A rally, a giveaway, and a trip to Wisteria Lane (for realz)

I was originally thinking BIG. A fair. A race. A massive rummage sale. Something splashy that would draw huge crowds.

Then I realized that a) I just didn't have the bandwidth or budget and b) it just wasn't the point and it would detract from the true purpose of this project.

So I toned it down.

There are still a few details to be hammered out (Such as a location. Oops.), but my hope is to bring my "neighborhood" - the one that spreads all the way up the Bay Area from San Francisco to the South Bay - together on May 8th for a fun bake sale/park playdate/canned food drive.

Why May 8th? Easy. It's the day before Mother's Day and I want the mothers of the Bay Area to come together to feed the children of the Bay Area.

Why a bake sale? Because we all love sweets, but also because we want to bring some sweetness to kids who don't get enough to eat.

Why a canned food drive? Well, that one is pretty self explanatory. But also because I have in my mind a vision of a mountain of cans. A mountain, because to fix this hunger issue in American we need to move some serious mountains.

I need to get all the details hammered out this week because next Tuesday I'm heading to LA for two days.

Why, you ask? Well, that's easy. ConAgra Foods wants to kick off this massive Neighborhood Rally campaign in America's most famous neighborhood - Wisteria Lane.

Squeeee.

Ahem.

Yes. I'm heading to LA to go on the set of Desperate Housewives, which would admittedly be more exciting if I ever watched the show. (Insert avid TV watching blogger hanging head in shame here.) The other Child Hunger Ends Here campaign bloggers and I are also going to the LA Food bank to volunteer for a few hours and visit the facility.  (Is it weird that I'm almost more excited about that?)

OK, I can't take you with me, but I do have something for you my dear readers!

Leave me a comment here cheering me on, telling me how you are doing your part to end child hunger, or just to say hi and you will be entered to win a ConAgra Foods Gift Basket, containing among other things, a Desperate Housewives DVD (Just like being there with me!), a reusable grocery bag, ConAgra Foods coupons, and other goodies.

So go forth and comment! (Oh, and if you wanted to give me some Desperate Housewives key points I'd be eternally grateful. Thanks.) Giveaway winner will be chosen at random and announced on April 26th.

In the interest of full disclosure I have to tell you that I have been hired by ConAgra to spread the word about the Child Hunger Ends Here Neighborhood Rally campaign. I am being compensated for this work, but trust me, I'm going to earn every dime and feed as many children as possible doing it. 

Captain Awesome saves the day... again.

Last night as I arrived at my in law's house for the Passover Seder I got an email from my contact at the PR agency managing the ConAgra Foods Child Hunger Ends Here campaign. She wanted to know what my plans were for the neighborhood rally I'm supposed to be organizing. Moments after I received an email from my supervisor at Tiny Prints with a question about the big Twitter contest that we rolled out today. C and Little L were running around like hungry little maniacs. Family members who hadn't been together in years were gleefully greeting each other.

Instead of hyperventilating on the spot, I stepped outside for a moment.

I sent a few hasty Black Berry emails that essentially said "I'm on it, but I'm shutting down for a few hours. I'll get back to you after the seder." and then I took some deep breaths.

I pushed off the mounting stress and went back into the party.

Thanks to some delicious wine and sheer exhaustion the stress didn't return until bright and early this morning when it completely took over my brain. When I stepped into the shower I was humming with stress. And while the hot steam usually helps me to master the panic, this morning it didn't work.

By the time I opened my computer I was so frazzled I had no idea what to do first.

Contest? Rally? Email? Phone?

300 unread emails called to me. The need to call to find a place to hold my rally screamed at me. The final tasks for the contest couldn't be ignored. And amongst all that two little girls needed Cheerios, asthma treatments, and some serious hair brushing. Not to mention the fact that they were feeding on my stress and had turned up the whine and neediness to match the buzzing in my head.

A complete and utter working mommy meltdown was a short ten seconds away from happening when I remembered Captain Awesome.

He's that guy. The perfect one. The one who always knows what to do in any situation, never gets flapped, never gets nervous. He deals with every new situation with a smile and a "can ace this" attitude.

He's not real, but he doesn't have to be. He just has to live in your head, so that when things get to that "I can't do this!" level of hysteria you can stop and say "OK, fine. Maybe I can't do this, but Captain Awesome can. What would he do in my situation."

This morning Captain Awesome would have sat down and made a to do list. Then he would have gone through it, item by item, facing each item head on with a smile, not worrying about the next item until the one he was working on was crossed off the list.

So that's just what I did.

By the time I gathered up the girls, put their shoes on, and ushered them out the door I had taken care of the most stressful items on my list, I had made a plan for the rest of the day, and I had even gotten the girls ready without a sharp word or an exasperated sigh.

Once again Captain Awesome saved the day. Love that guy.

From the mouths of babes: Bummer that's not the name we gave you

Of all the parenting decisions I have had to make over the last five years and a half, nothing has stressed me out more than choosing names for my girls.

We can figure out a new school if something goes wrong. We could always buy different bottles, grow out a bad hair cut, abort a bad vacation choice, change a parenting tactic.

But a name? That's for life. And everything rides on it.

I agonized over the choice. Worried that we'd give her a too-girly name that would make an entrance into a boardroom awkward. Stressed that we'd give her a name that would get her teased in school.

