Updating Life

It's hard to believe that I started working for Tiny Prints two years ago.

Two years is a long time. And yet it went so fast.

Two years ago I had a preschooler and a toddler. Today I have two big girls who reason, make jokes, have smart conversations with me, play games, invent stuff, and just are so... big.

Two years ago I had little to no faith in my abilities as a social media marketer or writer. Today I'm feeling pretty good about what I know and what I want to do.

This morning I started going through my various online bios and "about me" pages. I thought I'd just have to update my work info, but it turns out that so much more than just that has changed in the last two years.

As it turns out, two years is a long time and as I read those bios and about me pages I feel like a different person wrote them. We've been through so much as a family and I've been through so much growth as a person, a blogger, a writer, a wife, and a mom.

I looked hard at my bios and thought about what to say, how to sum up all this change, how to portray myself accurately. And then I realized that the changes might feel momentous to me, to the rest of the world I'm still just me, only I happen to work at home again instead of in an office.

I'm still just a California Writer mama looking for balance between work and family.

Chalk it up to fun

A few weeks ago, at my mothers' group, I attended a talk given by Mike Lanza of the Playborhood.com blog. Mike is advocating bringing back the neighborhoods of our childhood where kids felt free to roam and play to their heart's content.

I have to admit that we're utter slackers as neighbors. We've been in our house for eight years and we hardly know anyone. To be fair, back when we moved in, we were the youngest on the block, by far. Nowadays though we have little excuse. The neighborhood is getting younger by the day and still, we stay behind our doors.

As Mike talked I remembered my time in Rye, NY. 7-years-old and free as a bird. We roamed the 'hood with all the kids on the street, bouncing from one yard to the next, exploring, playing, and just being kids.

I biked on the road, fell into ponds, snuck into the country club pool.

I even distinctly remember walking to school by myself. I couldn't have been older than 8 or 9 since we moved away the summer I turned 10.

I'll never forget that feeling of freedom and possibility that filled me every morning when I jumped out of bed.

Until a year or so ago we used to let our kids sit outside and play with chalk on the front walk. I figured that as long as I could hear them play they were safe. (We live in a very safe neighborhood.) Then, one day, while I was out there with them, a woman jogging by -- a total and utter stranger -- stopped to say hi to the girls and addressed them by name.

It freaked me out and for the longest time I didn't let the kids out to play in the front any more.

Well, influenced by Mike and our desires to get out into the community more, we're taking back our front yard starting with a slightly unconventional invitation.

We live on a corner lot with a lot of sidewalk space. M came up with the idea and I bought the chalk.

The girls drew the first pictures.

And we invited people to add their own.

And then we stepped back and waited.

They didn't disappoint. Every day since we've woken up or come home to new messages, new drawings. It makes us smile and then we go out to play and invite people to stop and play with us.

It's not quite the playborhood of my childhood yet, but it's a step closer than it was last month. And this Halloween we're handing out candy and chalk, with a little note inviting them to come use it with us.

Our lawn might not be the most manicured. Our house might have a bit of chipped paint and broken screens. But our sidewalks are the most beautiful in the neighborhood.

So, What's Next?

"Be sure you have your elevator pitch ready before you come." 

That was easy. I've had my book's elevator pitch down pat for years. It's the story of a girl who goes to Hawaii to renew her wedding vows. When she arrives she discovers that the boy she was running away from when she went to Africa and met her husband, is here, on the island. Even worse, he's there with his kids - both of whom are named after her.

I've delivered that gem so often that even C can recite it.

What I didn't prepare was my other elevator pitch. The one for the answer I found myself having to give over and over again while I was in New York.

"So, what's next?"

I flubbed it again and again.

"I'm... ah... starting a... thing..?"

"I'm... ah... taking some time to figure things out."

"I'm... ah... freelancing a bit!"

"I'm... ah.... ah..."

For years I had a job that really didn't define me. But, at the same time, while I was working there, I was never in the kinds of situations where people asked me what I did, so it's not like it really mattered.

Then I freelanced for a year.

Telling people you freelance works. It's a bit sexy, a bit mysterious. It makes them wonder and maybe dream for a moment. In reality it's a whole lot of work for not a whole lot of pay. It was fun for a year, but it no longer holds the appeal it held then.

