The paths not taken

A Facebook update pops up. It's by an old friend, an elementary school friend. He's going on a kid free vacation with his wife and he's delirious at the prospect of a few days alone with the woman he loves.

An old high school friend pings me over IM. He's a zillion miles from where any of us ever expected him to be, doing relief work in a war zone. His joy and excitement comes through, even in the short choppy computer messages.

A close friend emails. She's pregnant again. I've never met any of her children, but I've been with her every step of every pregnancy - those that ended well and those that didn't. Her email bubbles with excitement, but I can detect the undertone of apprehension.

There might have been a time when I would have felt a stab of jealousy at witnessing their joy. One is living the adventurous life I always dreamed of, one is having the third child I croon to in my sleep, and the third, well. it's not impossible that when we were kids I might have day dreamed of one day being his wife.

There was a time - not all at once - when these three people filled my days. Each at one point or another has been one of my closest friends. We parted ways - physically - for various reasons and I'm sad that they are no longer people I can hug at will. But knowing that our separate roads have taken us to respective happy places makes up for the "what ifs?" I sometimes experience.

What if he hadn't left? What if we hadn't met? What if I had not chosen the path that lead to California?

There is no "right" path. There are just paths you chose to take along the way. Each one leads somewhere different and you can't take them all. It's just nice when you glimpse the paths you didn't take and you see they turned out beautiful too.

Fruiticide in the kitchen

I would like to tell you that, as parents, we never neglect anyone or anything related to our household.   Unfortunately, that doesn't always happen. I often have to remember that everything changes, everything passes. And that includes fruit. In California we are blessed with an incredible variety of home grown fruit.  We love fruit. We are members of a CSA. Dessert is often a juicy apricot, a succulent strawberry, or a perfect peach.

But, as with all excesses, too much of a good thing is never a good thing. Every once in a while some of our fruit loses that freshly picked sheen. That extra banana browns. The nectarine becomes a little too squishy. And sometimes the fruit passes that point of no return. You know that point. It's the moment when the fruit is not only not edible but actually is so "at the end of its lifecycle" that we don't want to pick it up.

And that's actually where my story begins. The protagonist in this narrative is a seedless, juicy watermelon. Uncut. Pure. Waiting for love. Except this watermelon was ignored. Soon signs of neglect began to appear.  Its bottom grew a little darker green. We figured he was among friends in the fruit bowl though he was probably squishing his plum friends. But the days passed and the watermelon's color continued to change. 

As you may know, Jessica left for New York for several days, leaving me in charge of C and Little L. Fast forward to Friday morning. I had to get up early to dress and feed the children. C woke up first. I met her in the hallway. "C it's time for breakfast." "Okay daddy." C headed to the kitchen. I was 5 feet behind her. C turned the corner into the kitchen and then I heard her scream, "OH MY GOSH! DADDY COME QUICK!" C can be a little overdramatic at times and I thought nothing of it. Until I too turned the corner and beheld the carnage.

There was no note. No cry for help. He did it all by himself. Probably in the middle of the night. And we all knew why it happened. But now I had to clean up the mess. And that's never pretty, especially when you feel partially responsible.

This post was written by my favorite guest poster, M, who did a stellar job of taking care of the kids and house while I was living the high life in NY. Even if he couldn't keep the fruit from jumping...

The kid free high life

Don't get me wrong, I love my kids. I really, really do. But sometimes, it's really good to spend a few days away from my regular life. It's good to sleep in, it's good to eat when I feel like it, it's good to just carry my stuff, and it's really good to go out at night and not have to worry about the sitter, the kids, or knowing that I'll be up at 6am dealing with a diaper, dropped pacifier, or missing sippy cup.

I go home tomorrow, back to the little girls who have wished me tearful goodnights over the phone for the last two days, back to sloppy kisses, and sweet hugs.

I have no voice left and my legs are beat from all the walking I've done, but I feel rested and recharged in a way I really hadn't expected. I got to sleep, I got to play, and I got to hang out with my sisters, something that's always a blast.