And then we found the perfect name. Classy, not too popular, cute, but serious. Perfect.

Which is why when she declared tonight that she'd rather be known as Layla Michelle Fawn from now on, I had to say, yeah, no, sorry.

Because really? I I get Layla and Michelle, but Fawn? That's a new one for me, and I bet it would get her seriously teased both in school and in the boardroom.

The pink is... gone!

Today we bought these.

Forget the fact that I bought Crocks. We use them as beach/pool shoes for the girls.

Focus instead on the color.

That's right they're red. Not pink. Not fuchsia. Not rose. Red. Plain old fireman red.

And C picked them from a sea of shades of pink. Because as she says "she's not so happy with pink any more." Nope. Now she likes red and blue.

It has been four years in coming. Four years of pink shoes, pink shirts, pink pants, pink, pink, pink, pink. And now, poof, it's gone. Luckily Little L has always been a purple girl, so can fully rejoice.

The reign of pink is over. All hail the other colors of the rainbow.

Hurray!

Pink is GONE.

From one home to the next

Four years ago I stood in front of the door to the daycare we had carefully selected, infant in arms, unable to go in. It killed me to go in and drop off my baby. Not that I really had the choice then. I had to work. I had to send her. But I hated having to let her go.

I had absolute faith in the people I was leaving her with. I knew in my gut they were good people, the right people. What I didn't trust was that she would still know I was her mom.

If she spent over eight hours a day with other people who loved her and kissed her and fed her and changed her, how would she know I was her mommy? And if I didn't care for her all day, all the time, how would I be a mommy?

That thought tortured me.

Here was this tiny baby I hadn't been able to breastfeed and here I was handing her off to someone else to care for her all day long. I wept at the thought that I'd miss all her major milestones.

I was right. The first week she was at daycare she rolled over for the first time.

I was wrong about the rest. She never once stopped thinking I was her mommy. Her face never stopped lighting up when she saw me. And she never stopped reaching for me when she was sick, tired, sad, or even just looking for a hug. As for me, clearly I was no less her mommy because I wasn't with her all day.

When Little L was born it never crossed my mind that she wouldn't go to daycare. Even when I decided to work for myself we never considered pulling her out. Daycare was their second home. It was where their friends gathered every day for eight hours of fun and games. Both of my daughters have thrived in this other home. They've learned things I could never teach them. They've become resilient, caring, funny little people thanks to the care and love they have received there.

In the fall C will go to Kindergarten. She won't be going to daycare any more. I won't be taking her to this warm cozy other home every day. And I'm sad about that. Sad that this part of her life is over. I'm hopeful that the school we have so carefully selected for her will serve as yet another home, but it will be different and once again it's killing me.

Just one small step off course

On Friday I ran the last of the week 4 Couch to 5k training runs.

It was a good run. I felt great about myself as I pushed myself through the last minute of the run. It was the third time that week that I had run a total of 16 minutes (in four intervals, but still!) and I was feeling really upbeat about taking on Week 5 with its first "serious" runs.

I took the weekend off, knowing that my body needed to rest so I could face the tough challenge of the new training runs.  

Monday morning I woke up with a cough and a wrenched shoulder.

I ignored the cough and took some ibuprofen for my shoulder, but I worried all day about the run ahead. A part of me knew that it wasn't wise to head out for something that would definitely be challenging when my shoulder was bothering me and my lungs were more than just a bit raspy. But, as you know, I have a history of letting small things detract me from my exercise goals, and I was terrified that one missed run would signal the end of this particular road.

All day I thought about my run. All day I felt my shoulder ache. All day I coughed. And yet I hashed out a tentative plan. Heat before the run to loosen the tight shoulder, ice after to make it feel better.

And then at 10, sitting on the couch, coughing every few minutes, I realized it was dumb to push myself when I was clearly ill and hurt. Even then I struggled with my decision to stay put.

I'm an all or nothing girl. I'm not good at rationalization. I'm not good at believing myself when I promise that it's just a hiatus, not the end. When I diet I'm hard core. I can't "cut back." I create a firm plan I never let myself deviate from. Because I know myself. It's never just "one" cookie. It's one cookie followed by a "well, I cheated there, so I might as well cheat here" french fry, then a "well, since this day is shot" off plan dinner, and before you know it I've deviated so far off course that I can't even see my way back to the original plan.

This night off felt like that first step off course and I was terrified I wouldn't know how to get back.

Three nights later my cough is finally easing up and my shoulder doesn't hurt any more. I'm starting to itch to go run instead of itch to go crawl under the covers. That itch is why, for the first day this week, I'm starting to believe that this really is just a bump in the road and not another dead end in my running career. I've checked in with a few other runners and I think I have a plan for my re-entry into the C25K plan.

On Saturday, when I'm good and better, I'm going to start Week 4 again. I'm going to run all three runs over the following days, and then, next week, I'll start Week 5.

A week late. But not never. I'm not letting a little cough and a little pain derail me this time.

Wordless Wednesday: Spring has Sprung Here

The garden is waking up in an explosion of color!

The rest have no captions, but this one? This one is called

Future Peach Pie

Happy Wordless Wednesday! And Happy Spring to all!

*************
If I haven't begged before, I am now, come support me in my fight to end child hunger in America. Please?

How can you help a child who is hungry?