After freelancing got old I took a job. A "real" job, in an office, with co-workers, and a coffee machine. And for two years I once again had an easy answer to "what do you do?"

I was, in short, the "Tiny Prints Girl." I handled blogger outreach and social media. I was known for what I did and it helped define me, define who I was in this space. More importantly though, it was an easy answer that kept me from trying to explain the stuff I did in the 75% of my day that didn't involve being at my office desk.

Today, since last Wednesday, that 75% is now 100% again  and while I'm super excited about "what comes next," it's super hard to sum it up in three sentences.

I'm freelancing... but not really.

I'm a professional blogger... but that's not the half of it.

I'm an aspiring novelist... but that's not how I plan to pay the bills.

I'm starting a company with some good friends... but... you know... it's complicated and involves a bunch of moving parts and ideas as well as objectives that need to be focused a bit and oh yeah, it kinda involves this other guy and his company.

Yeah. What I said. It's complicated.

For a while this past year -- at the conferences I attended -- I rebelled against being known as just "the Tiny Prints girl." I've spent a lot of blood, sweat, and tears nurturing my Kikarose online presence and it bugged me that who I was outside of the office was starting to be eclipsed by what I was when I was at work.

That's no longer an issue. This week I went back to being "just" Kikarose. I boxed up my things and cleaned out my desk. I'm moving on to the next chapter of my career, and while, as I said, I'm super excited, I'm also feeling a bit adrift.

Who is Kikarose now?

Two years ago she was a freelancer who desperately wanted to be a social media specialist for a great brand.

Then for two years she suffered from the split personality issue that comes with being the social media face for any brand other than your own.

And today?

Today Kikarose is the girl who's going to take what she's learned along the way and she's going to capitalize on it while branching out and learning new things.

So? What comes next?

Thanks for asking. I'm looking for agent representation for my first novel and I'm building a social media empire with four amazing friends.

How about you?

This post is kicking off another Kick in the Blog prompt! Come share what's next for you!

Finding my people

The morning before I left for BlogHer Writers I received my first rejection from a literary agency.

The afternoon before I left for BlogHer Writers I packed up my desk at work and traded in my gainfully employed status for the more uncertain status of entrepreneur/freelancer.

The evening before I left for BlogHer Writers both girls melted down completely and utterly at the news that mommy was leaving town... again.

The night before I left for BlogHer Writers I discovered tat I'd flubbed my plane reservations; instead of coming home mid-Saturday afternoon, I was scheduled to arrive at 9:30pm... three hours after the planned start of M's surprise birthday party.

To say that I wasn't in the best frame of mind to travel cross-country to attend an event that I really didn't feel like I deserved to attend is putting it lightly.

I almost cried while waiting to board my plane.

A writer's conference for me, wannabe novelist who had just been rejected? What was I thinking?

Another trip with the family after the utter debacle of the last one? What was I thinking?

Another expense after giving up my regular paycheck? What was I thinking?

And yet... I went.

And I'm so glad I did.

I've been to a writer's conference before. One for more "traditional" writers and I felt so out of place there. Those authors saw being online and active in social media as a chore. A thing they "had" to do to appease agents and publishers. As an active and avid user of social networks and blogs I was an oddity, a not so welcome oddity.

I've been to blogger conferences where most people focus on how to make blogging lucrative, how to turn social media into a bill paying, family sustaining career, not as a simple vehicle for writing. I'm an oddity there too. I created my blog as an outlet for my words. The marketing part came after and has always remained secondary in my heart.


BlogHer Writers was the middle place. The reunion of the bloggers who blog to write and the writers who write in a social space.

Again and again I heard it:

"It feels like I've finally found my people."

I've never wanted to join a writing group because I knew I'd feel out of place among "traditional" writers. I worried I'd become their social media tutor rather than their writing peer.

This week I finally felt what it would be like to be surrounded by writers who truly "get" me and how I work.

It was incredible.

Yes, of course I learned more than just that. But aside from some practicalities about the craft itself, this was my take-away from my time in New York.

I'm not alone in this. My people exist and I've met them. 

And yes, sometimes you have to ignore the voice in your head pointing at all the signs telling you not to do something and follow your heart instead. My head yelled at me and told me to leave the airport and go home. My heart told me to board the plane.

I'm so very glad I did.

