On top of the calendar, in theory

I really felt like I had take control. Control of the chaos, the schedule, the where-to-be's and what-to-do's. Between the wall calendar in the kitchen, my phone calendar app, and my planner, I have it all pretty well sussed.

Or so I thought.

Last week a friend sent me a Facebook message saying she was coming into town and could we see each other.

"Sure! Come over for crepes! Saturday at noon! It's our tradition."

Of course I had forgotten that this coming Saturday I had broken the sacred no-birthday party commandment and RSVPd to not one, but two on that day, and that there's no way we'll be home at noon. WHOOPS.

Really, one slip up? I can hear you ready to poopoo me and my calendaring snafu.

This morning I realized I'd scheduled coffee for myself and a new friend. Once again leading with "I'm always there! It's my morning routine!" Except tomorrow is the rescheduled snow day at the preschool. Instead of sipping warm coffee, I'll be shoveling cold snow. Whooops again!

But don't worry. I think I've figured out the problem.

The planner only works if you open it.

The only question is, where am I supposed to write the reminder to open the planner?

Think before you speak

There is an old French adage that says that you should "turn your tongue seven times in your mouth before speaking." Now, as a kid I spent a LOT of time wondering just how one is supposed to "turn" their tongue. Which is definitely not the point of the old saying, but probably did keep me from blurting out anything unthinkingly, which is the point. So maybe it does work.


This week, on his favorite podcast, my husband heard some more constructive and helpful advice on watching what you say before you speak. Five simple questions that will ensure that you never say anything you'll regret later.

1)      Is what you're about to say true?

2)      Is what you're about to say kind?

3)      Is what you're about to say useful?

4)      Is what you're about to say timely?

5)      Does what you're about to say further the connection between you and the other person? (Optional in that it doesn't lend itself to every interaction you might have during the day.

Imagine for a moment that every person you work with used these questions before speaking? Meetings would be shorter, interactions would be more efficient, and feelings would never get ruffled.

Now imagine that you take those questions into consideration before talking to your husband, to your kids, to your friends. Nice, right?

Like any new habit, it'll take a while to get used to pausing before you speak and making sure your words are filled with the right intent. But I guarantee that it will become second nature sooner rather than later, especially when you start to notice the impact on your interactions.

Snow in the Bay Area? No way.

Teeny Tiny Snowman

Last Thursday my morning consisted of frantic hunting for mittens, hats, warm pants, spare socks, and a warm jacket for Little L.

You see, every year her preschool makes snow for the kids. They bring in this massive machine that eats large blocks of ice and spits out snow. Parents gather with shovels and turns one of the playgrounds into a winter wonderland where each class will get 40 minutes to sled, make snow angels, and teensy tiny little snowmen. Then the kids are ushered back into their class to warm up with hot chocolate.

It's adorable to see everyone in miss-matched, ill-fitting snow gear, but before you get all huffy about the silliness of the expense etc, remember that for many of these kids, it's their first time seeing snow. This is the only kind of snow day they ever know.

In the end, snow day was canceled and rescheduled because of excessive rain. I, for one, was thrilled that I was not shoveling snow in the rain, even if I was a little annoyed to have turned my car into a winter closet.

Whatever, I figured, at least I'd know where all the stuff was when snow day finally happened.

So imagine my surprise upon opening the newspaper to learn that come Saturday we might have a real snow day. As in, snow from the sky, not snow from the ice eating machine.

Imagine that!

The San Francisco Bay Area hasn't seen any snow at sea level since 1976. (First person to utter the words "That was 35 years ago!" and "Hey! Isn't that the year you were born in?" in the same sentence is getting the first snowball. Just FYI.)

But if the front heading our way from Alaska picks up enough water while passing over the ocean, Saturday might see us scrambling for more snow gear and rushing outside to make some snow men and snow angels.

I better put hot cocoa and mini marshmallows on the shopping list.

Jewish Parenting Fail

"But mommy, I need to believe in Jesus. It helps me feel calm during play rehearsals!"

C's words froze me in my tracks. I scrambled through what we'd just been discussing and wondered how things had come to this.

If you've never meandered over to my About Me page, you might not know that I used to work in a synagogue. You might not even know that I've been Jewish since 2002. Fact is, while Judaism was a huge part of my life for years - Sunday school teacher, synagogue staff member for 6 years - ever since I left the synagogue, I've considered myself as being "on a break" from religion.

I needed the break. No doubt about it. I needed to find myself again, rediscover who I was, away from everything else.

When I left the synagogue C was still in preschool there and I dutifully brought her back three times a week for a whole school year. At the end of that year, for many various reasons, we decided to switch schools, and that last day I drove away, fully intending to not go back for as long as I possibly could.