Last week I announced that I was taking part in the ConAgra Foods Child Hunger Ends Here campaign. You didn't think I was going to leave it at that, did you? Toil away in silence over here in my own backyard and let you forget the kids in yours?

Come on. Haven't you been around here before? Do I seem like the quiet type to you?


Nah. I care too much.


Remember how I told you that almost 1/4 children in the US are hungry? Well, that's true, but it's a generalization. It might be more in your state, it might be less. Click here if you want to see how your own state compares to that national statistic.

If you're here in California with me? Well, we need to get to work, because it's not pretty out there.

And really, it's more than about just empty bellies. Did you know that:

• Kids who are hungry don't do well in school? They have more trouble learning and they don't do as well on tests.
• Kids who are even a little bit under-nourished can be affected? It can affect their behavior, their school performance, and their overall cognitive development.
• Kids who are hungry are affected physically? They don't grow as fast and their brains don't develop as well. They can also suffer from more stomach aches, headaches, colds, ear infections, and fatigue.

It's more than a little hunger. It's a life sentence. When a child doesn't get the proper nutrients early on there are repercussions all the way down the line. They will feel the effects forever.

Kids aren't the only ones who are hungry. 1 in 6 Americans are known as "food insecure." Essentially, they're not 100% sure where their next meal is coming from. Do you know what you're having for breakfast? For lunch? For dinner? For breakfast tomorrow? They don't. That's scary.

One in six.


So what are we going to do about it?

I'm going to organize a neighborhood rally. It's going to be something simple. A bake sale. A food drive. Something to bring the community together so we can raise some money and collect some food.

You can do the same.
- You can transform an event you're already going to into a Child Hunger Ends Here rally.
- You can hold a rally. (Register your rally to get a toolkit to help you!)
- You can tell people that there's a growing problem right here and that we can stop it.
- You can even just shop - for each Banquet, Chef Boyardee, Healthy Choice, Manwich, Marie Callender’s, Orville Redenbacher’s, Peter Pan Peanut Butter product purchased through the end of May 2010 a dollar will be donated by ConAgra Foods to FeedingAmerica. A dollar buys seven meals. So with a single grocery run you can make quite a difference.


People who are hungry don't look hungry. They look like you and me. They look overweight. They look skinny. They look young. They look old. They look like our children, like our neighbor's children.

Without even trying all that hard we can help them secure their next meal.

What are you going to do to help?

In the interest of full disclosure I have to tell you that I have been hired by ConAgra to spread the word about the Child Hunger Ends Here Neighborhood Rally campaign. I am being compensated for this work, but trust me, I'm going to earn every dime and feed as many children as possible doing it.

I'm not the only one talking about this! Come see what the others are doing:

Sunday Scribblings: Sweet Demands

"I WANT my water!"

You name it, Little L has probable demanded it.


A tangerine, her water, a cookie. Something, anything. No hesitation for this child, when she wants something, she wants it now, and she won't take lightly to being told she can't have it.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand." Is my stock answer.

"Please. I want my water." She replies.

"Close, but you can do better. Can you ask me nicely?"

Her blank gaze speaks volumes. She said please. She did ask nicely. What more do I want?

"You say: 'Please, can I have some water?'"

"Please I can have some water?" She asks again. If she were older the request would be accompanied with a roll of her pretty blue eyes and if it weren't then she'd roll them when I answered.

"Oh! L! Thank you for asking so nicely. Of course you can have some water. Let me get you some!"

This exchange has been going on for weeks and I was starting to wonder if she would ever learn to ask nicely for anything without being prompted time and time again.

And then, this weekend, she looked at me sweetly and asked "Mommy, can I have some candy?"

Which would have been lovely and perfect... if it hadn't been 9am at the time.

This post was inspired by the Sunday Scribblings prompt "Demands." Click on the prompt to see how others were inspired!

Spare a moment for a friend?

I don't often ask for favors and, to be fair, this one isn't for me.

I have a friend, a virtual friend, a bloggy friend, a woman I've met a handful of times, but who I still feel incredibly close to, who needs a hug, a high five, or just to know that people around the world are thinking of her and helping her to be strong.

Susan at Toddler Planet is an amazing, inspiring, wonderful person and it's tearing me up inside that she's facing yet another cancer scare. But she'd kick my butt if she thought I was feeling sorry for her. Which I'm not! (Honest Susan! Put the foot down!) I'm just mad. Because crappy things shouldn't happen to great people.

The only thing I can do from far away is send her daily funny, inspiring, or just sappy hellos and thoughts. I can send you guys to do the same. And I can put the Team WhyMommy button back on my blog. I took it down when Susan declared she was done talking about cancer so she could focus on her cancer free life.

I'm putting it back up until she says that again. (Hopefully in the next couple of days when her biopsy results come in.)

Susan I'm standing by your side all the way. You know, even if I'm miles and miles away.

Friday Flashback: Can You Handle Some Inspiration?

Friday Flashback is all about bringing to light some of my favorite posts from my archives to breathe new life into them. I was poking around in my archives when I came across this post. It's so easy to get caught up in the day to day flow of life and to forget to take stock. I'm not making any major life changes like I was back then. I'm not about to take the plunge into the scary unknown, but that doesn't make the question posed at the end any less timely. This was originally posted in April 08. (I can't believe it was two years ago. Feels like it was yesterday.)


Can You Handle More Inspiration?