Gratitude for the little things

I read somewhere, probably on Pinterest, the following quote.

What if you woke up tomorrow with just the things you remembered to be grateful for today?

And I stopped and looked around me. All the things I take for granted day in and day out.

My couch -- hand-me-down from friends. My 10-year-old Ikea kitchen table that we bought to use while we found a nicer one. My kitchen, with its brick-red walls.

My house.

My car.

The Christmas tree ornament that hangs in my car, adorned in silver and blue, a testimony to the fact that Little L's teacher tried to accommodate our Jewishness in this Christmas craft -- despite the fact that Little L wears a Santa hat in the photo.

The cat.

The books littered through the house.

The art work my prolific little artists create day in and day out.

The photos. The cards.

My bed.

My morning tea.

And the bigger things.

My friends.

My family.

My community online and off.

The schools we've carefully selected for our children.

Our home.

My husband.

There are so many things I would be heartbroken to wake up without. So many things I never think about that would leave big gaping holes in my life if they weren't there in the morning.

I'm glad for the reminder to stop and take note of the things that fill my life and my heart.

It's a good life. I'm grateful for it.

They tried.

This post inspired the new Kick in the Blog prompt. Come share what this quote says to you!

Pumpkins and Smiles Galore

The morning dawned bright and warm, not exactly pumpkin picking weather, but definitely a step up from the years we traipsed through muddy fields to find the perfect gourds.

And corn...

And fun photo props...

The day just got better and better.

We came home with four gorgeous pumpkins, but I'll treasure the pictures long after they rot and get thrown away.  a

Getting into gear

If I could sit down and work as soon as I'm out of the shower and have poured myself my first cup of tea I could get so much done. I'm so productive that early in the morning. My brain is engaged. Thoughts are flowing. Ideas are blooming.

But, other than answering a few emails between morning tasks, any actual sitting at the computer and working has to wait until the kids are up, fed, dressed, hair brushed, and schlepped to their various destinations.

So, to recap, I'm primed and ready for work at 7am. I only sit down and open my computer at 9.

And by 9? My brain is all over the place.  It takes actual effort to focus my eyes on the computer and even once they're there it's hard to decide what to do.

So...

There's some facebooking.

A little tweeting.

I check in with groups and friends on Skype.

I open my email fifteen million times and somehow never actually read anything.

I open the Blogger editor and start thinking of something to say.

I close the Blogger editor and forget my ideas.

I read a blog or two.

I check out an article or three.

I drink my coffee.

Sometimes I drink my coffee with a friend who's wandered in.

And finally, at long last, my brain aligns with my eyes and my fingers and I start typing.

First an email, then a comment, a post might start to brew in the back of my head.

I start to remember things that I need to do, want to do. I start to really focus.

Of course by then I've been sitting at my corner table at Starbucks for two hours and I start to feel a bit self conscious about taking up the space, but I don't let that stop me. Breaking my concentration at this point would signal the end of the work day. It just takes me too long to get into anything.

So...

Two hours later, hungry and most likely doing the potty dance, I'll still be at that table, wondering if I should just cave and buy a yogurt or risk taking a break for a real lunch. The decision is usually based on how much work I've accomplished and how much more needs to be done.

I've eaten a lot of Starbucks yogurts.

I've overstayed my welcome many, many days.

I just hope they won't ever get tired of me. Who knows how long it would take me to get to work anywhere else.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a lot to do. I've been here for two hours already and this is the first thing I've finished.

Why the words are stuck

Last week a tragedy occurred in our community and I so want to write about it, but the words that keep swirling in my head are "there but for the grace of God..." and that's so not what I want to say. Even more importantly, it's so not socially acceptable to say that I can't even find a way to write the post I want to write.

Everything I would like to say would get lost on that one note. No one would read beyond that.

And that pretty much sums up my blogger's block this year.

There's so much to say. So many thoughts. So many emotions. So many things to be worked through.

But I'm stuck.

I think about M and his face as he reads what I write.

I think about my mom, my dad, my sisters, and how they worry about me.

I think about my friends and how I don't want them to think of me as being callous, small minded, or unable to simply deal with what's going on.

I have this image of who I am, an image that I others also see. I'm a decent person. I help when I can. I think good thoughts. I do my part to fix the world and I try to be someone people can depend on when they're in need.

It's just that sometimes I'm basely human.