There are a few more hours (post second un-interrupted night of sleep) of family fun in the morning, then I head home. I know there's a ton of work, two extremely clingy children, and one potentially very grumpy husband waiting for me there, but frankly I don't care. After a day like today I feel like I can handle it all without even wiping the silly grin off my face.

Though maybe that's because I know I'm taking another solo trip to NY at the beginning of August.

Flying to NY... for my dad's booksigning

Tomorrow night I'm going to the airport, getting on a plane, and flying to NY by myself. That's right. By myself. I'm actually looking forward to my red-eye flight because, even though I'll have a mere 5 hours to sleep, it'll be the first solo red-eye I've been on in years. And you know what? Five hours with no one wriggling on my lap is going to be heaven.

And why am I going to NY you ask? Why, when I'll be heading back there at the start of August for BlogHer? That's easy. I'm going to my father's book signing.

Oh yeah, the writing, it runs in the family. (The poor sentence structure, though is all me.)

My father's book, The Grave Gourmet, a delightful culinary mystery set in Paris, is being released next week. He's doing ONE pre-release book signing, this Thursday, June 24th, 7pm, at Partner’s & Crime, 44 Greenwich Ave, NYC, and what kind of a daughter would I be if I didn't attend?*


(Don't answer that.)


I'm flying into NY early Thursday morning, spending the day hanging with my step-mother, doing the book singing thing on Thursday night (Anyone want a copy? I already have a long list of requests, happy to add you to the list!), then Friday we're going to The Met with both my sisters and having a fancy dinner, then Saturday I hop back on the plane and come rescue M who will be a bit beat after doing the single dad thing for three days. 


You'd think after that I'd spend Sunday sleeping. But no, I'm sure I'll be spending it catching up on work and playing with the kids. (You're so jealous. I know!)


It's going to be an intense three days, the potential for stress is definitely there, but in keeping with what I pledged on Sunday, I'm going to keep my chin up and my outlook positive. It's going to be a whirlwind of a trip, but I'm going to make sure it's awesome.


*You can learn all about my dad and his book here: http://alexandercampion.com. You can follow him on Twitter here: http://twitter.com/AlexCampion. And you can come to NYC on Thursday to see me him! Come on, you know you want to!

Looking at the bright side of life

Over the next six weeks I will take two trips to NYC, will have 9 out of town guests, will celebrate two birthdays (mine and Little L's), will celebrate one national holiday, and will have to work my regular hours and then some.

To say that I'm a little overwhelmed at the prospect is putting it mildly. But I don't want to be overwhelmed. I want to look at the good side of all this.

I'm thrilled to see all the people coming. They're some of my favorite people in the world and I love that they're coming to see us.

I'm excited to be going to NY, not once, but twice. How fun is that? Not only that, but both trips are kid free, so I'll really get to have fun in the city.

And yet, to hear me talk these past few weeks, you'd think my summer was going to be Hell.

I'm currently reading Socialnomics, by Erik Qualman, a fascinating book about social media and how it's changing the way people think and act. One chapter mentions a few case studies about how people have used their social media updates to take stock of their lives and their attitudes. One mom realized that she was always complaining about her kids, surprising seeing as she considered her children to be the highlight of her life. After a couple of days of consciously only posting positive comments her young daughter told her that she seemed much happier.

It's all about the mindset. A flight is a flight. It's not stressful in and of itself. A visit is a visit. Again, it's not stressful or fun in and of itself. And a deadline is a deadline. It's not... well, you get my drift.

I can go around for the next couple of weeks whining about the stress of work, and travel, leaving the girls, not being home, having to cram visits and work and travel into too short weeks. I can be stressed about it all. I can worry about everything and agonize about how it's all going to go down. Or I can take a deep breath and decide to see it as a fun adventure, a challenge.

Life is life. It can be busy, it can be full, but it's up to me whether or not that's stressful. And really? If I'm going to be losing sleep anyway, I might as well be having fun.

The Novel: Chapter 4... and 5!

First there was Chapter one, then Chapter two, wouldn't you know it, that was followed by Chapter three and now... It's time for Chapter 4 & 5, because I love you and I'm taking pity on you. And well, because Chapter 4 was really short.