Tonight I joined my fellow bloggers from the Silicon Valley Moms Blog to hear Maria Shriver talk about her new book Just Who Will You Be? First of all, she's gorgeous. No seriously, I spent half the time wondering how she gets her hair to be all wavy and curly and full of omph. I spend a lot of time, effort, and money on terrible hair products trying to get my hair to look just like hers. But whatever, that is so besides the point.

She was more than just gorgeous, she was also incredibly inspiring. She radiates self assurance and poise. She was funny and articulate. She was quoting poetry and talking about the books she's written and she made me want to read more and write more and help her save the world. Luckily right now that just means buying and eating ice cream. Right up my alley. (Heck, you should come hang out with me in the alley, that was some good ice cream.)

So there we all were, in a cozy new bookshop, eating insanely yummy ice cream (Oh, shush, it was a really long day and I hadn't had any dinner.) listening to Maria tell us about how she found herself trying to figure out what she was going to do now that her husband's new career had pretty much blown her own career out of the water. As she put it her "little jewel" of a book was born out of pain. She thought that she was writing a book geared towards high schoolers trying to figure out their life path and then she discovered that people from all walks of life were coming out of the woodwork to tell her that her book had helped them figure out what they were doing with their lives. And I keep nodding and nodding, because I'm in that very spot myself. And even though I'm truly not a believer, I couldn't help but marvel at the perfect timing of this book reading. (Maybe, just maybe I'd be more of a believer if I didn't work in a synagogue. As backwards as that might sound, sometimes too much of something just turns you off. I bet the people who work at Hersey don't eat a heck of a lot of chocolate.) Sometimes you just get to be in the right place at the exact right time and you hear exactly what you needed to hear.

At the end of her talk Maria quoted two poems by Mary Oliver: The Journey and The Summer Day. Both poems, each in their own way, are about being true to yourself and doing what you need to do to live the life you are meant to live. What she said resonated even more with me than anything else she'd said before: "Putting my one wild and precious life at the end of the line is no longer acceptable." It's all fine to want to do what's best for our spouses and our families. It's great that we want to care for others, but it's not OK to do it at all costs. One doesn't need to exist at the expense of the other.

M and I have been talking for weeks now about what's next for me. Five years ago I accepted a job as an administrative assistant because I truly couldn't find anything in advertising; my chosen field. It was supposed to be a temporary stop gap measure that would keep us afloat until we found our dream jobs or at least until the economy picked up. I never left. M went to law school and became the stellar lawyer that he is today. We had two kids. And still I'm there, doing what I was doing five years ago. Until this year that was just fine, but now I want more; I want to write, I want to be there for my kids when they need me, I want to take care of my home, I want to take care of my family.

I'm done spending my days waiting for the clock to strike 5. I'm done wasting my time doing things I don't really believe in any more. From 9:30-5 I don't live, I exist, and it's time for that to stop. Shh, don't tell anyone yet, but this week I'm giving notice at work. In a month I'm turning pro; I'll officially be unemployed a freelance writer. By an incredible stroke of good fortune I've managed to stumble into my first real writing gig. It's nothing huge, but it's enough to make me feel like I'm not completely insane. And with luck more work will come along sooner rather than later. But even if nothing does pan out and in six months I need to pack up my computer and go find a "real" job, it doesn't matter, I will have tried to do this one thing that is so very important to me. I'll still be truly living my "one wild and precious life."

So "tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?"

Endorphins are good. Overcoming your fears is better.

Week one was easy. Well, OK, week one was manageable. 60 seconds of running alternated with 90 seconds of walking repeated 8 times. I was definitely huffing by the end, but I never faltered.

Week two was harder. Who knew running 90 seconds instead of 60 would be significantly more challenging? I made it through that first week two run, struggling at the end, breathing harder than I had the previous week, but I made it. It didn't get any easier as the week went on.

Surprisingly week three was the easiest of them all. Maybe it was that I already had two weeks of runs under my belt, or maybe I'd embraced the notion of being a runner, but I sailed through the two repetitions of run 90 seconds, walk 90 seconds, run 3 minutes, walk 3 minutes. I found myself itching to run a third interval. That's right, me, the girl who barely two weeks before had struggled through running a mere 60 seconds.

And that's when I got psyched out. Because Week Four - run 3 minutes, walk 90 seconds, run 5 minutes, walk 2.5 minutes, run 3 minutes, walk 90 seconds, run 5 minutes - seemed really daunting. If there was a huge difference between 60 seconds and 90 seconds, the difference between 3 minutes 5 minutes was more of a leap than a jump. Plus the run time from week 3 was almost doubled in week 4, and well, I'm a wuss.

But the beauty of C25K apparently doesn't just lie in it's running plan, which is amazing, or the free podcasts, which are, well, priceless, it lies in the masses of people also doing the program.

Every time I log into Facebook or Twitter and mention what section of the plan I'm tackling a host of people chime in to say where they are on their route to 5k. It's inspiring and motivating to know that so many others, so many of my friends, are also running their way through the same intervals.

Five minutes before I headed out to run the first Week Four run I logged on to Facebook and went to the Couch-to-5-k fan page. I always feel inspired by the way everyone there encourages each other and I clearly needed some encouragement myself.

I posted: "Need some motivation. Scared to start W4D1. 5 minutes seems like an awfully long time!"


And strangers came out of the woodwork to support me.