I get scared.

I get tired and weary.

I get frustrated.

I get angry. So very very angry.

And yes, sometimes I get self centered. I do think "there but for the grace of god go we" when I hear of tragedy befalling others. I do think that our own lot sucks and is unfair. I do get lost in a mental daydream of "what if..."

And then I feel endlessly guilty and unworthy of this image that I try to embody. I feel shallow and petty and mean.

And I can't write about it because it would make those emotions and thoughts more real, more concrete. It would give the words that sometimes take over my head more power than they deserve.

When the words have swirled away, I know they're not a real reflection of who I am or what I really think. I'm human. It's normal to think of me and how things affect me first. Let the first person who wouldn't think those thoughts throw the first stone.

And yet, I want to leave no physical trace of them, and so I don't write. And the words don't get purged the way they would if I could put them out to the world. Instead they build up and block the way for the other words, the nicer words, to come through.

Is it really any wonder that I'm posting more sponsored posts than ever these days?

Starting the morning just right

Thanks to Walgreens for underwriting this post. I was paid as a member of the Clever Girls Collective, but the content is all mine. Visit http://moms.dailybuzz.com/channel/style.

My alarm always chirps too early for my tastes. 6:15am to be specific. The kid has to be at school by 8:30, which means we have to be out the door just before 8, which means they get up at 7, which in turn means that if I'm not up by 6:15 I don't have time to shower, primp, and have breakfast before having to be on.

And if I don't have breakfast, I get cranky. Really, really cranky.

Seriously, just ask the kids.

And yes, I do need the full 45 minutes to get ready. 5 minutes for breakfast and 40 minutes for my morning routine. 

You know, the morning primping routine? Come on. You know you have one too.

Mine starts with a shower. Probably a longer shower than necessary, complete with shampoo, conditioner, face cleaning, some shaving, and endless standing under the water, waiting for my brain to engage.

In the fall that usually takes longer than in the summer. The thought of getting out of the warm shower and stepping into the cold and dark bathroom is so rarely appealing.

But then I finally do and I start the rest of the routine. Lotion for my legs, lotion for my arms, cream for my face. Anything to keep my skin soft and smooth. The colder months have a tendency to dehydrate my legs, rendering them scaly and decidedly un-sexy. Lotion... in obsessive quantities if you ask my husband... is the only solution to the issue.

So I indulge.

Then I have a micro-trantrum because once my hands are nice and greasy it's virtually impossible to turn the thingy on my deodorant. (What? I mentioned that I got cranky before breakfast!)

It's not a stellar routine. I don't use products that cost a zillion dollars. I don't even always use the same products from month to month. But the routine is what keeps me grounded. When I get up in the morning, I'm groggy, sleepy, and wishing I could spend the day in bed. By the time I emerge from the bathroom my brain has engaged, I know what's expected of me, and I'm ready to face it all... usually with a smile.

So, yes, I could sleep until 7 every day, and it's tempting, especially in Autumn when it starts to still be dark at 6am, but I'll trade feeling grounded for a little sleep any day. 

My hair hasn't been this short since 2009, but my smile is still as big.

Thank you to Walgreens for sponsoring this blog post. I was selected for this sponsorship by the Clever Girls Collective. All opinions are my own.

Raging Fever Kills Routine

The fever started on Friday night. Well, there was a fever the week before, but it came and went so fast it was hardly noticeable. This fever has decided that it wants us to notice.

Saturday afternoon, the fever raged, turning Little L into a hot sack of potatoes in my arms as we toured Berkeley with the visiting family.

Sunday the fever raged as we sat around the house, cooped up and itching to get out.

Monday it spiked to 104.9.

Today it hovered in the 104s again.

We don't worry. We don't panic. We dish out water and Motrin and wait to see if the little girl perks up. When she hops up off the couch to go dress her doll we breathe easy.

Four days though. Four days and no end in sight of this bizarre virus. I'm canceling plans right and left and working around her needs for cuddles and love.

My routine was in the air because of the family's visit and now it hangs there, waiting for Little L to recover, for daycare to be an option again.

I miss my table at Starbucks.

I miss having a vague idea of what I'll accomplish during the day.

But if I'm really honest, I'm kind of enjoying this down-time with my baby. When the fever isn't too bad she's fun to cuddle.