still involving our people.

Missed the Stephen Colbert Iraq episodes? Catch them here on Hulu.

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It's more than the end of the school year, it's the end of an era

Almost 8 years ago we set foot on the lush green campus for the first time. Two fresh faced lovers, recent transplants to the Bay Area, there to attend an Intro to Judaism class in preparation for their upcoming wedding.

We were charmed by the simple but beautiful buildings, the gorgeous grounds, and the overwhelming sense of community. Once we got there we never wanted to leave.

Over the course of the following year I converted there, we were married by the temple's rabbi, we started teaching at their Sunday School, and I took a full time administrative job in their office.

We bought in, hook, line, and sinker.

Five years later, not only was I still working there full time, but we were still teaching every Sunday, and twice a week I was dropping C off at the brand new preschool.

I worked at that synagogue for a total of six years. We were active members for much of that time, but the honeymoon didn't last nearly as long.

By the time I quit we weren't attending any religious functions or teaching in the Sunday School. We missed teaching, but when you work 5 days a week and you have kids weekends become sacred family time. And the religious parts? Well, after a while I found it hard to have as my spiritual leaders the people who showed me their true colors behind closed doors. I'm not saying they were bad people. I'm just saying they were people, with human faults, and they slowly lost that mystique that religious leaders should have.

Most of the time when you leave a job you actually leave. You don't come back time and time again. But when I quit that's exactly what I ended up doing. I left my job, but we didn't pull C from her preschool. So for a year I was back there three times a week. I ran into coworkers, I saw my desk, I answered questions. For a while I even spent the time C was in class sitting in an empty classroom doing my own work. I was still very much tied to the place.

Today school ended for the year. Next fall C will be going to another school.

As I pulled out of the driveway it struck me that I could well be leaving for the last time. I expected to feel some sense of relief. Instead I just felt sad.

I had such high hopes when we first pulled into that same driveway all those years ago. I thought that we might find a spiritual home and even possibly a community to call our own. Instead, years later, I'm leaving with barely a look back. Another failed relationship under my belt.

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Wordless Wednesday - First Snow Cone

Happy Wordless Wednesday!

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Hanging out with bloggy friends just gets easier and easier

Last weekend M, C, Little L, and I headed to the San Jose Tech Museum for a special Silicon Valley Moms Blog event. We were supposed to be excited to be meeting Bill Nye, but since I had never heard of him and he hasn't yet been featured on the Little Einsteins or Dora the Explorer, the girls and I were just excited to be going to a party. I think M was just stoked to have something different to do for once.

I walked into the room that was slowly filling up with bloggers and their families and for possibly the first time I wasn't struck dumb with shyness. I knew more faces in that room than faces I didn't recognize. Even better, I liked each and everyone of the people those faces were connected to.

Those people aren't just my blog acquaintances, they're my friends. I hang out with them on Twitter and Facebook during the day. I visit them on their blogs. And when I see them at bloggy events I feel instantly connected to them.

I used to suffer from terrible social anxiety before any blog event. Now I actually look forward to them. It's not surprising that I found my tribe inside the computer, it is however awesome that I like them even more outside of it.

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When Memory Lane is called The Champs Elysees

We never had to say where or when. We just all knew that we'd converge at the huge McDonald's on the Champs Elysees at 6pm on Friday nights. Usually the whole crew would show, sometimes one or two members would be missing, even more rarely someone would bring along a friend or a date.

We didn't always eat there. Sometimes we made the trek down the brightly lit avenue, slaloming around gawking tourists, all the way to the bottom of the Champs for thin crust pizza at Pizzeria Uno. But most often the McDonald's was our hang out of choice. Cheap dinner, plenty of space, and no one to care about a rowdy bunch of college kids.

Our Friday nights were as predictable as our meeting time and place: dinner, a movie, and a trip to Virgin Megastore. Virgin was the only store that had the double attraction of being open after the movie and offering enough variety to entertain our motley crew.

We knew that store inside out, from the movies on the top floor to the bookstore in the basement, including the very special (to me) but tiny shelf of books in English. The music was located in the middle. Two floors of tantalizing jewel cases containing CDs that each cost roughly two to three hours of hard earned babysitting money.

When you think of it in those terms you don't buy lightly. How many diapers is that song worth? How much spit up this one? My sad CD collection showed how few albums made the cut. I was always too aware of how hard I had worked to earn those francs to blow them on an album that might not have more than a good song or two.

Instead I spent my cash on stacks of 2 song singles. Brilliant CDs containing the hits that most people were after when buying the full album anyway. These were moderately priced and didn't feel like a crazy indulgence. I bought many.