One person posted: ..."We are what we think. All that we are arises with our thoughts. With our thoughts, we make the world." ~ Buddha

Another said:  "That's what I thought too! But you can do it :)"

With their words ringing in my ear I headed out on my run. Whenever I started to struggle I gave myself silent pep talks and remembered that others had made it through. And I pushed on.

I finished the intervals without walking. I ran a total of 16 minutes, feeling better and better about myself as I ran step after step.

And when I got back I posted a thank you to my virtual support group along with this message:
"I did it! Ran the whole thing! Even sped up during the last minute of the last five minute run. Feels GREAT!"

Endorphins are good. Overcoming your fears and pushing beyond what you thought you could do is even better.

Remind me of that at the end of next week when I have to run 20 minutes without stopping.

Wordless Wednesday: The lights of my life.

Oh yeah. I know that's corny.
Happy Wordless Wednesday anyway!

Can a blogger end child hunger?

Almost one in four children in America struggles with hunger. One in four. That's a quarter of America's children who doesn't have enough food to fill their bellies every day. A quarter. Nearly 17 million children.

And it's not kids off in some "poor" neighborhood in a town far far away. There's a child in your neighborhood who doesn't know where his next meal is coming. And he's not alone. Yes, even if you live in an affluent neighborhood you're living next to children who are hungry.


It's a tragedy that's taking place in our own back yards and we can't ignore it any longer.

A couple of years ago, back when the recession and its effects were still making headlines, I saw a news report on food lines. People lining up in a park so that they could get some dinner. I thought at first that it was a report on a third world country, but it wasn't, it was here, in the US. Families going hungry. Right here. I was horrified. (The fact that at the time we were spending billions of dollars trying to land on Mars has a lot to do with why I was horrified. But that's neither here nor there.)

Ironically those stories aren't making the headlines any more despite the fact that the hunger issue has gotten worse instead of better. It's not news any more. It's regular life.

Well, that's just wrong and it has to end.

It's time for us to take a stand and do something about the problem. It's time to feed some children. Our children. The children in our backyards.

Join me over the next few weeks as I take part in the ConAgra Childhood Hunger Ends Here (CHEH) Neighborhood Rally campaign. I'll be blogging, tweeting, and facebooking regularly about the campaign and the incredible efforts going into feeding America's hungry children. I'll also be organizing a neighborhood rally to help raise money for FeedingAmerica.

You can help too. Here's how:

• You can shop ConAgra products - Banquet, Chef Boyardee, Healthy Choice, Manwich, Marie Callender's, Orville Redenbacher', or Peter Pan Peanut Butter. For each purchase of one of these brands ConAgra will donate one meal to FeedingAmerica. To help you buy these products and to see what each of these brands is doing to help with the campaign visit this page to print out a $1.50 off coupon.
• Plan a neighborhood rally of your own or turn an existing neighborhood event into a CHEH rally! Visit here to see how. 
• Help me figure out the theme of my rally. I'm taking suggestions! (And advice! Seriously, help!)
• Help me spread the word. Tell you friends about this blog post. Tell your friends about the campaign. Retweet what you see me tweet about the campaign, and what you see others tweet with the hashtag #fightchildhunger. Kids are hungry. You can help just by telling people about the issue. 
• Follow ConAgra Foods on Twitter @ConAgraFoods and on Facebook for updates and exciting announcements about the campaign.

Thank you for your patience as I talk this campaign up. Thank you for helping me spread the word and doing your part to fight child hunger.

So, can a blogger end child hunger? With your help she's sure going to try!

In the interest of full disclosure I have to tell you that I have been hired by ConAgra to spread the word about the Child Hunger Ends Here Neighborhood Rally campaign. I am being compensated for this work, but trust me, I'm going to earn every dime and feed as many children as possible doing it. 

See what the other CHEH bloggers are saying:

A Wicked night off

Way back in November when I attended the Silicon Valley Moms Blog holiday party I met the lovely PR rep for Wicked. Just meeting her would have been enough. I read Wicked way back when it was published and I've been dreaming of seeing the musical since it first hit Broadway. Getting to meet someone who works with the production was way cool. But we didn't just get to meet her. We also got vouchers for tickets to see the show.

SWOON.

Considering the fact that the party was back in November and that the tickets had to be redeemed before the middle of March, you'd think that someone who had been waiting for years to see this show would have gotten her act together, but there was the never ending rash, and the holidays, and work, and life, and so I didn't get around to it until last week.

I know! Madness.

Luckily it all worked out. We got tickets for Friday night, my beloved in-laws were available to watch the girls and even offered to take them overnight. Then at some point on Thursday night I realized that there was no reason for us to come home after the show. No sitter waiting for us. No kids needing our attention in the morning.

No reason not to jump on Orbitz and scout out hotels near the theater.

Which is how M and I found ourselves walking back leisurely towards the Westin after the show instead of jumping into the car to drive an hour home. We were able to chat about the show, about the set, the music, the story. We took in San Francisco at night, something we'd never seen together. And then we slept like babies in the Westin's Heavenly beds.

Wicked was great. Not the best musical we've ever seen, but great nonetheless.  All it was missing was some truly catchy tunes to take it to Les Miserables or Miss Saigon levels. The set was amazing, the actors were awesome, and the story is still as thought provoking as I remember it to be. I can completely see why people go see it multiple times. It's wonderful to have the reminder (in song no less) that first impressions can be wrong and that how people look doesn't dictate who they are inside. And there's always something heartwarming about seeing a good story about friendship that overcomes every obstacle. I do love a good friendship story.

