Two Job Mama

The mystery of sisters.

2011-01-15T16:34:00.002-05:00

I'm working and the girls are singing.

This is a welcome change from their usual routine, which as of late has involved shrieking, stomping and fits of whining. They're playing a game I don't understand, and that involves dancing and singing a song about being sisters. The only downside is that Grace is singing in an ear-splitting soprano that is not exactly on key.

Grace and Lauren are mysteries to me. Virtually every day on the way home from school they get in a fight in the car. A fight about nothing. I understand it - they're tired, hungry, ready to get home and get into pajamas. I feel the same way. And I suppose that's the difference between adults and children, that I can feel that way yet somehow dredge up the energy to try to distract them with questions about who they sat with at lunch and what was the funniest thing that happened today. Honestly, some days I'd like to whine and moan just as much as them. But on the worst of those days I just pull over the car and wait for them to finish. It's either that or start screaming, which I'm working on not doing.

Work has been so busy these last few weeks that I'm quite sure I've been phoning it in on my mom duties. But no one seems to be suffering. Much. I'm working harder than I've worked in a long time, and it's good work. The kind where I'm learning new things, making lots of decisions and challenging my brain every day. The only bad thing is that by the time I get home I feel like I've taken the SAT for eight hours.

But somehow dinner still gets on the table, everyone seems to have clean clothes and I haven't forgotten to put anything critical into a backpack. And looking at the way they are playing together right now I think that it's not a bad thing for them to be out of my laser focus. Instead they are focused on each other, creating an imaginary world that - and I'm not kidding here - has moved Lauren to tears.

"I'm happy cwying, Gwace," she said just a minute ago.

So what's so mysterious about sisters who love each other one minute and want to kill each other the next?

Nothing I guess. It's just the way they are. Either way they're sticking together, which makes me feel like we must be doing something right.

The wisdom of Lauren.

2011-01-04T19:31:00.004-05:00

Mama, I have to tell you a secwet!

What is it, Lauren?

When I get married I am NOT going to change my name, but my husband is going to change HIS name.

But don't tell anybody, okay?

# # #

Girls, you should never do drugs. They are very bad for you.

I won't Mama.

Pinky swear?

Yes. Pinky sweah.

(We pinky shake)

And also because I weally don't actually know what dwugs are.

One thing at a time.

2010-12-24T16:31:00.002-05:00

The other day I left my frozen bread dough out on the table by mistake and went out for the evening. In the morning it was a fat, exploded bag of gooeyness, not to mention hilarious.

Last night I was making lasagnas for tonight's Christmas Eve dinner and by the time I got to the end of the third one I realized I had deviated from my usual method - noodles, sauce, cheese, noodles, sauce, cheese - and instead had done noodles, sauce, noodles, sauce, all of the cheese. It looked wrong at the time, but I didn't realize my mistake until I already had half the cheese spread across the top, so I just kept going. I'm going to call it "upside down lasagna" and assume it will taste exactly the same as the correctly prepared others.

I made toffee bars on Wednesday and forgot to put in half the amount of butter. My mistake was pretty obvious because as I was stirring the mix it just looked more and more dry. Sadly, I didn't really notice this until I was pouring it into the baking pan. Happily, I was able to pour it right back into the mixing bowl, add the missing butter and carry on.

You might think I'm losing my mind. Frankly, sometimes I think I'm losing my mind. But I think it's just proof that multi-tasking is a myth. I can go for a run and listen to my iPod, but that's about it for things I can successfully do at the same time. I've been reading about this, the idea that you can't really multi-task, you just think you are. But what's really happening is that your brain is rapidly switching from one activity to the next. I like to believe I'm a pretty quick thinker, but clearly I can't cook and carry on a conversation, pay attention to my kids, answer the phone and listen to the news on TV all at the same time.

So my new year's resolution is to do one thing at time. Or at least to work on doing one thing at a time. I'm starting by making a list on the days I have a lot to do. Even if the only thing I check off that list is "have lunch" I like feeling that sense of accomplishment. I can tell you right now I won't stick with it. That's the nature of resolutions, and also the nature of an attention-challenged procrastinator like me. So instead I'm going to consider it something to keep coming back to throughout the year. More of a goal than a resolution, you might say.

In the meantime, it's Christmas Eve and I've got to look up the NORAD Santa tracker online, wash Lauren's hair, turn on the oven to cook the aforementioned upside down lasagna, figure out what I'm going to wear besides the t-shirt and crocs that I'm sporting at the moment, and go give my husband a big hug and kiss. But first things first..... a few more minutes here in the massage chair!

Merry Christmas and thanks for another year of reading - and occasionally commenting on - my blog. I'll let you know how the lasagna turns out.

Spying on the other team.

2010-11-29T12:34:00.006-05:00

One woman's son was baking the pies right as they were sitting down to dinner. He even put one of them in the oven at 8:30 at night. AFTER they had eaten dinner. Her husband did not like that.

Another's one daughter-in-law bought her dress just three weeks before the wedding, which makes her a perfect match for her son, who never plans anything ahead and can never get all the food to come out of the oven at the same time.

According to the lady in the pink turtleneck whose earrings looked like pink plastic shopping bags that say Barbie on them, her son and his wife cook three different turkeys and then the kids vote on which they like best: oven-roasted, cooked on the grill and some other variation I couldn't quite make out. Only thing is, the son got up at 4 am to get one of them started, but by the time they sat down to eat he had forgotten about it. I'm not clear whether it was cooked to death or just never served because I was too busy listening to the woman next to her complain about how she bought all these groceries for lunch on Wednesday and then traffic was so bad that her kids didn't arrive until after 3 o'clock.

These are the True Thanksgiving Stories of my workout buddies at Curves. 99.9% of the time I am the youngest person there by a lot. I don't come at a consistent time of day, so I see a different group of women all the time. But apparently they see a lot of each other because they all seem to know one another. They also all seem to have kids about my age, so I feel like I'm getting a sneak peak into how my life looks from someone else's point of view.