I forgot along the way that my break was having an effect on my kids. I forgot that 3-year-olds forget quickly and that everything she learned at her Jewish preschool would fade. I forgot that we might need to actually do something to foster her Jewish identity beyond holiday celebrations with the grandparents and a Shabbat evening here and there.


Whoops! Major Jewish parenting FAIL.

I salvaged the moment in the car by launching into an animated recounting of the story of Moses and then an even more energetic retelling of the story of Samson- desperate to relate some strong Jewish role models that she could pull from when she needed moral support.

Then I went home, tucked her and her sister in, and threw myself on the mercy of the Amazon gods. Some $44 later I had The Prince of Egypt headed my way as well as a number of books covering the range from What makes someone a Jew to a couple children's bibles as well as a sweet goodnight book called the Bedtime Sh'ma.

We're starting small. For the last two nights we've read the goodnight book and M and I have sung the Sh'ma to the girls just before turning out the lights. It's a tiny step, but that, coupled with some more story telling, and maybe, just maybe, venturing to a synagogue once in a while to celebrate Shabbat with a larger group of people, might just help.

I have no issues with my daughter learning about other cultures and religions. I just want her to know that she comes from a long line of strong, moral, wonderful people. And if she needs good role models to help her feel strong and confident, we have them by the bucketload.

The wind beneath my wings

This week was just a raw week. One of those when I opened my heart and let people walk right in.

I never do that. I pretend I'm Superwoman, remember? I get through the day. I do my thing, and I make it work. People think I'm strong, that I can take anything.

And really, I like being that person. I like being the one my friends and family turn to. It's what I do. Being everyone's rock is what gives me my own strength.

The only downside to being everyone's guide and cheerleader is that I never let anyone help me. And yes, that does say "let anyone help me." Because my friends and family offer, they ask, they're there for me. But I brush off concern, I change conversations, I don't let myself be vulnerable.

I heard the words they were speaking, but a part of me always wondered if anyone would really be there for me the day I did need to let help in. A part of me, deep inside, wondered if my friends and family could be there for me the way I'm always there for them.

Now I know.

That one blog post on Monday, seriously written in a fit of sleep deprived, Valentine's Day and Weight Watchers infused grumpiness, threw open those doors and everyone barged right in.

They didn't stop to ask if I was ok. They didn't make small talk. They walked right in and started talking. It was like they took that blog post as their invitation. And their love has overwhelmed me.

Today I'm feeling strong and fine, just like my own tough self. My shoulders are squared back and strong, ready to carry anyone who needs it. And it's not just a little bit due to the people in my life.

Everyone, and I do mean everyone, who matters to me, this week picked up the phone, emailed, or just commented to let me know what I mean to them. I heard about how strong I am, how much I inspire people, what kind of impact I have on their lives on a daily basis. People I didn't yet count among my friends showed me that they cared more than I expected. People I didn't even know reached through the internet to offer support.

It's one thing to always be the strong one despite not knowing if others would carry you if you needed it. It's a whole other thing to be a rock sitting on a bed of love and support.

With you all beneath my wings I can do or be anything, even if all I ever manage to do is just be there for you in return.

I remembered a valuable lesson this week, the one that I touched on in this post inspired by Brené Brown, "Vulnerability is the birthplace of joy, creativity, belonging, and love."The world is truly more beautiful when you let down your guard and let yourself be vulnerable. The friendships are deeper, the love is brighter, and everything is exponentially more worth living. Go on, try it. I dare you.

Willingness to be vulnerable

Every year, right at the beginning of February, no matter how disgusting and rainy January might be, the Bay Area is always privy to a short burst of Spring. The temperatures rise, the sun comes out, and we get all giddy with the promise in the air.

Just as I'm marveling at the fact that I'm turning on the AC and not the heat in the car, the trees burst into bloom.

The flowers are beautiful - pale pink and so delicate. Our entire street is lined with these trees and they never fail to fill me with awe.

And then, without fail, every year, the week after everything blooms, the weather turns. The temperatures drop and the rain clouds roll in, dark and ominous. A few good gusts of wind and the pale petals start to fly. It doesn't take long for the street to look like it's covered in pink snow.

I watched it all happen again this week, the same way it has happened every year since I moved to the Bay Area, and once again I wondered why nature plays it this way. Why allow the trees to bloom this early? Why not realize that this is a fake spring and that the trees are better off waiting a few weeks?

And yet clearly nature does know what it's doing. The trees probably have to bloom just then so that the impending wind storms and rainfall will do their thing and spread the petals and pollen around. (Or whatever the science behind that may be. I enjoy the flowers and trees, I don't pretend to understand them.)