We didn't have much time in the city the next morning. Just enough for a mediocre breakfast and a lovely walk around Union Square and Market Street. But it was enough. We felt rested and restored. Having just 17 hours to ourselves, away from home, was heaven.

Theater tickets or no we'll be heading to the city for more nights off. Because it was truly wicked as they say in Boston.

More and more the days are all happy

I walked out of work tonight and I realized that I was happy. Not just content, but truly happy.

It was a weird moment. Not because I'm a generally unhappy person. I'm not. I'm little miss Pollyanna. I always find a silver lining everywhere. But because for the longest time I left work sad, upset, or downright defeated. Work was just a means to an end: a paycheck. A painful, soul and dream crushing means to an end. (You think I'm exaggerating. I wish I was.)

Things are so different now it's hard to wrap my brain around it. Tonight I left work feeling fulfilled. It was a great day. I got a lot of work done and as I headed to my car I actually found myself humming. I turned up the car radio and I danced my way to daycare. I love my job. I love what I do. It's fun to work in a place where we deal in happiness and joy. I love putting my passion for social media to work.I love feeling heard and being encouraged to be creative. You wouldn't think those are extraordinary things, but to me they truly are.

I had forgotten what it was like to really believe in what you're doing. I had forgotten that it was possible to enjoy what you're doing when not working for yourself. But that's the beauty of my days. Not only am I working for an awesome company, promoting feel good products, but I'm also still working for myself, letting my writer's soul sing and grow.

So I hum and I dance my way through my really busy, but really fulfilling day. It's a good way to live.

A new home away from home

When I was four months pregnant with C I realized I'd have to do a little research to find a daycare. I started right away, combing the online listings for local home day cares, checking their credentials and licenses. Then I met someone who mentioned that their next door neighbor ran an in home day care that I should check out.

It was the first day care I visited. It was also the last.

As soon as I walked in I felt, well, at home. I watched the children play, listened to the caregivers tell me about their day, and I wanted to stay. I wanted to spend my days there. And I knew that this was the place my baby would go when I went back to work.

When I was researching preschools I looked for a place that gave me that same feeling. The school we started at was convenient and good, but I just didn't have that "we're home" feel to it. When I toured the school C is at now I instantly felt it. I followed the director through the classrooms, listened to her rave about her teachers and students, and I wanted to spend the whole day there. Again, I knew that this would be the place C would go.

When I started out looking for a Kindergarten, that's what I looked for. I'd been spoiled and I wanted a place that C could call her second home. I wanted her to feel nurtured and loved as well as get a good education.

I didn't realize that that might be too much to ask for, so after weeks and weeks of searching for that perfect Kindergarten and finding nothing that came even close I had almost given up. I was starting to think that you just don't get to feel at home in elementary school. It's school. I assumed I'd just have to focus on good academics, good class size, decent arts programs and hope that she'd be happy enough.

But today I found it.

The perfect school. The "I feel at home here" school.

It's a tiny school. Doesn't look like much from the outside, but inside it's just perfect. I adored the director, loved the teachers I met, and wanted to come spend my days in the classrooms. It's exactly the place I'd want to go to school.

And if all goes well it's where C will go starting in the fall.

There are no words to express the relief of not having to settle for "good enough," of being able to stop looking. We've found C's next home away from home.

Playing catch up

Between our endless (and so far fruitless) Kindergarten search and a couple new ventures in the pipeline I've spent the last two days rushing around and not doing so much writing or editing.

I've been going to Starbucks as usual, but I've been focusing my attention away from my novel. It calls to me when I open my computer, mocks me from the "recently opened" documents tab, toys with my brain as I get through a to do list that seems to grow rather than shrink.

The good news is that my last Kindergarten tour is taking place in the morning and that I'm in a good place with most of my side ventures.


Tomorrow after my tour ends I'll be heading for my favorite table, cracking open the laptop, ignoring the undone things on my to do list and letting myself finally focus on my book.

If you hear a sudden breeze, don't worry. It'll just be me sighing in relief.

Focusing on being instead of doing

Just breathe. Close your eyes for a moment. Breathe.

Stop planning, thinking, worrying, analyzing.

Just be.

Open your eyes. Notice the world around you. What do you see? Hear? Smell? Feel?

Don't think. Don't judge. Just be.

How often to we take the time to stop and notice the world around us?

Between two kids, one husband, and a zillion jobs it's easy to forget to notice the world around me. It's easy to forget to notice myself inside that world. There's always something that needs to be done, thought about, remembered. Always someone who needs to be cuddled, loved, scolded, stopped, tended to one way or another.

But what's the point of it all if we never stop to notice it? If we never stop to appreciate it?

Yesterday the sun was shining and a light breeze was blowing. I needed to pack our bags in preparation for our trek back over the mountain to our home. I needed to clean up the kitchen so my inlaws would let us keep borrowing their beach house. I needed to gather the girls' things so we wouldn't have to turn back to collect an errant lovey.

But for once I decided not to do and instead I decided to be.