The last of those Friday night excursions took place 10 years ago. That group of friends has long since disbanded. I keep tabs on some via sporadic emails and FaceBook. One is getting married this summer, another got married last fall. The others have been lost during the move, much like a favorite piece of furniture or trinket that for some inexplicable reason never makes it to your new home and that you remember at odd times.

All that's left of those many outings is a dusty stack of random CD singles ranging from the Crash Test Dummies to Ricky Martin, from Chumbawamba to Celine Dion, a mortifying amount of Celine Dion, and an even more mortifying amount of Bryan Adams singles. I sit here and flip through the stack and wonder about the girl I used to be and wonder who I would be today if I hadn't fallen in love with M and moved to the other side of the world. Would I still hang out with the same friends? Would I be married with two little french daughters? Would I really be any different or would I still be perplexed at the odd music choices I was making back in college?

Friday Flashback - Two views, one room

Friday Flashback is all about bringing to light some of my favorite posts from my archives to breathe new life into them. This post was originally published in August 2008. It's a little more about my Parisian past, this time a part that I shared with M.

Two views, one room.

The tiny elevator reeked of cigarette smoke, something we would learn was pretty common in the building, and we gasped for air as we tumbled out on the eight floor with all of our belongings. I'd never been here before and I didn't know what to expect.

"Why don't you stay in your grandmother's studio?" My mother had asked. And we'd said yes in a heartbeat. I mean, you don't turn down a wonderfully located, rent free apartment in central Paris without darn good reasons.

M jimmied the key into the sticky lock on the tall skinny white door. And as the door fell open we got our first glimpse of the tiny apartment that would be our home for 13 months. I almost turned around and called the elevator back right then and there.

The cramped microscopic hallway branched off to the left to a sliver of a kitchen that had clearly not seen the inside of a bottle of Ajax in a long, long time before leading to the main living quarters. The room that would become our family room/living room/bedroom/office brought tears to my eyes.

A lone mattress huddled in the opposite corner from the only other two pieces of furniture, a rickety table and a sad looking leaning Ikea bookcase. Two walls were bare cement and a third, for reasons that would only become obvious much later, was covered in sheets of Styrofoam. The fourth wall was taken up by a huge grimy bay window.

I put our bags down on the ancient cracked linoleum and gulped back a sob. I didn't even have the heart to go check on the bathroom. It was late, I was tired, and I was mortified that I was even showing this disgusting place to my well to do American boyfriend.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I had no idea. Let's go find a hotel. We can start apartment hunting in the morning." I mumbled to M without even daring to look him in the face.
"Are you kidding?" He almost shouted, the excitement in his voice causing me to look up in surprise. "Did you see this place? It's a penthouse! In the heart of Paris! And did you look out the window? That's a balcony overlooking the Sacre Coeur! This place is incredible!"
"But it's disgusting." I stammered.
"Who cares? We'll clean it! And paint it! It's going to be awesome!"

He was right. He saw through the grossness and the aging decor and envisioned the love nest that we would create. Months later I sat on our cushy carpet and gazed out the clean windows at the gorgeous church that millions of people visit every year. I leaned back against our bed and smiled at the futon that we were using as a couch. I glanced at the walls that we'd painstakingly painted and smiled. We'd turned the place around and made it cozy and ours. We lived there for just over a year and while the closeness got a little oppressive at times, I'm pretty sure I speak for both of us when I say that we loved every moment of it.

And not just because there was an incredible boulangerie less than a block away.

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The birds and the bees for the four year old set

"If I go to school I won't be able to be a mommy!" We we're driving home and I was navigating heavy traffic. I heard what she said, but it didn't instantly sound as odd as it sounded when I finally got settled in the right lane and really heard her words in my head.

"What? What do you mean?"
"If I go to school I'll be too busy to be a mommy."
"No, no. You can be a mommy and work. I'm a mommy and a writer. It's possible."
"Oh. How will I become a mommy and a writer?"
"Well, you'll go to school for 12 years or so, go to college, maybe meet a nice boy, get married and have babies." I squinted at her in the rear view mirror. I wasn't sure if I'd said what she wanted to hear, but she nodded knowingly.
"I'm going to have four babies." She held up four fingers. "There are going to be four in my tummy and four in the daddy's tummy."

I didn't answer right away. First of all I didn't hear very clearly, second of all I was once again navigating another gnarly lane change. Instead I made some encouraging noises, which might explain why she got annoyed when I corrected her assumption that, duh, the burden of pregnancy should be shared equally between the parents.

She waited a moment with a scowl on her face, pondering the unfairness of what I had just explained, and I was so wrapped up in my commute and the cuteness of her pout that I honestly didn't anticipate what was coming next.

"Mommy? How does the baby get in the mommy's tummy?"