Aside from the fact that some of these people work out in dress pants and turtleneck sweaters, I find them pretty inspiring. They are active, engaged in their families and community, have lots of advice about cooking and share openly their affections and irritations with their offspring and their families. Today, working out the frustrations of a wrestling match with my Christmas tree lights (a long and yet stunningly boring story), I was thoroughly entertained by their tales of kids who are always late, kids who are too busy, kids who are totally disorganized, kids who think they know how to do everything, kids who don't plan for traffic, even a kid who got up with her 10-year-old daughter at 2 am to get the Black Friday deals and wound up abandoning her cart because the wait in the check-out line was two hours long.

They were hilarious. But I couldn't help thinking so that's what they think of us.

Who you callin' grown up?

2010-11-23T13:56:00.005-05:00

I'm turning 38 today and I'm not gonna lie - it's freaking me out a tiny bit. Not the age. I mean, it IS a little hard to believe that 40 is right around the corner when you're still on this side of it. But I wouldn't go back to being in my 20s or even, necessarily, my early 30s. At 38 I know I've still got a lot to learn about life, but I also know a lot more about myself and that's a good feeling.

No, the things that are weirding me out are the crow's feet around my eyes that gather up make-up in them if I put my foundation on too soon after my moisturizer. It's that I bought comfortable shoes and talked myself into believing they're cute - and they are, but they are not the same standard of cute I would have applied even five years ago. It's that my wardrobe is one that belongs to a real adult. It doesn't include anything overly trendy, overly low/short and it definitely doesn't include a single pair of jeggings. It's the fact that the classic rock stations are playing music that I listened to in high school. I mean, what the h-e-double-hockey-sticks is happening here!?

I'm now part of a generation who are the parents/grown-ups on TV sitcoms. I'm the target of ads for luxury cars and peanut butter and laundry soap.

Here's a good example of how shocked I am by my age: I'm working on a series of videos for Shriners Hospitals for Children in which I am interviewing nurses, surgeons, physical therapists, etc. Because these hospitals are such amazing places people tend to stay there a long time, so what I hear over and over again is that people have been there 15 or 20 years. My first thought is, wow that's a long time! My second thought is holy crap, they're my age!

What I've learned is that we all have an age in our heads that we really are, which has very little to do with the age we actually are. In my head I'm about 24. I'm certainly not a grown-up, much less the mother of three children with a mortgage and a business. I'm not sure when everyone around me - my clients, my parents, my employees, my children, my friends - is going to realize that I am not an actual grown-up, despite the crow's feet and slightly sensible shoes.

I'm not sure when I'm going to realize I'm a grown-up. And I'm totally okay with that. Because age is fine, but actual adulthood is totally overrated.

Little b, big B.

2010-11-07T08:49:00.004-05:00

When I first met B he was a blond, cherubic, chubby-cheeked 8-month-old, so cute that he looked like a child who comes in the picture that comes with the frame. I was smitten. He was smiley. It was the first time I had met all of Chad's family - brothers, sisters-in-law, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandma - and B was a sweet diversion from the nervousness of meeting an entire family who are completely checking you out.

B was in our wedding, a three-year-old in a tuxedo looking like a ventriloquist's doll at his dad's side. He bawled his way down the aisle, then sat to the side of the altar during the cemetery, quietly running his cars up and down the carpeted step. When his parent's divorced he and his twin sister were regular visitors at our house. We'd play endless games of Monopoly, hike into the dunes and pretend to be animals, and he'd eat nothing but sausage for breakfast. He was always sweet, always one of those people who you just know has a gentle inner core, a good heart.

As he's gotten older he's still been a regular visitor. We'd get the occasional text message just to say Hi. We met his girlfriend. Talked about his first car accident - and laughed at how irritated he was that it happened to him and not his sister. When a difficult time at home led to him needing a fresh start Chad and I didn't hesitate a moment to bring him here. He's been here five months and it feels like forever, in the very best way.

This past Friday I took him on a college visit to University of Northwestern Ohio, an automotive technology school that I had never heard of before. What an impressive school. And what a truly fun day. B is not my son and I don't ever want to take away from his mother, who has raised a wonderful kid. But walking through campus with B, I felt the same way every mother who has prepared to send a kid off into the world has felt. That round-faced baby boy was towering over me, tall and skinny and strong. And at UNOH he was in his element. Cars are his passion, and it was a joy to see him take it all in - the tools, the technology, the cars, the single-minded focus on all things motorized. I asked him questions and he answered in detail, showing me things and explaining things that I have never seen before or come close to understanding about a car. He was the expert, I was just along for the ride.

We walked what seemed like miles in the brisk November cold, laughing at how all the kids in camouflage jackets and hats unloaded into the Ag building, eating pizza standing up in the high-performance auto shop, talking about everything and nothing. We saw drag racers and junky pick-ups, jacked up Hondas and a car that was two front ends welded together for use as a training aid. We watched the auto-cross club blaze black tire tracks into the asphalt as they raced through their course, and rolled our eyes when the un-tricked-out, un-jacked-up Jeep went the easy way up the off-road course.

It was a fun day. Circumstances have made it so that he spent it with me, instead of his mom or Dad, and I'm not going to lie - I was glad. It was a privilege and a joy. I can't wait to see where the next phase of his life will take him.

Escape with a side of meeting.

2010-10-04T08:00:00.003-05:00

"Mama? Why do you have to go to the business meeting? Why can't someone else go?" It's early. So early that sun has not even broken above the tops of the frost-tipped trees and the sky is blushing with rose-flecked clouds. Grace's face is calm, but her eyes are big.

"Well honey, I'm in charge of this project. And it's a really big project. And also, this meeting is one of only one or two times a year that everybody who will work on the project is going to be in the same place at the same time," I say. "So it's my job to show them what their new web site will look like, and what kind of videos and stories it will have, and also what they will need to do when it's their turn to give us information."

She nods. Lauren is listening carefully, but says nothing. I am pretty sure what I'm saying sounds a lot like that old Far Side cartoon: "blah, blah, blah, Ginger."

I know the girls have mixed feelings about me going out of town. They are always good for Chad. He always finds a way to make things special. In fact, when he's alone with them he's - and this kind of hurts me a little to admit - way more hands-on than me, playing Chutes & Ladders, or HORSE out in the driveway, or tea party or whatever. Which explains why my return home is often prefaced by, "well, the house is kind of a mess..."