I pulled out a reclining chair and set it next to M's on the deck. I sat down in it and leaned all the way back. I closed my eyes and I focused on the moment. The ocean did it's thing, lapping at the beach rhythmically. The sun did its thing, shining down brightly in a way we haven't seen for a few weeks. The breeze played between the sun and the water, teasing us with a promise of warmer days to come.

And I lay there just enjoying all of it.

Getting off the couch and going for a run

I never thought I'd be a runner. I used to hate it, used to avoid it at all costs. Then one day I strapped on a pair of sneakers and ran around the block. The next day I ran a bit further. Then a bit further.

I even went out and bought a new pair of running shoes.

A few days after that I wrote this piece.

I don't remember what made me start running. And I don't remember why I stopped. If you clicked through to read that post you'll be surprised to hear that I did, because it sure sounded like I was off to a great start.

But the day after I wrote that I wasn't able to go out. And the day after, and the day after. And suddenly it's well over a year later and until two weeks ago I hadn't run a step since that night.

Which is shocking, because it turns out I love to run.

I love how easy it is to lace up my sneakers and get out of the house. I love how quickly I start to feel the effects of the run, how fast I start to feel the rush from pushing myself past my comfort zone. The whole thing makes me feel good.

Since I was scared I'd just start and stop again, this time I decided to challenge myself to doing the Couch to 5K program. It seemed appropriate considering how attached I am to my couch.

I was going to wait until my month at The Dailey Method was up, but after five days of working out with them, I wasn't able to go on Saturday and while my brain was itching to take a day off, the rest of my body didn't agree. By 9pm I was a mass of wound up nerves. I had two options, erupt at my poor undeserving husband, or go for a walk.

And then, while I was lacing up my sneakers I realized I could get a jump on my plan an just go for a run instead of a walk.

I downloaded Robert Ullrey's podcasts and I set out. Instead of having to use a stopwatch to time the C25K intervals, the podcasts set running and walking cues to fast paced techno music. It's not what I'd usually listen to, but for a run, it works.

25 minutes later I was done with my first C25K run. And I felt great.

The next day I did the second. And on Monday morning I work up at 6:40, jumped out of bed, laced up my sneakers and did the third.

I'm not a morning person, and even less a morning exerciser. That morning run was tough, but I was proud of myself for going. I was even more proud the next morning when I went again.

By the time Saturday rolled around again I had done week one of the C25K plan five times and I was more than ready to start week two. So I did.

Then M went off to Boston and both girls got sick and for three days I wasn't able to get off the couch. In the past it wouldn't have taken much more than that to derail a brand new exercise routine. But on Wednesday I laced up my sneakers again and went back out. And again on Friday.

Tonight I started the third week of the training program. When I started week two I struggled with the run. Tonight I just enjoyed it.

I'm not going to make insane claims of races I'll run in the future. I'm just going to take it one day at a time.

Tonight I went for a run and it felt great.

The Possibility Of Everything - The lengths mothers will go to help their children

When Little L was a baby she didn't sleep. At least not in her crib. Or her bassinet. Or the bouncy seat. She only liked to sleep attached to me, either in the sling or latched on my breast. At times I could swaddle her tightly and nurse her to a drowsy stupor and if I was lucky and did everything just so she would tolerate being put in her bassinet. She would even sometimes sleep in there for an hour or so.

Then she'd be up again.

 

 All swaddled up and definitely not asleep.

By the time she was five months old I was a complete and utter wreck. I was working full time and not sleeping at all. And I went a bit crazy.

Which is when people started telling me to let her cry herself to sleep.

Now, I'm not a masochist. And I don't not believe in letting babies cry themselves to sleep. But I truly didn't think that this was the right solution for Little L.

You see, she was all of 5 months old, but I had an older child with asthma, and in my gut I knew that Little L had it too. She had none of the classic symptoms that are usually associated with asthma - shortness of breath, scary non breathing episodes, wheezing..., but in my gut I knew she had it.

Everyone thought I was just making excuses so I wouldn't have to let her cry.

It took a lot of me standing my ground and repeating again and again that babies who cough when they lie down and cough when they cry are showing symptoms of asthma. Babies who cough so hard when they cry that they end up throwing up are definitely showing signs of asthma.

It took all that and a smart and understanding doctor whose own children suffer from asthma for everyone to be convinced.

We started medicating right away and those coughing episodes stopped.

And no, she didn't start sleeping. You wish the story ended so easily. But because she was being medicated and treated for her asthma we were able to start sleep training her. It paid off over a year later when, at the ripe old age of 17 months Little L slept through the night for the first time.

She's still a terrible sleeper, but that's not really what this post is about. This post is about moms knowing when something is wrong. It's about moms saying "I know this could be nothing, but it's not. There's something really wrong here." and then doing something about it, anything, to fix their babies, to make them feel better. It was inspired by Hope Edelman's memoir The Possibility of Everything.

Out of the blue one day, Hope's little girl Maya started talking about an imaginary friend, an evil imaginary friend. And it could have been nothing, one of those things that kids do. But Hope knew in her heart that it wasn't, and she went to the ends of the world to help her daughter.

When I started reading her book I found myself rolling my eyes. I mean, kids get imaginary friends. It's normal. But as I kept reading I felt compassion for this mom who knew something was wrong and had to fight not only what was broken in her child, but the skepticism of all the people around her. I've been there before, and while I didn't have to go to Belize to find the solution to our situation, I was still able to relate from the beginning to the end of their journey.