Chapter 4
Andy

    “Sadie! Is that really you?” He reached down and scooped her into his arms, surprised by the overwhelming need to hold her close. She hadn't changed much over the years. Her hair was still as crazy as he remembered and she had the exact same smile, right down to the dimple in the right cheek. He hugged her hard before reluctantly setting her back on the ground. “It's good to see you too. What brings you to Ha... OOF.” He swooped down to pick up the little girl who had just careened into his legs.

    “Emily, can you say hi to Daddy's friend, Sadie?”  In response she nuzzled her face into  his neck, whimpering quietly. Typical. Emily was always bouncing off the walls, except when he wanted her to be sociable. “She's shy,” he apologized. “And she needs her nap. Are you staying in the hotel? Can we have coffee later and catch up?”

    “Sure thing! I'm here for the whole week, Room 704. Just give me a call.” 

    He watched Sadie walk away, slight hop in her step, and wondered what had brought her to Hawaii. He hadn't seen her in years. He let himself wonder if maybe, just maybe, she wasn't here alone, but Emily's shrill “Who dat?” interrupted his train of thought. 

    “Dat, was an old friend of Daddy's. An old, old friend.”

    “Hawow!” Emily called out to Sadie a second too late. The shining elevator doors had just engulfed her and Sadie never saw the small fist open and shut in a wave.

    “Let's get you to bed kiddo.” Andy said to his daughter, “we have lots of swimming and fun waiting for us when Hunter gets back from camp.”

Chapter 5
Jo

    Jo jammed the flimsy plastic key into the lock over and over again, but the red light stubbornly refused to turn green and she finally had to admit that it just didn't work.

    “Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn.” She rested her forehead against the wooden door and tried hard not to cry. How on earth was this happening? This was her big week. This was her dream wedding. It was supposed to be perfect. There's no room for closet skeletons in perfect, no room at all. There's room for flowers, and cake, and pretty dresses. There's room for friends, and fun, and wine, lots, and lots of good wine, but there's. Just. No. Room. For. Exes. Who. Broke. Your. HEART! Jo banged her head against the door in time with her thoughts until her forehead started to hurt. She looked down at the hotel key still grasped in her hand and stifled a shriek.

    Jo threw the offending piece of plastic on the floor and stomped on it for good measure. She knew she was acting like a brat, but just couldn't stop herself, this was all just so damn unfair!

    Voices at the other end of the hall quickly put an end to the escalating tantrum. Jo picked up the card sheepishly and wondered what she should do. Did she dare head back to the lobby for a new card? What if Andy was still down there? And where the heck was Sadie? She'd have another key to the room, no?

    Just as the voices came closer, the elevator, so conveniently located in front of the door to Sadie and Jo's room, opened. Jo jumped behind the potted plant right next to it seconds before the sliding door came to a stop. She held her breath, waiting to see if anyone would come out, pulling her carry-on bag a little further out of view. She didn't think she could handle another chance encounter.

    Jo chided herself silently. Was she really going to spend the whole week hiding from people? This was so not OK. So not OK at all.

Goodnight SV Moms. You were more than just a collaborative site.

Over four years ago I was an avid reader of the now defunct DotMoms site. It was a collaborative blog made up of mom blogging stars. I dreamed of joining the ranks of their elite. It was my blogging goal at the time. A lofty one considering I was still a hack and hiding behind a pathetic attempt at an alias.

One day when I was plotting how to become one of their team of writers I came across a posting on my moms' group inviting bloggers to join a local collaborative blog.

What the heck, I thought, I can start small and work my way up to DotMoms.

Four years later and DotMoms is a mere memory for some while that small local blog is a social media powerhouse with blogs in 13 cities around the US and Canada. The 400 or so bloggers that are regular contributors are considered with respect. We are most definitely part of the blogging elite.

But being a part of the Silicon Valley Moms Group has turned out to be about so much more than clout and respect. Over the years the contributors have become my friends, my blogging family. I was proud to be able to say that I was part of SVMoms Group. It was like belonging to a club, a powerful club, one that opened doors where ever I went, one that was made up of friends in every city. A sort of blogging sorority if you want, but in a good way, without rushing or hazing, or skimpy tank tops.  