But I also know that they miss me a lot. And they kind of think that the world will somehow cease to revolve on its axis. Even B, when informed that I'd be out of town for a couple of days said, "What? You're going out of town? How long?"

I said, "Just a couple of days. What? Don't you think the household can run without me?"

He looked straight at me and said, "No."

Very flattering. But no matter. I don't travel much, just enough to make my job interesting. And I'm never gone for long. Rarely more than one night or two. And secretly, although I would never want my children to know this, I can't wait to go. I love good hotels. I love getting ready for bed without stepping on Barbies or finding tiny pairs of underpants on my bathroom floor. I love eating out at places my kids would hate and not having to get everyone else's food ready first. I love leaving the leftovers behind because I was never going to eat them anyway, but with the kids I feel somehow compelled not to be wasteful. I love having the news on in the morning, and every single light in the room on too, if I want to, instead of putting on my make-up in a nearly candelit dimness (which is flattering, but still....).

I love escaping. Even if only for a couple of days and with a business meeting thrown in.

The best part is, I'm always really glad to get home.

Schizophrenia and the power of sitting on the couch.

2010-09-30T15:16:00.002-05:00

On Monday I took B and his girlfriend to a college fair. On Tuesday I went to Lauren's preschool open house.

Lately I've felt like parenting is an awful lot like schizophrenia, only the voices are on the outside of your head. My childrens' personalities are so completely different, so.... separate. You hear that all kids are different, but you can't really know until you've experienced it. Like, one minute you're yelling - or trying very hard not to yell, but sort of failing - at your 8 year old to quit whining, sit up in the chair and do her subtraction. NOW. And the next your 4 year-old is leaning over to kiss your cheek. One minute your baby is totally cracking you up scooting on her butt across the living room, and the next you're fuming over your 17 year-old's missed homework assignment in science. One day you're asking about college admission requirements and the next day you're praising a triangle.

My children switch gears so easily, their moods tossed and turned by what happened at school, how hungry they are, maybe even the current phase of the moon. Who can say? But I'm ill equipped to change so quickly with them. Sometimes they are coming at me so fast and furiously - happy, angry, giddy, hopeful, quiet, crabby, laughing, pouting. I hate when I let my anger at one diminish my joy in another, even when it's only for a moment. But I feel like a split personality in the creepiest way when I get angry at one, then turn and smile and use my "happy mommy" voice on the other.

The irony is that they forget so much more quickly than me. Even if I yelled at dinnertime, by bedtime they are hugging and kissing me, and telling me I am the best mommy in the world. I know I'm not, but I'll take it as long as they still think so.

And so I come to the power of sitting on the couch. At my house, it's just like all those families on Super Nanny - the more time I spend with my kids the happier and more well behaved everyone is, including me. Even if we just spend 15 minutes in the living room talking, doing a puzzle, watching TV, reading, or playing charades (which B refuses to participate in, but still kind of hangs out for), it's 15 minutes where I have stopped moving. Stopped cleaning. Stopped bossing around. It's good for them, but in truth it's better for me.

Tonight, I'm thinking of sitting on the couch for 30 minutes.

P.S. In no way do I intend to make light of schizophrenia. In fact, I have a friend whose son has struggled with the disease for years, so I have an idea of how hard it is on the families and victims of the condition. Schizophrenia is no laughing matter. But you've got to admit - it is a great analogy for parenting.

2010-09-21T21:32:00.004-05:00

Packing lunches, cleaning up puke, changing diapers, reading books, fighting over homework, celebrating math victories, thinking about colleges, cooking dinners, wishing for a self-cleaning house, folding laundry, writing web sites, one conference call after another, worrying about my Grandma, laughing at myself, exercising occasionally, sleeping less than I'd like, playing Chutes & Ladders, watching movies, searching for jeggings, answering emails, feeding the baby, dinner with friends, vacuuming, loading and unloading the dishwasher, pondering fantasy football strategies, trying not to forget birthdays, throwing my cat's gifts of dead animals into the woods, listening to acorns hitting the roof like rifle fire, talking to my dog, stopping at the grocery store, de-cluttering my closet, remembering to floss, painting tiny toenails, eating popcorn with M&Ms, trying new recipes, checking out new cop shows, listening to thunderstorms, kissing sleeping girls, filling out school picture forms, giving baths, oversleeping on Monday morning, wishing I was still sleeping on Sunday morning, getting up every morning to do it all again.

A little bit of help here?

2010-08-17T20:16:00.002-05:00

Sunday night Annie woke up screaming - SCREAMING - at 3 in the morning. She had a fever and was hitting me on the arm, sweaty and inconsolable. After a frantic phone call to her grandpa (who is also, thank-my-lucky-stars, her doctor) and a feeding, as well as a hit of Tylenol, she was semi-asleep. She fussed on and off so much that I eventually put her in bed with me, breaking my long-standing rule against letting my kids sleep with me. But a girl's gotta get some rest and this was the only way.

Nestled against her hot little body I apparently slept well enough to have this dream:

I'm in a corporate office that's not a corporate office. It's more like the living and dining room of a mid-century ranch house and all the executives are circled around the dining room table/conference room table having a meeting. There's a phone booth against the wall where the two rooms meet. I'm feeding Anne, but then she pukes all over me.

I go to the phone booth and it turns out it's a shower, so I lean in and start rinsing my arm and brushing off my hands and clothes. I keep glancing over at the table. Everyone there is dressed like it's the 80s, like a scene from that movie where Diane Keaton inherits a baby and doesn't know what to do with her so she moves to Vermont and makes gourmet applesauce.

The next thing I know, my hair is getting soaked and - wait! - I'm naked! Only the meeting is still going on. Grace is in the corner trying to comfort Anne, who's not happy at all. And I'm NAKED! But still the meeting toddles on, while I try to keep my back to the group. (As though seeing only my butt somehow makes my nakedness less embarrassing.) Finally the meeting ends and I am able to get out of the shower, like I had been trapped in there somehow. And then I'm wrapped in a towel and a smarmy, blonde woman with a Mary Tyler Moore hairdo comes over to ask me some dumb question about business stuff.

And this is where it gets good....