If you're a mom, or a dad, or just appreciate really amazing writing I highly suggest that you read The Possibility of Everything. It'll help expand your mind in ways you never imagined. And it'll make you understand how sometimes a parent really will go to the ends of the world to help their child.

This post was inspired by the Silicon Valley Moms Blog bookclub pick of the month The Possibility of Everything by Hope Edelman. Be sure to visit the Silicon Valley Moms Blog to see other posts inspired by this amazing memoir and to read a Q&A with the author. (One of my questions about their experience is listed!) 

Sick day #4 and the never ending rain

On Sunday evening I tucked in both girls and thought they felt a tad warm. Moments later C started coughing in her sleep.

With two kids with asthma coughing is run of the mill around here, but this wasn't an asthma cough, it was a croupy cough and my heart sank. Croup means a long night and at least a day or two at home. Which, while never fun, isn't usually a big deal. But when your husband is on the other side of the country for a few days, a long night and a day stuck at home make for a very long day.

Or a very long three days in this case.

Because she woke up Tuesday morning with a high fever.

Which didn't go away until this evening.

When Little L started to run a fever.

So, yay, M is home. But boo on the sick kid thing. Because the long nights spent listening to the cough to gauge the optimal moment for an Albuterol dose are starting to wear me down.

Wish me luck. As I typed this Little L started coughing. It's still an asthma-ish cough, but I think I can detect a hint of barking seal in there, sure sign of croup. 

And did I mention that it's still raining?

I don't care. I'm still going to go for a run. If I don't get out of this house for at least 30 minutes I might go crazy.

Wordless Wednesday: Enough with the rain already!

Most of the country is sick of the snow. I'm just sick of the rain....

 

  

  

 

Happy Wordless Wednesday!

Missing my dance partner

Most evenings M and I tag team, I feed the kids while he cleans up, or I fold laundry while he feeds the kids. Then we tag team the bedtime routine, books for one, teeth for the other. Whoever isn't with the kids at that particular moment is cooking the grown-up dinner. We pass each other in the hall, squeeze hands in passing, steal a quick hug, even a quick kiss.

Yes, we're romantic saps. Get over it. 

Once the kids have been tucked snuggly into their beds we meet on the couch where we eat our dinner while catching up on one of our favorite TV shows. We chat briefly during the commercials or by pausing the TV when something springs to mind. They're not real conversations, more like soundbites about our days.

And when dinner and the show ends we rarely continue the conversations. I usually have work to do, M usually takes a walk. It's all part of our evening dance. Meet up, spin away, meet up, spin away.

I'm not complaining. I'm the one who usually sets the tone for the post dinner routine. I learned to entertain myself in the evening back when M was in law school. When he graduated I never got out of the habit.

So it strikes me as odd that I've been incredibly lonely at night this week. M has been in Boston since Saturday evening and it has turned my world upside down. Ironically the issue hasn't been so much while dealing with the kids, but after, once they're asleep.

It's quiet here, even with the TV on. There's no one to laugh with, no one to chuckle at my snarky comments, no one to hug or touch when I feel the need for human contact.

M and I have been together for 10 years, married for 8. He's the only person in the world I can spend all day with and never feel the need to step away for a moment. He's more than my husband, he's my best friend. And I don't like not having him near me. I don't like not being able to talk to him when I want to, or being able to just look up and see his smiling face. And I definitely don't like not having his comforting presence in my bed at night.

(It's so bad I even miss his snoring. But please don't tell him, I'll never live it down.)

M gets home tomorrow night. His plane lands just around the time the kids usually go to bed. I'd keep them up an extra hour so they can say goodnight to their daddy. But I think I'm going to be selfish and put them to bed on time. He can sneak in a give them goodnight kisses.

After that I want him all to myself. We have lots of catching up to do.

Aiming for the sandy beaches

"Aim for the moon, at the very least you'll land among the stars."

 Makes sense right? You aim for the very very best and even if you fall a bit short you still know you did well, you're still proud of what you've accomplished.

I have big dreams. They involve hard cover books read on sandy beaches or placed carefully in the center of the "staff picks" table at big book stores around the world. I'm working towards that goal one paragraph and one edit at a time. It's not a fast road, nor an easy one, though and it's often an overwhelming and discouraging one.

There are many days when I don't want to sit down and open my computer, days when I'd rather do anything but edit. It would be so easy to take a full time job, file the novel away for good, retire my blog, cancel my Twitter account, and just not do any of it any more. I would have so much time all of a sudden. I'd be able to go back to knitting. I'd have more time to spend with my husband. I'd have more time to be a better wife, mother, homeowner. Even better I wouldn't constantly be trying to juggle work, kids, and passion. I could just focus on work and kids.

It would be like being on vacation. An unplugged vacation. Heaven really.

Except after a vacation you go back to working toward your goals. And if I quit, if I gave up writing, blogging, and everything, there would be no going back. I'd have nothing feeding my soul.

I remember what it was like before I really believed in what I was trying to accomplish. I remember what it was like to punch a clock without doing something to help my creative side thrive. As much as I crave the peace of a simpler life, an unplugged life, I never want to go back there.

I'd rather keep reaching for the moon. Reaching for books that will be read on sandy beaches.
 This post was written in response to this week's Sunday Scribblings prompt "Big Dreams."  Please click here to see how others have responded to the prompt.