Yesterday the writers received an email from the SV Moms Group founder announcing the dissolution of the company and the closing of the sites. I read the email once, twice, and a third time. There was no way this was happening. And then the words sunk in and I started crying.

I sat there on my couch, tears streaming down my face and I thought of all the people I met thanks to Silicon Valley Moms Blog. Friends I would never have connected with if it weren't for this group. I thought of the blogging opportunities that offered themselves up to me thanks to this group. Sites I've blogged for, companies I've connected with, jobs I've obtained. But again and again I came back to the friends I've made.

These women were my sisters in arms. We spoke the same language long before it was socially acceptable to use the words we bantered around - blog, twitter, RSS, widget...

Blogging is cool now. I don't need to be part of a blogging group to feel accepted. I've also come a long way on my own and I probably don't need the back-up clout of the SV Moms Group to give me authority as a blogger or writer. That's not what I'm crying about.

I'm crying for the friends. For the community. And for the big waste that this all is.The missed opportunities. The connections that haven't yet been made. The what-could-have-beens.

Yesterday we were a 400 strong blogging community. Today we're 400 panicked writers, struggling to find a way to hold on to what we had. And in my heart I know we can't.

And it's a crying shame.

Innocents in the pool

By 10am this morning it was already sweltering in the house. All the windows were open, but the tiny cross-breeze did little to dry the sweat pooling in the small of my back. I looked at the computer, beckoning with the work I needed to get done, and turned away. The last thing I wanted to do was sit in front of a machine that would generate more heat.

Instead I headed out to the back yard where, if possible, it was even hotter than in the house. I smiled. I really did. I closed my eyes and threw my head back, and I drank in the hot summer sun. After weeks of rain and an nonexistent spring, summer is definitely here. 

I worked my way to the back of the yard where the inflatable pool had been abandoned on the last warm day last summer and tugged it out of the ivy that had crept over it. A little scrubbing later and the thing looked presentable. A lot of puffing later (Note to self, buy a pump already!) and the pool actually looked sound.

Even before the first drop of water had hit the plastic bottom, Little L had stripped off her pajamas and was dancing naked all around the pool. She clapped her hands with glee and jumped in as soon as I nodded in her direction. It didn't matter that there was no water yet.

It didn't take long for C to abandon the TV and come join her sister. Soon the pool was filled with water, rubber duckies, and two delighted little girls. They didn't care that the water was frigid. They didn't care that they had no suits on. They didn't even care that the pool was a little dingy and battered.

It's summer and it's hot. That's when you play in the wading pool.

The Novel: Chapter Three!

A few weeks ago I posted chapter one of the novel I've been working on for well over a year now. Then I posted chapter two. And now? It's time for chapter three! Be sure to click back and catch up if this is your first time here!

Chapter 3
Jo

    “Sadie!” Jo hissed. “I cannot be here. He cannot see me like this! How is this happening? Why now?” She ran her shaking hands through her tangled frizzy mop, damning airplanes and their overload of stupid static electricity. Why couldn't she ever look like one of those super sleek models; each strand of hair always precisely in place, face unlined, clothes perfectly pressed? Jo glanced down at her stained and wrinkled cargo capris, covered in sweat spots, and took in her chipped home pedicure. Most of the toe nails were visible around the shimmery red, but the surrounding skin was still stained from her pathetic attempts at doing the job herself. Sadie grabbed Jo's hands as she frantically tried to brush the wrinkles out of her grubby white button-down shirt.

    “Calm down.” She said, squeezing hard. “It's OK.”

    “No. No it's not.” Jo's voice shook as she fought back the flood of tears that threatened to break free. “It is the opposite of OK. There might have been a time when this might have been OK, but this is not it. The last thing I needed this week was to see Andy again.” Jo yanked her shaking hands out of Sadie's grasp and fumbled for the carry-on bag the porter had left at her feet. She just managed to grab the strap before breaking into a run.

    Jo reached the safety of the hotel lobby just in time, barely taking in the double story ceiling, marble counters, and how the whole space opened out onto a massive balcony that overlooked the beach and the ocean. The automatic doors slid shut behind her, protecting her from hearing what she imagined was taking place where she'd left Sadie. She shuddered as she heard her best friend's shrill greeting, and her shoulders sagged as she also recognized the true delight buried in the pretend surprise of the greeting.