The next thing I know, I've grabbed her by the hair, a handful of blonde flip curl in each fist, and I'm shaking her, yelling, "YOU ARE NOT HELPING ME!!!"

Then I woke up.

So there's a glimpse into my psyche.

P.S. Turns out Anne had an ear infection.

Milestones and the joy of de-cluttering.

2010-08-12T13:38:00.002-05:00

Poor guy. He's assigned to my house today, a house with a driveway that goes uphill, 21 stairs to the front door, another 17 to the upstairs bedrooms. It's 93 degrees with not a cloud in the sky. The dude is seriously buff.

He's here - finally - to pick up Anne's oxygen supplies. Two concentrators, one huge back-up tank, seven small portable tanks and a couple of little machines with oddly old-fashioned looking dials that do I don't know what. Annie has been off the sauce, so to speak, since late March, but the supplies have lingered. They don't like to let you get rid of those too hastily since getting them placed back in your house is much more costly and difficult than just keeping them around for, say.... an extra five months.

Finally he's done, having lugged all of this heavy and ungainly equipment down all those stairs by himself. I give him a cold bottle of water that's been taking up space in the back of the fridge then turn back toward the girls, doing a shamelessly bad running man-style dance in celebration. It's go-on, it's go-on... the oxygen is go-on! In the kitchen I yank out the garbage can and stuff it with endless yards of clear tubing and small plastic humidifier bottles. I jerk the rug off the floor that had been placed to keep the concentrator from vibrating on our wood floors, and tuck a dust-coated, unopened box of unidentified supplies under my arm. Now it's my turn down the 21 stairs, down the hill of a driveway that's white-hot under the blistering sun, down to the garbage can with my eyes closed to slits like a vampire peeking out from his coffin to see what the neighborhood humans could possibly be doing with all this daylight. With a soft thud, it's all gone.

Finally.

Tomorrow it will be one year since I was hospitalized with my cervix inexplicably dilated to 5 centimeters. I was, literally, hours away from giving birth to a baby who would have been too fragile to survive. I wasn't in labor, but in the end my body couldn't keep her in. The seven days of bed rest gave Anne just enough of a boost - in the form of lung-building steroids and simple time - to get her over the hump to viability. This is just a polite way of saying that she would have a chance at survival. Viable. Survival. They sound alike, but the difference between the two is a vast chasm.

This has been a life changing year. A year of decluttering, both literally and metaphorically. Our priorities have come into crystal-clear focus, our needs pared down to those most simple and treasured. Our worries sorted into Things That Really Matter and Things That Kinda Don't. I mean, yeah, I'd still like to have a VW bug convertible for my 40th birthday (as Chad promised to me long ago) and I'd also like a couple of those awesome cashmere sweaters from J. Crew this fall and to go on a cruise for our 15th anniversary in November. That would be cool, but it's also cool if we stay home in our old non-cashmere sweaters.

I'm going upstairs to do something with the wide open space at the front of my closet where the oxygen concentrator used to be. I'm going to try to leave it open, like a breathing space in a sea of clothes and shoes and belts. That's how I feel getting all that equipment out of the house. Like I've come out of a fog and found a breathing space after a year of worry, fear, doctor's appointments, unwanted medical knowledge and breathless waiting as Annie has grown.

On August 20th she'll be 1. What a year.

What dog barf? Part 2.

2010-08-11T10:51:00.003-05:00

"Eewwww! Mom! What is that?"

Grace has spotted the dog barf.

"It looks like a giant earwig."

She is pointing to the wad of regurgitated grass lying just so next to the actual barf/bile part.

I pretend to glance back as I'm wrestling Anne's car seat through the door without hitting Lauren in the head.

"It's dog puke," I say. "Not a giant earwig." Now I'm laughing. "But that's pretty creative, Gracie."

"We need to clean it up, mommy," she says, looking back furtively as I urge her to keep moving.

"We've gotta go, honey. I don't have time. Daddy will get it." I hope I sound convincing, but I'm really just thinking there is no way I'm cleaning that up. I'm not.

Tuesday night the puke was gone.

What dog barf?

2010-08-09T13:32:00.001-05:00

This morning my dog puked in the basement, near the door from the house to the garage. I noticed. But when I left at 8:40 (leaving Chad to get three girls ready and out the door on his own) I pretended I hadn't. Noticed, that is.

I mean, a girl can't do everything, ya know?

Of road trips, blueberries and laundry.

2010-07-30T09:39:00.007-05:00

I just went to the back room to fish my cell phone out of my lunch bag in the refrigerator.

And now that I'm back at my desk I don't remember what I needed my cell phone for in the first place. Which is a little bit alarming.

One of my grandmothers has dementia (caused by hardening of the arteries) and I'm fairly convinced my mother is on the verge of early onset Alzheimer's, although not from hardening of the arteries. Alzheimer's is really not the way to go, so I'm hoping that today's brain fart - not the first one I've had today either, I think – is more about brain overload than the beginnings of cottage cheese brain.

I haven't written in what feels like forever. This is partly because it's summer and I tend to hurry through stuff at work to get home and do something more fun. It's also because work has been screamingly busy. And it's also because I've been on brain overload. Here's what I've been up to in the last, say.... three weeks.

• One daytrip to Riley Hospital (three hours one way) to get Anne's g-tube replaced after it fell out of her belly while my stepmom was feeding her. Putting it back in took approximately 2.5 minutes and then back in the car for another three hours.

• One trip to Tampa to make a new business presentation that included a lovely few hours of lying by the pool, reading a magazine UNINTERRUPTED.

• Two trips to the high school to get B signed up for this fall.

• One impromptu pool party that included the largest marshmallows in the known universe

• One baby shower for two moms.

• A trip to the blueberry patch with all three girls and no sunscreen (duh)

• Another pool party that was originally scheduled for a completely different day.

• One really fun White Sox game that kept me up waaaay too late for the second new business meeting I've had this month that was the following day.

• Umpteen trips back and forth between daycare, my sister's house, the office, the place that repairs our car, the grocery store, the beach, my own laundry room.....