My heart sank. I glanced back at her hopeful face and wondered how on earth I was going to answer her question. What does a 4 year-old need to know about sex? What would assuage her interest without revealing anything I wouldn't be mortified to hear her repeat on the playground tomorrow? What wouldn't warp her idea of sex and babies for years to come?

I waited as long as possible, took a deep breath, and jumped in.
"When a man and a woman love each other very much and they've thought carefully about wanting to have a baby, they have a special kind of cuddle. The man puts a seed inside the lady's belly and a baby grows."
I figured it wasn't too graphic and covered the basics. I hesitated and stressed the fact that it only happened during very special cuddles, not every cuddle. Last thing I wanted was for her to start looking for a growing belly every time M and I hugged.

She didn't reply and I risked a glance in the mirror again. Her face was contorted and when she caught my eye she giggled and looked away. She squirmed and laughed and squirmed some more. Her face was bright red and she had trouble meeting my eye. She looked exactly like a little kid who has heard a slightly naughty secret. A delighted little girl with a slightly naughty and embarrassing secret. I laughed and winked at her. She stopped looking embarrassed and just looked amused. We laughed the rest of the way home, giggling extra hard when our eyes met in the mirror.

More numbers. Good numbers. Lots of good numbers.

It used to be 1000. Then 1200. Recently it grew to 1500 and today it grew to 2500.

2500 words added to my novel in one sitting.

I'm aiming for a total of 80,000 words by the end of June. I've been told it's the bare minimum for a full length novel. Today I passed the 56,000 word line, making me confident that I'll reach my self imposed goal. At this rate I might even reach it early, but let's not hold our breaths.

Some of the words I've written are terrible. Many of them are good. But the whole certainly needs a lot of work. That said, the story is there, it's flowing fast, and that's definitely good.

It's not always easy to sit down and write. Some days I welcome the Twitter/Instant Message/Email distractions. Other days I get bogged down in other work. Sometimes the story gets stuck and I'm scared to open the file. The words don't come, the characters don't speak, the blinking cursor paralyzes me completely.

Then, sometimes, it's the opposite. I'm sucked into the story and I have trouble stopping. I ignore all the pings and beeps from my friends inside the computer and I just write. 5:00pm comes and goes. I know that I have to stop, I have to shut down my computer and run for the car. I know that the girls are waiting for me at daycare and I can't be late, but the story is flowing, the characters are alive, and it's so hard to make myself stop. Those are the days M gets home and finds the girls eating at the table while I stand at the counter typing away at the computer. Or they're the days that I fill my Flip with short clips bursting with ideas that keep coming hard and fast as I rush to get the girls.

56,000 words down. 24,000 to go.

The lines are drawn.
The course is set.
I'm just racing to the finish.

Wordless Wednesday - Preview of the teen years

"Oh! My! Gawd! You did not! No WAY"

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Turns out we need a whole new kind of scale

After my rant on numbers yesterday I got emails and comments and tweets from lots of women who empathized with me. Seems we all have the same painful issues with numbers in our lives.

Then Genevieve* came up with the best idea ever. A different scale. A way to measure the good stuff in our days. We spent the morning awarding each other points for being nice, doing good things, thinking positive.

It's a brilliant idea. Think of all the things you could give yourself positive points for! Instead of berating ourselves for things like the number on the scale or the number in the blog stats we could be earning points for everything else!

So I bring you - The Positive Thinking Scale - yours to adapt as you wish!

• Crossing something gnarly off the to do list +550 points
• Crossing something easy off the to do list +125 points
• Changing a poopy diaper +75 points
• Smiling at a stranger at the store +515 points
• Letting someone cut in front of you on the road +56 points
• Doing something selfish that makes you happy +775 points
• Doing something nice for your significant other even when you're tired +235 points
  
• Making the right food choice for lunch +150 points
• Making the right food choice for dinner +325 points
• Making the tasty food choice for dinner +450 points
• Taking time to cheer a friend up +1000 points
• Going out of your way to be a good friend +590 points
• Going out of your way to help a complete stranger +675 points
• Keeping the laundry tamed +1500 points
• Thinking something positive when you look in the mirror +990 points
• Leaving a blog comment +15 points
• Leaving a blog comment on a blog that doesn't get many comments +35 points
  

Now we're talking! I scored a high of 6531 points today! Yay me!

It's your turn! What positive things do you want to be rewarded for? What did you do today that deserves a pat on the back and a bucketful of positive points? I'm going to keep adding to the tally, keep giving myself points throughout the day, just to offset the depression created by the weight scale and the blog scale.

*Genevieve's blog is brand spanking new, so be nice pretty please and head over and say hi. I'll give you 345 points if you do! And she wrote one of the chapters for the Harlequin Pass the Plot story. She's cool. You can be her friend, but don't tell her I told you so. k? Thanks.

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