    “Andy! Is that really you? Oh my god! What are you doing here! It's so good to see you!”

But what about Max?

I have two gorgeous little girls. You know them. I post their pictures every day. We are a happy family. We feel complete. The whole two kids, two grown-ups thing works really well for us. It feels balanced, harmonious. When I sit at the table and watch my family interact it feels just right.

Our youngest daughter is almost three. Soon she will be out of diapers. Soon she'll be graduating to a real bed and we'll be able to change the decor of their room from nursery to little girls' room. Soon we'll take out the crib and the toddler bed, we'll remove the glider, we could even get rid of the changing table/dresser. Soon I'll even contemplate getting rid of all the baby paraphernalia in the garage.

The scary thing about all of these plans buzzing around my head is that they feel right. And that's scary, because where does it put Max?

You see, in my heart lives a little boy. His name is Max. Maximilian if you must know. He's got blue eyes and sandy wavy hair like his father and his sisters. He's the youngest of our family, the third child we don't yet have.

It sounds crazy, but I've always felt like we were meant to be a family with three kids. I've always imagined this sweet little boy with curly hair pulling up the rear. There's never been a moment of doubt that one day we'd have Max. So when I start to contemplate saying "This is it." it feels strange, like I'm abandoning my baby boy. Like I'm giving up on him.

As the end of Little L's toddlerhood nears and her entrance into preschool approaches I've thought more and more about Max. If we had kept to our 2 and a quarter years distance between kids he would already be here. In fact he'd be almost 8 months old. I always said that I either wanted three kids close together or two followed by two later down the road.

But I don't see two down the road, I just see Max. Sweet little Max with a smile in his eyes.

I have a gorgeous and amazing family. I am truly blessed to have two delightful girls who more than fill my heart with joy and my eyes with admiration. I have a husband who cares for them better than I could have ever hoped. Things are good. Really, really good.

So good that I can even start to wrap my brain around never being pregnant again, around never breastfeeding another child. So good that I can think of getting rid of the glider where I rocked both of my girls. So good that we can get rid of the highchairs and everything else and really focus on a life with children instead of a life with babies.

And yet, even as I type those words, a little voice inside my head whispers faintly "But what about Max?"

Operation Unsubscribe

On any given day I receive over 400 emails between my four different email accounts. One account I never check, so we can ignore the truly unsolicited emails over there. The other 350 have been to some extent or another requested - store mailing lists, list-serves, group emails, etc, etc, etc.

For the longest time I've just dealt with doing a mass delete every week, making my email show me everything that's unread and going click-happy with the delete key. That was fine as long as the email only cluttered my email in box, but since I got a BlackBerry last year, it's also cluttered my phone, causing it to vibrate every few minutes when a new email comes in.

I'm tired of reacting to my phone only to discover that yet another Pottery Barn email has come in. I'm tired of spending hours deleting emails I have no interest in opening. So I'm doing something about it.

I kicked off Operation Unsubscribe at the end of last week and I've been steadily working my way back through my email, unsubscribing to everything I wouldn't regularly open.

I've discovered
- that I've been subscribed to some newsletters for well over 8 years.
- I never read those newsletters.
- Some are quite interesting and I probably should read them.
- I signed up for some newsletters two careers ago.
- Oddly enough the marketing ones are once again pertinent.
- I get store newsletters I never signed up for, for stores I've never heard of. Not sure how that happened.
- That it can take up to 10 days to be unsubscribed from a list. Why?
- As soon as you unsubscribe they send you a TON of emails. Why again?
- Email newsletter unsubscribe pages were written by Jewish moms. It's all "No, I NEVER want to receive another email from you." The guilt factor is high.

Taking control of my inbox is unbelievably empowering. It's like organization light. I have zero control over the chaos in my house, but my email is going to be sleek and organized any time now. I just know it. Now if you'll excuse me, I just saw an email come in that I have no desire to read and every desire to cancel.