I don't know.... looking back, we've been having a blast. Lots of time with friends, lots of beautiful beach days. But too often it all seems to happen in a rush. Too often it seems like one thing gets pushed to the back in favor of another, whether it's keeping up with the laundry, reading bedtime stories too instead of just singing a goodnight song, getting that ongoing web content project actually done, cooking a real meal with real food, spending time just hanging out with my husband who is really fun to hang out with or cleaning the desk drawer that is starting to look an awful lot like my phone drawer - not good.

It's hard to admit it, especially to myself, but I am NOT superwoman. So I'm working on tackling one thing at a time. Paying real attention to that thing. It's amazing how much less pressured I feel when I make a list and do one. thing. at. a. time. It's also amazingly liberating to realize that no one is judging me more harshly than myself. So I've been working on talking to myself in my head the way I would talk to my friends, which is with kindness and a for-god's-sake-give-yourself-a-break good humor.

I think I'm finished here. Time to move on to my next task - scouting a garage door to see if it will make a good shooting location for an upcoming project. Then I have to come back and locate an actor who can juggle while wearing a mail carrier's uniform. Maybe he'll have some tips for me on keeping all these balls up in the air.

My cart runneth over.

2010-07-14T09:59:00.006-05:00

It's amazing how often people feel free to comment on some aspect of your life, whether they know you or not, whether it's appropriate or not. I was incredibly, alone at the grocery store, my cart piled high with everything from Flamin' Hot Cheetos (B's rare request - he's either the least picky kid on earth or afraid to ask for what he wants. I can't decide yet.) to baby formula, dog food, laundry soap and coffee creamer. The guy behind me in line had, like, five items and I felt badly that he had gotten stuck behind me.

"I'm sorry you wound up behind me," I said. "It's going to be a while."

He laughed. I laughed. He said, "well you certainly have all ages represented there," and nodded toward my heaping cart.

A flash of annoyance raced across my brain, and then I thought he's right. The kids in my house range from a 17 year-old with a hollow leg to a 10 month-old experiencing sweet potatoes for the first time. There's also me, my husband and our neighbor/grandmother-in-chief, Grandma J., a dog and a cat. Our dietary and personal grooming needs are varied and many. We eat at home a lot. And we go through toilet paper like, well... water.

And so my cart runneth over. And my view of grocery shopping - a chore I once hated - has changed. Now, every time I lean into the cracked plastic handle of the cart, heaving it around the corner by pushing my own body weight against that one wobbly wheel, I realize that I am blessed with abundance. Blessed with the ability to afford it all, to be sure. But blessed completely with an abundance of people to love, feed, groom, do laundry for, read stories to, laugh with, fall asleep watching a movie with, share my life with. What I give to them I get back, and more.

Now if someone would just help me put it all away.....

Guilt, with a side of guilt.

2010-06-17T14:44:00.002-05:00

Monday - Anne to daycare; Lauren to swimming lessons, then daycare; Grace to basketball camp and - ooops! - a make-up softball game that hubby has known about since last week but forgot to mention. Get to work at about 10, leave at, oh, 3:30.

Tuesday - Lauren to swimming; Grace to camp; at home with Anne for PT appointment. Got to work about 12:30. Left work about 5 and still had to do daycare pick up. Home. For dinner. It's a miracle.

Wednesday - Anne to Auntie's house, Lauren to swimming, Grace to camp, get to work at about 10:15. Pick Grace up at 3 and go straight to Auntie's to round up the littles for another softball game.

Thursday - Lauren to swimming, Anne to daycare, Grace to camp, to work at 10, left for hair appointment at 11:30 (General Sherman's army could not have stopped me from making this appointment), pick up Grace at 3, back to office for an hour then off to Auntie's and daycare to round up the littles for softball game #3. Please God, let us pick up pizza for dinner tonight.

Friday - Lauren to swimming, Grace to camp, Anne may or may not have a speech therapy appointment and/or a 6 month evaluation by Early On - my calendars are conflicting. Honestly? Not sure if I can squeeze this work thing in tomorrow.

Some weeks, if it's not one type of guilt it's another. It's also hoping like hell I can remember where everyone needs to go and actually get them there on time.

Do as I say, not as I do, or something like that.

2010-06-09T14:45:00.002-05:00

"You are soooo busy! I just don't know how you do it!"

I hear this a lot, usually when I'm in the middle of buckling the baby into her car seat, instructing her sisters to help each other into the school-bus-sized Suburban without fighting, telling my lovely and priceless daycare provider what the schedule is for next week and talking to my sister (whose kids go to the same daycare - awesome!) all at once. My gut instinct is almost always to think I don't know how I do it either.

So I decided to think about it while I had 45 seconds of relative quiet in the car. That's the real beauty of the Suburban, a.k.a. The Refrigerator On Wheels: when you put the loudest kids in the third row seat it gets a lot quieter. Here are the results of my deep thought, in no particular order.

1. Go to bed early.
I know, you feel like you won't have any time for yourself to read a book, take a bath, paint your toenails, stare at the ceiling, whatever. But getting to bed on time is critical to your ability to cope with whatever is coming your way tomorrow and you know it.

2. Get up early.
This is only possible if you also do #1. I mean, you can get up early from a late night once in a while, but not on a regular basis. Especially if you're over 30. Plus, the quiet time in the morning, where you can put on your make-up without interruption or whatever it is you need to do, is - without question - worth it.

I should clarify that I do not do either of these things on a regular basis, but I regularly try. A girl's got to have a goal.

3. Do as much as you can the night before.
Make lunches, load the car with the sports gear, make your logistical plan with your husband/mother/sister/teacher/whomever in your village will be roped into your plan for the next day. This will dramatically reduce your stress the next morning.

4. Do one load of laundry a day.
Any more than this and you can't realistically be expected to get it all folded and put away. I learned this little trick from FlyLady, who has many other great ideas that will make your life easier.

5. Don't feel guilty about pancakes for dinner.
Or hot dogs. Or pbj. Or cereal. Some days dinner is just impossible, but everyone still has to eat. Make your life easy and make something fast, filling and that everyone likes. Don't guilt yourself about the lack of a green vegetable.

6. Have excellent child care.
This one is hard. Really hard. And can be expensive. But having your children in the care of someone you trust completely, who is patient and loving, provides structure and meals, and generally allows you to focus on what you need to do during the day is priceless.