What struck me most of all is the utter vulnerability of the delicate flowers in all this. They bloom, like clockwork, and shine as hard as they can for their short week, and then they go where the wind takes them. They don't fight it. They just are.

I envy them that vulnerability and willingness to just be.

Yesterday I did just that. I wrote from the heart, I opened my soul, and I let it all pour out. I hit publish before I could rethink it, and then I walked away.

I never intended to make people cry. I never intended to worry anyone. And yet I did. But I also didn't expect the sheer number of people who reached out to say that my post resonated with them or who just reached out to offer friendship and support.

It's not easy to be willing to be this vulnerable. It's scary and daunting both when writing and when dealing with the fallout. But the outpouring of love I've gotten in return was the most beautiful, amazing, and unexpected thing. It was exactly what I needed and I feel blessed to have the friends and family that I do. Thank you.

I am not Super Woman

Once, years ago, when I was still hellbent on proving to everyone at work that I could, and would, do everything and anything they asked of me, and do it with a smile, I hit my breaking point. My boss asked me to have something done by the end of that day and it was just the one thing too many.

I didn't tell her it was too much. I didn't ask her to help me prioritize. I just sat there and I started to cry.

It was such an unexpected reaction from me - little Miss Pollyanna who always sees the positive in every situation, who always finds a way to bounce back, who always plays devil's advocate - that she and another coworker just stared, open mouthed.


"She's... she's not Superwoman. She's human." They whispered to each other while I just cried harder and harder.

They were amazed and delighted to discover that no, I couldn't do it all and that I was in fact human. I was slightly miffed that they were taking such pleasure in watching me fall apart.

The story ended well. The three of us figured out how to divide up my task list and get everything done and in the process went from being co-workers to good friends.

I did not learn from the moment. I still strive to be Superwoman.


Well, in case anyone was wondering, despite every indication to the contrary, I am not Superwoman, and it's exhausting to try.

My house is not clean. It's not tidy. It's not even pretending to be anything other than sanitary. And even that is a stretch some days.

My kids don't get a bath every night. They don't get read to every night. They don't even get a proper bedtime routine most nights.

My husband doesn't get the attention he deserves or needs.

My work never gets finished - be it work for me, work for my blog, career advancement, or work I get paid for. I know I could be doing more. I know I could be doing a better job. All I can muster is a good enough. And I even then I know it's not enough.

My bills get paid late. My tuition deposits are handed in late. School projects don't get done. Books get lost. Papers get misplaced. 

I'm failing, people.

I'm failing bitterly.

I can't lose the weight that makes me feel unatractive. I can't do the things that make my kids feel special. I can't be the wife my husband needs me to be. I can't be the person I want to be and it's seriously killing me.

I spend my days catching up. I start the day tired, try to wake up in the shower. Eat breakfast while listening for sounds indicating that the kids are awake. I fold laundry while they eat, pack lunches while they get dressed, brush hair while checking email, put on make-up while begging them to gather their things and put on their shoes.

By the time we leave the house I've been up for two hours and have sat for five minutes. An hour later I've done two drop offs and have driven some 30 miles in multiple directions. I've answered existential and scientific questions. I've dispensed parenting wisdom and love. And then I find myself parked in front of Starbucks, ready to start my own day, three hours after opening my eyes, and I can never motivate myself to get out of the car.

What for?

I have plans. I have goals. I know where I want to go, who I want to be. But it feels like I need to swim upstream to get there and like I'm being constantly pulled under water on my way.

And then I feel guilty, because the stuff that pulls me under water is stuff that I wanted, that I worked for, that I love. And when I rail against it all, they look at me with big wide eyes and wonder what they did to make me not want them.

I do. I want them. And I want me. And there aren't enough hours in the day for both. And it's just so damn unfair.

But there really is no choice. They win. They have to. They need me now. One day they'll be bigger and more independent. So I'll keep getting up before dawn and I'll keep working non stop to make sure everyone has breakfast, lunch, clean clothes, a somewhat liveable house, and that they all feel loved and heard.

Even if in return I get told that I'm fatter than daddy, that my sandwiches aren't as good, that they'll be better mommies than me when they grow up, that I don't need a special Valentine's Day to make me feel special.

They can't see inside my heart. They think I'm Superwoman and Superwoman can take it all without breaking. I just have to prove them right.

Borders: Where this chapter began

It all started one afternoon, possibly a warm one, though there in the Bay Area, that doesn't give us much hint as to the season.

I was bored, out and about one afternoon, alone, maybe playing hooky from work, itching for something new to do. My husband was in law school, work was doing little to sustain my interest, and my evenings were filled with bad TV while M studied for yet another class.