I found inner strength in a strand of beads

On Wednesday my preschool meeting had its last event, a "Prayer Bead" making session. I was leery at first about attending because I always shy away from anything that hints at religion, (Hey, I'm working on it!) but I'm so glad I went. It was an amazing session that I won't be forgetting any time soon.

I decided to consider the broader meaning of prayer in this instance. I went in with the intent on making zen beads, or maybe even meditation beads. What I got out of the session was a trip into my head and my heart, and a strand of beads that helps me find my inner calm.

We were shown a large array of beads and told what each color meant,* then we were invited to listen to our hearts and create the strand of beads that would speak to what we needed most. It was incredible to see at the end just how different everyone's strands turned out. We all worked from the same bags of assorted beads, and we all created something unique.

I took notes while I was stringing the beads so I would remember what each one meant and why I'd picked it. I'm glad I did. I probably would have forgotten five minutes later and you'd have nothing to read right now.

I picked the black crinkled heart because black can symbolize the ultimate mystery and introspection. It seemed like a great place to start any quest for inner peace. Every step I take is into uncharted waters, I like to think I take it with heart.

I picked the series of blue beads because blue can symbolize relaxation and mediation. You need to know your true intentions before you move forward and you can't know that without relaxing and looking inward. I picked the two spirals to symbolize the inward journey and then the outward journey.

This little silver sliver that says simply "Now" is there to remind myself to stay focused on the present moment. It's always too easy to get lost in the what-ifs and the what-whens. Now is always more important.

I picked two pink beads to symbolize love. The light first to remind myself that loving myself needs to come first. The reflective one to remember to shed that love on others once I've taken care of myself.

I picked an array of green beads - green for hope, regrowth, balance, and rebirth - to remind myself that balance is always in flux and hard to achieve, and that often the solutions are hard to read and doesn't look the way you would expect. I love that the first green bead there is wood. Feeling it along the way stops me and forces me to focus on it. It's just too easy to discount the importance of balance in our lives. We shouldn't be allowed to ignore it.

Red symbolizes passion, power, life, and strength so I picked that big red heart and put it right dab in the middle because I need all those things in the center of my life. They are at the center of who am I, of who I want to be, of who I strive to be. The other two red beads remind me that strength can be found in odd places, even small flowery, nondescript places.

I hesitated at this point, wondering if I had enough to go on, but I realized that I needed more than inner strength to move ahead. I picked the yellow beads because they symbolize wisdom and enlightenment. They're not clear to remind me that you have to search for wisdom and even when you think you've found it, you can always search some more.

I bucked convention and put a heavy bead at the end. It's purple which can symbolize intuition to remind me to trust my gut. It's usually right and rarely steers me wrong.

And last but not least I placed a tiny nugget of black at the end before a long empty strand, because even when you've made your journey into your heart and your head there's always going to be some of that ultimate mystery left over. The journey never ends, there's always more to discover.

I thought I'd walk out of the session and toss the beads into my bag only to forget about them until the next time I cleaned it out, but as the day's stress piled up I found myself reaching for them, playing with them, just holding them in my hands. When I held them I felt more at peace, more in control.

These beads are a bright and very physical representation of what's in my heart and who I am. It's good to be reminded of everything I possess when I'm feeling frazzled, stressed, or even incapable.

The woman who made that bead strand can do anything and be anyone. I am that woman and I'm glad to now have a tangible reminder of it.

*I looked for an online source for the meanings and symbolism of the colors, but I was unable to find something that matched what we were told. I'll keep looking.

Half-Pint Travelers

We approach the stack of bins and both girls promptly drop to the ground, grappling with their shoes. I no longer have to tell them what to do. Two little pairs of shoes plunk into the gray plastic tray and they're shrugging off their jackets.
Moments later they are standing in front of the metal detector, waiting to be waived through by the TSA agent who is beaming at them, delighted for once to be facing adorable half-pints thrilled to be there instead of impatient business travelers just bored with the whole process.
"This is my favorite part!" My five-year-old says to me, eyes bright with excitement.
"What? Coming to the airport?" I ask, assuming that she's talking about the overall trip.
...
So starts my latest Silicon Valley Moms blog. Hop on over to read the rest!