7. Get a great husband.
One that does laundry, makes breakfast for everyone while you're upstairs running around looking for the shirt that's plain but with two flowers and the pink bows mama, who patiently shuffles car seats and strollers and sports gear from one car to the next, makes you laugh every day and always makes you stop for a hug and kiss no matter how big of a hurry you're in.

That last one is critical.

And now that I've put this down it turns out the list is not so long after all. Maybe doing this - juggling three kids, a full-time job, a husband, a house and a life - is only as hard as you make it. Me? I'm just trying to make it fun.

T.G.I.M.

2010-06-07T13:16:00.008-05:00

It's Sunday afternoon and I look like something the cat dragged in. I am wearing a t-shirt three sizes too big, a hoodie sweatshirt and black yoga pants that have been washed 79 times too many to still be identified as black. My hair is knotted up in back and my bangs - which I foolishly cut myself about a month ago in a fit of impatience and knowing it would be at least two weeks before I could get into my stylist - are in desperate need of a shampoo. My eyes are smudged with Saturday's makeup and my chin is in the midst of a five-alarm breakout, the likes of which I haven't seen for 20 years. I look worse than one of Stacy and Clinton's befores and even though it's Sunday I feel like I'm letting myself go.

But I'm tired. I've been up too late all week. And I'm going crazy. My kids are actually making me go crazy.

It all started out sort of okay. Grace got on her new bike to go pick up the mail, a small voyage of independence and pride. The baby napped. Lauren watched a movie. When Grace got back she brought the mail upstairs to the baby's room, where I was, I don't know.... doing baby stuff. In a flurry of nonstop, excited chatter she dumped the mail on the bedroom floor, sorting it into piles and opening "two things from Auntie Meg, mommy!" Then she ran out of the room, on to the next thing, and the mail was left behind. But now I know what I was doing - feeding the baby via her G-tube while she slept so that she doesn't miss a meal, or the calories that go with it. They measure these things like Nazis and while I may not get everything right, this is one that counts so here I am.

Hours later my nerves are frayed by a nuclear meltdown over a t-shirt for this picture:

repeated refrains of "I'm huuunnngryyyy," even though they eat like birds no matter what I put in front of them, fights about whose Littlest Pet Shop Bobbleheaded Freaks are whose and way too much TV. Oh yeah, and after the baby had diarrhea I got her all naked for a bath and she peed on me between the changing table and the tub. Of course.

And this was just Sunday afternoon, an improvement over Saturday if that's possible.

Now I'm in the bathroom with my littlest peanut in the tub and Grace comes in to tell me something. I listen. Then calmly ask her to please get the mail out of the baby's room and take that, and her backpack, downstairs. Put the mail on the table. Backpack by the front door.

She says, "no."

No? No!? What? Are you freaking kidding me?

I went all the way to the edge of crazy in that minute, telling her in a voice just short of a yell that she had better get the mail off the floor and down to the kitchen this minute and she'd better not come back into that bathroom because I. have. had. enough.

Fast forward to nearly dinnertime. I'm in a clean outfit that is just a variation on the previous one minus the baby pee. My hair is still gross. My heels are starting to look like I've walked a thousand miles barefoot. My acne is still happening. But thankfully the older girls are outside playing together peacefully. I see them from the upstairs porch, rounding the fence at the end of the driveway to play under the neighbor's tree, creating an imaginary world that is theirs alone. The sunlight is golden and warm, the breeze just a whisper in the leaves. The house is quiet and I can take a deep breath.

I look out over the liquid blue of the lake and I fantasize about my desk at work. My newly re-potted plant with the pretty blue ceramic pot on a tray that is too big, but that I will fill with beach stones. I imagine the pink ceramic jar that holds the oil that smells like Valencia oranges, and how it has a lovely relief pattern that reminds me of octopus tentacles, but not in a creepy way - more of a life-is-a-circle-that-never-ends way, and my jar of beach glass.

I think about how tomorrow I will have freshly shaved legs, clean hair, nice make-up, clothes that fit and don't make me look like a before. At work I will be productive. Check things off my list. Talk to adults who make their own lunches. Have a chai first thing in the morning. On Monday I will return to a neat, relatively tidy world populated by mostly rational people. And then I laugh at myself, because I also know that as much as I love work, love the problem solving, the creative energy, the shared humor and the desk that is mine alone, I will also spend my day thinking often of my kids and anticipating their sweet hugs, sweaty, baby-fatted hands in mine, their breathless stories of the day's adventures.

I know I'm not alone with this weekend craziness. I know other mothers are having this too. Personally, I think it's the adjustment into the rhythm of summer and the change in structure. My kids anticipate summer eagerly, but also mourn the loss of their school routine and teachers they love. They are settling into new daycare routines, different sleep schedules. And I am too.

Some days, especially in summer, I wish that I worked less. Or maybe I wish I didn't work at all. But this week... this week I am just feeling Thank God It's Monday.

And then there were four.

2010-06-02T20:53:00.005-05:00

Just a few minutes ago I went down to the kitchen to put some breast milk in a sink of cold water to thaw. When I opened the freezer I found a bowl inside with approximately one tablespoon of ice cream in the bottom. It was put there by my mother-in-law, who also happens to be my next door neighbor and babysitter-in-chief. I muttered to myself under my breath, "this woman is insane," and what do I hear but her voice coming through my second-story kitchen window...."are you throwing away my ice cream?"

She must have those extendo-ears dreamed up by the Weasley twins because she was a story below me, outside, trying to get through to her sister on her cell phone and I was talking really quietly.

"No, I'm eating it."

I lied without hesitation. Because discussing why or why not one should preserve one tablespoon of ice cream, even if it is the expensive kind, is not something I feel like doing tonight. And also, because even though Hillary Clinton was laughed at, it really does take a village and this woman is critical to the functioning of my village.

And my village has just expanded.

No, no more babies. Instead our 17-year-old nephew has moved in with us for the summer. B is sweet, easy to get along with, mildly moody in that teenagerish way, loves to fix things - anything really, doesn't like sandwiches (how is this possible?), up for just about anything - he is kayaking with his uncle right now even thought it's 10 at night and the lake is just a slightly lighter shade of indigo than the weather that's coming across it in a few hours - and tall. As in, adult sized.