My sister was pregnant with her second child and while I was determined to make this baby a blanket, just like I'd made one for his sister, I wasn't thrilled with the idea of cross-stitching another. So I headed to a bookstore to find some inspiration.

I meandered into the store, climbing the wide staircase to the second story, pausing for a moment halfway up to survey the lower level. Bookshelves spread out in every direction - thousands of books on every topic imaginable, quiet customers browsing among the shelves, each lost in their own world, oblivious to each other.

At the top of the stairs I headed left and found the craft section tucked away in a corner behind the young adult area. I glanced over the cross-stitching books on the bottom shelf, but as expected, nothing caught my fancy. And then I spotted it, nestled between two sewing books.

The title, Knit Baby Blankets, caught my eye and I worked it out of the tight place. I flipped through the pages and fell in love with pattern after pattern. I hadn't knit a stitch in years, but I didn't hesitate for a moment. Minutes later the book was mine and I was headed one block over to Michaels to gather a few key supplies.

That night I turned to the Internet for a tutorial and stumbled headfirst into the world of knitting blogs.

Over the next few months I started a blog, finished my nephew's blanket, and knit him a second one. Then I knit a sweater for his big sister and shortly after that I started working on a blanket for my own baby. As she grew in my belly my interested in blogging grew just as fast, and as can be expected, I started reading pregnancy and parenting blogs. Her bright red blanket grew fast, but unlike her cousin's it was never featured on the blog. Instead, the blog's focus switched from yarn to babies, from patterns to milestones.

And the rest, as they say, is history. Once that blanket was finished my interest in knitting waned, but my love for blogging took off.

As Borders prepares to possibly declare Chapter 11 this week, I can't stop thinking of that fateful day - my first in that particular store - where I happened upon a book that changed the course of my life.

It would never have happened in an online bookstore.

Unfairness between sisters

When Little L was little C bent over backwards to make sure that her baby sister had everything she had. Cookies were split evenly. Toys were shared with no hesitation. And the only time C got upset was when Little didn't get what she had also received.

Fast forward two years and the tables have turned. Now Little L makes sure C gets the same things she gets. She asks the cashier at Trader Joes for extra stickers and an extra lollipop for her sister. She tells C whenever I'm about to do something fun to make sure she comes. And she includes her in all the conversations she can, even when C is moping.

Sadly, instead of being grateful for her sister's attention, C seems to resent it. Instead of being sad that her little sister doesn't get to go to the same school as her, doesn't get to be part of Spanish club, doesn't get to have 1-on-1 French classes, doesn't get to go to gymnastics, C seems bitter that Little L gets to go to daycare all day. Deep down I think she knows she has it better, but not knowing what her sister is getting while she's not there to tally and take notes eats at her.

I watch her tally and count. I watch the envy grow in her eyes. I see it eat at her.

Tonight Little L came home with a box of Valentine's exchanged at preschool today and it threw C into a rage. Forget that I had bought her a brand new leotard. Never mind that Little L had brought her a lollipop and stickers from Trader Joes. Nothing cheered her up. Her sister had a box with six, maybe seven cards and she just couldn't get past it. It was unfair. She was oblivious to the fact that Little L's excitement lay in going through the box with her so they could discover the goodies together and not in the goodies themselves.

At times when she has these tantrums all I can see is how ungrateful she's being. I want to shake her and make her see how much she has. But I see her eyes and the anguish buried in there and at the same time I want to smother her in love.

Seven little cards covered in hearts and 3-year-old scribbles don't make her less loved. That one heart lollipop in the box doesn't make her less important than her sister. But she doesn't see that. She only sees that she doesn't have a box of her own. That she wasn't a part of the fun.

As calmly as I can, I remind her once again, that to be truly happy in life you have to tally all the great things you have in your life instead of constantly counting what others have that you don't. And then I walk away and hope that it sinks in. I don't point out that she's cheating herself out of a fun evening. I don't let her sour our mood. I go to the kitchen and take her place at Little L's side as she tears through her friend's cards, and when she finally emerges I step away and let her take over, knowing full well that while this battle might be over, the war on jealousy has just begun.

The power of a network and of friends

First there were the Twitter friends. The people I turned to when I was first freelancing and so lonely sitting in the crowded coffee shop day in and day out. I didn't know the people around me, but I had friends in the computer.

Then there was the bloggers. Silicon Valley Moms bloggers, local and not. They were my friends online and my friends in real life. Not friends I had playdates with, just friends I saw regularly at blogger events.

After that came the more extended blog network. Bloggers I'd worked with, met at conferences, met online, or just gotten to know through their blogs.