For someone who has been living with three girls, three small girls, B's arrival is like having an alien dropped in our midst. Not only is he a fully formed teenager, but he's a BOY.

He's here because we are part of his village. And suddenly we are parenting four. Each one at a different stage, with a different temperament, different needs. My wish for him is that being here will help him realize that his village is bigger than he thought. That he is truly part of it and that he belongs in the truest sense of the word.

He has landed in chaos. In fact, he arrived the day we brought the baby home from the hospital where she had surgery to put a feeding tube in her abdomen (which went perfectly smoothly and she's fine). Since then it's been a flurry of getting his bedroom set up, relocating Chad's office and everything that was in it, end-of-school projects, softball games, weekend pool parties, dinners on the run, little girls in overtired meltdown, occasional thunderstorms blowing rain into the windows and onto the carpet, misunderstood Facebook posts and multiple job schedules. Oddly enough, he seems to like it.

Only the good parts. Mostly.

2010-05-14T12:06:00.003-05:00

Every once in a while I really lose my cool at my kids. Like, I yell so loud that I can feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins and maybe my throat even hurts a little.

I hate doing this, but at the same time if feels kind of good in the moment. One minute I'm breathing deeply telling myself that the best way to hold my kids together is to hold myself together, and the next minute one of my children has completely ignored my request to put on her shoes - for the fifth time - and the yell just explodes out of me in a torrent of bottled up frustration and impatience. It scares the crap out of them and the shoes are on in a jiffy. The tears take a little longer to get under control.

And then I just feel like a jerk.

But I'm hopeful that in the big picture they won't remember this. (Especially since I work really hard to not do it.) I'm hopeful because they ask me to tell them stories about my childhood all the time and I'm kind of shocked by how little I remember. And what I remember. Here's an example - I can recite the telephone number of my best friend in 4th grade right this minute, but I don't remember a single thing about any birthday before about the age of 13. I remember that I went rollerskating almost every day after school, but not how I learned or when I even got my own pair of skates. Considering that I once aspired to be a professional roller skater you'd think that the actual getting of the skates would have been a big deal.

Memory is a funny thing. Undependable. Easily revised. Precious in its ability to transport us to a different time and place, or show us ourselves as a completely different person.

It's okay if my kids remember I yelled at them. But I also hope they remember that I loved them fiercely. Kissed them greedily, even when they were pretending to be too old for it. Let them lick the spoon when we made brownies. Hugged them every day. Genuinely loved the necklace from the dollar store.

And let's just hope they forget about how I flatly refused to make guacamole for the 2nd grade Cinco de Mayo party, picked the mold off the edge of the bread because the other loaf was frozen, pretended that we were too busy to have a playdate with the kid I don't really like, yelled at them to stop yelling.

Because those parts just don't make me look so good.

A club I don't want to join.

2010-05-11T13:00:00.003-05:00

Dear Anne,

You are severely testing my ability to be a person who does not worry. All my life I have been a non-worrier. This should not be confused with someone who does not care. Indeed, I care deeply about many people and many things. But I have mostly been blessed with the ability to recognize that which I can control and that which I cannot. I am unable to sustain worry for more than a few minutes, no matter how large the issue, which was a gift for the entire 110 days you spent in the NICU. During that time I did two important things: 1) I never once looked anything up on the internet related to you, your prognosis or your current condition, and 2) I trusted your doctors. Although there were a few people who thought that perhaps I didn't grasp the severity of your prematurity or the risks that came along with that, I did. I just knew that I couldn't control it and so I decided to focus on how incredible you were, how tiny your toes were and that you had fingernails at all.

This turned out pretty well. As of today you are roughly 14 pounds, 6 ounces and a little over two feet tall. What a giant! You are giggly and bright-eyed, free of oxygen, free of medications and free of the feeding tube that made me turn into a knotty ball of sweat that last couple of times I had to wrestle it down your impossibly buttony little nose.

But last week you failed your swallow study. You silently micro-aspirated a wee bit of milk on roughly one out of every five swallows. This seems like such a small amount, yet, as one doctor put it, this small amount is akin to a slow form of drowning. While this may not be the most comforting phrase I've ever heard, I think it's a pretty accurate description of what is potentially going on inside of you and it's crystal clear to me that something is awry.

The good news is that the thing that is most likely awry is probably related to immaturity. You make look cute on the outside, but on the inside you're still working to catch up. Totally normal when you weigh less than a rotisserie chicken from Barney's at birth. But now we need a second opinion. We are taking you to Riley. And you might be back to the feeding tube, mainly to ensure proper hydration, but also to protect your scarred and developing little lungs.

I know that this is just one small thing, an extremely minor step that could make a big and positive difference in the long run. I also know that we could be dealing with much more frightening and severe medical issues after having a baby like you. I know. I know. I know.

But going to Riley, considering surgery.... this makes me feel like a Mom Who Has A Kid With Something Wrong With Her. And yes, I know that's not the worst thing in the world either.

Whatever happens when we go there, know this: you are a miracle. You are a gift. Even though you are still such a peanut that you're not quite on the growth chart, it's impossible to imagine that at one point we weren't sure you were even going to be here at all. You will be healthy and strong, and before I know it we will be watching you run off along the beach after your sisters, and we will be marveling at how you caught up. How catching up could even be possible. And I love you. All the time, no matter what.

But I'm worried.

Love, Mom

What I know for sure.

2010-05-10T14:47:00.003-05:00

Oprah writes a column in her magazine every month called What I Know for Sure (which is, apparently, a lot since she has been writing it every month for many, many years). I love this column because usually it's quite poignant and it always make me stop for a minute to think about what I know for sure. Or, more accurately, whether I even know anything for sure.

What I also love about this concept is that the things one knows are constantly evolving and are almost always the result of growth. I truly believe that there is something to learn from even the most random or awful things that happen to us, and if you're not afraid to do a little mental exploring you'll learn a lot.

Here are a few things I know for sure.

• People just are who they are. Even people who are important in your life aren't always your favorite people, so you just have to learn to enjoy the good and walk away from the bad.

• I will never learn to like broccoli.