Late to the game came the Facebook network - a hodgepodge of real life friends, old school friends, blog friends, twitter friends, and, here and there, family members scattered all over the world.

In the middle of all that virtual connection I discovered a craving for real life tangible friends who could share a cup of coffee, not just "java." With trepidation I walked into a mother's group meeting at my daughter's preschool. A year and a half later I have a real network of local friends, real, amazing people, who do real amazing things, and who are there for me when I need them.

Two years ago I thought my online network was more than sufficient. Today I know that I was missing something. I needed that balance of virtual and real, of online and off, of "colleagues" and friends.

In my mind both of my communities were clear cut and had their own roles. The online people were essentially work relations, the real life ones were friends. But life isn't ever that neat. Each has bled into the other. I have real friends online and my real life people have proven over and over again that they have my back when it comes to my work and my career.

Either way, I win. I have great people in my corner. Amazing people I'm proud to have in my network and even more proud to count as friends. Their friendship and their faith in me gives me wings. And sometimes, I get to relax, share a mocha or a glass of wine and just enjoy being a friend back.

One week into a healthier life

On a whim last Sunday I opened the Weight Watchers website and signed myself up.

I'd been watching myself gain weight and hating it, but not really doing much about it. If I'd been exercising regularly I might have been able to maintain my weight, but even then, it's not exactly like I'm at my ideal weight.

The holiday season tripled my workload and any exercise effort I'd been making went right out the window. That, plus holiday and stress eating lead me to bust the seams on my favorite dress the other day.

Other than being mortifying, it's also sad. I really like that dress.

Even then I didn't stop eating more candy and snacks than were remotely necessary.

And yet that's not what prompted the visit to WeightWatchers.com.

Maybe it was my friend Shannan's success. Maybe it was that I was really ready. Maybe it was Egmos being particularly loud and annoying and me trying to shut him up. I don't know.

I was going to sign up for just a month to get myself motivated, but there was a three month deal and I'm a sucker for a good deal and a bit of a challenge. So I bit the bullet and signed up for the three months. Then I went to bed and tried not to think about the next day.

The WeightWatcher plan was recently radically overhauled so, while I've been on it before, I feel like I'm starting from scratch. I'm also doing the online program as opposed to attending weekly meetings. Between the new plan and the new medium I don't feel like I'm just doing what I used to do. I'm not falling back into my old WW routines and habits. I have to rethink everything, recalculate every bite. And frankly it's been good.

My first week has just ended and while I don't know what the scale will say tomorrow, I'm happy with myself. I stuck to the plan and tonight I even went for a run. I've been eating healthier and taking better care of myself. It's not a bad feeling.

From the mouths of babes come great resolutions

Upon noticing that M had headed out to the grocery store for the second time that day, C asked me why he had to go back. I explained that he'd rushed out to get us some dinner. She thought about this for a minute and then turned to me.

"How come you always have plenty of food for us in the house, but you never have food for you guys?"

The truth really is that they're easier to shop and stock up for and we like more variety than they do. The other truth is that I'm programmed to make sure there's always food for them, and I'm really bad at doing the same for us.

I summed it up for C by telling her that we were just better at taking care of them than taking care of us.

Her eyes grew wide and concerned.

"But mommy! That is bad! You have to take good care of yourself, it's important!"

I looked down at her sweet, earnest, innocent, concerned face and promised to try harder.

The next day I booked two outstanding doctor's appointments and I re-joined Weight Watchers.

She's right. I take great care of my kids. I make sure they eat balanced meals. I don't let them eat too much sugar. I insist that they get enough sleep. I push them to spend time outside and move their bodies as much as they can. I even limit their screen time to foster their imagination.

I do none of that for myself.

I'm the one who preaches to everyone that you have to take care of yourself so you'll have the ability to care for others. Clearly I have failed to take my own advice to heart.

I'm trying to change that.

I've been on Weight Watchers again for 4 days and it's going well. I saw both doctors and stated taking prophylactic medicine for my migraines. (It's not working yet, but at least I'm addressing the issue.) I'm going to bed earlier. (The meds make me sleepy, so really that's not so much part of the resolution as a lucky side effect.) And last, but not least, I'm resolving to finally make appointments to see the dentist and an ophthalmologist.

It's a start. I'm still on the computer too much and not moving enough. But it's a start nonetheless.

Wordless Wednesday: The Opposite of Snow

As snowpocalipse2011 starts... I bring you the polar opposite*- the beach... in January... in California.

*For the record I checked with some snowbound friends before posting these photos. They unanimously agreed they'd appreciate a change of scenery. You can blame them if you don't.