• My kids know I make mistakes and they don't care. They love me anyway. I hope this is because they know I feel the same way about them.

• Hugging your parents makes them - and you - feel good.

• People falling down will always be funny. Why do you think America's Funniest Home Videos is still on TV after more than 20 years?

• No matter how fascinating the show is on the History Channel I cannot stay awake.

• Knickers were a bad trend and I have the pictures to prove it.

• Some people will never catch on to the idea of using their turn signal, no matter how loudly I honk at them.

• Exercise is really good for you and if I did it more I would feel a lot more relaxed/in control/able to wear any T-shirt I like.

• I will not get up at 5 am to accommodate said exercise.

• Even though it's always worth the effort, yard work is still torture.

• No matter what else happens in life, waking up like this is pretty darn good:

The worst of both worlds.

2010-04-29T13:18:00.002-05:00

I'm supposed to be writing an article right now about a hospital and a construction company, and their unprecedented partnership. Instead I'm thinking about how nice it is to be at work without the baby.

Anne has been coming to work with me three or four days a week for the last couple of weeks. Everyone loves her and loves having her around. Except me.

Don't get me wrong. I know I'm among a rare minority of women who have an accepting work environment that allows me to bring a baby to work all day, whenever I need to. I've got a little purple rocking chair under my back desk and the pack-n-play is set up in the back room where it's darker and quieter than the rest of the office. At work Anne is smiley, largely cooperative and widely adored. It's working out pretty well and I secretly hate it.

I've been mulling over the pros and cons of having her here, and this is where I'm at:

Pros
- I get to be with Anne much more than if she were at home with daddy/grandma/nanny
- I am saving big money on childcare

Cons
- I am with Anne all day. At work.
- I am easily and often distracted. I'm like this anyway - I can't work 15 minutes without having to get up or just stare out the window for a while. With Anne here it's worse.
- When it's very quiet in the office everyone can hear my silly cartoon-talking-to-the-baby voice, which makes me feel kinda stupid.
- I am being a mom and a writer/business owner all at the same time. It's like that episode of Seinfeld where George talks about how some worlds shouldn't collide.

This last one is the crux of it, I've realized. I love my work. Most of the time I'm lucky enough to find my work and my business invigorating, and the person I am while I'm doing that is a different part of me than the Mom part. It's not that the two can't co-exist, but it's more difficult than I thought when they are actually trying to take charge at the same time. I'm proud of and love both these identities. But I also enjoy keeping them separate.

Work is one thing in my life that is just for me. In a strange way, being at work is a relaxing break from being a mom. I may have deadlines, interesting clients and days that just don't go my way, but when I'm here I don't have to censor my sarcasm, pretend to like green vegetables, keep anyone company in the bathroom or feel like I'm being a bad mom because I'm looking at Facebook while the kids are going googly eyed at the TV.

It's my little world. And I'd like to keep it that way.

But it's fortified with vitamins and minerals!

2010-04-27T09:50:00.003-05:00

I totally love sugary cereal. The best is Captain Crunch, aka Captain Gum Shredder. In some circles I am renown for my ability to eat three bowls in a row before my gums begin to shred and bleed. It's good stuff. It says so on the box.

My love for the Captain has led me to be one of those moms who lets my children pick out Lucky Charms at the store, lick the spoon when I make brownies, eat raw cookie dough with a blithe disregard for the risk of salmonella, and generally treat sugar as a treat that is to be enjoyed in moderation and never demonized.

But then I bought Lauren some Tinker Bell vitamins.

I've been giving the girls gummy-chewy vitamins intermittently all their lives, or at least as long as they were capable of chewing a gummy bear without choking. You know how it is, sometimes we remember, sometimes we don't. They are generally healthy so I don't sweat it. But I recently made a change to Lauren's diet, significantly reducing her milk intake to see if it made a difference with her eczema. I've been hearing for years about the milk/eczema relationship, but her eczema seemed more related to either extreme dryness (winter) or extreme sweatiness (summer), with periods of relative remission in between. While we were on spring break this year she drank just about nothing but water and juice boxes, and I noticed that her eczema had disappeared. I chalked it up to the healing qualities of salt air until a week after we got home and it was BAD. Itchy, red... and she had been drinking milk morning noon and night.

I quit serving her milk. In two days the eczema was gone again. Hmmm.

Her doctor said milk could definitely be the culprit, so if I was going to limit the milk and cheese I needed to be vigilant about a multi-vitamin. She chose the Tinker Bell ones and we went home from the store. That night we opened the fresh bottle, chock-full of sparkling stars, butterflies, wands..... wait. Sparkling? Why are vitamins sparkling?!

BECAUSE THEY ARE COATED WITH SUGAR!

That's right. I have just purchased an entire jar of vitamins that are coated in sugar. And not a little bit of sugar. These things look like they've been coated in glue and pasted with rhinestones.

I went a little nuts, ranting on to the girls about how they better enjoy these vitamins because this was the last time they were EVER getting sugar-coated vitamins (Yeah, Grace got some Hannah Montana ones too. I hate that girl.), I couldn't BELIEVE that they even make sugar coated vitamins, and they darn well better eat them BEFORE they brush their teeth not after, because otherwise they will go to bed and get cavities while they are sleeping.

Then I went downstairs and had a bowl of Captain Crunch.

So now we're two for two.

2010-04-19T08:27:00.002-05:00

Friday night was Grace's first softball practice. She doesn't know it, but she's really a good athlete. Great hand-eye coordination (which she did NOT get from me), good balance, and she has that thing I hate in other people where everything she tries she pretty much figures out how to do in about five minutes.

The girls were lined up across from each other in pairs, playing catch more or less. And then...

Grace got hit in the face with the ball.

Right above her eye.

She cried so hard that this time I DID run out there and look. Her forehead was red and I was pretty sure she was going to wind up with a major shiner, but I just held her close and told her it was fine. The crazy thing is, it was fine. Three minutes later she was back to throwing and catching, and there is absolutely not a mark on her face.

But I think from now on I'll just keep the baby in the car.

And that's what you call a slam-bang start!

2010-04-14T12:54:00.003-05:00

Last night was Lauren's first soccer game. She was alternately excited to be participating in the same sport as her friend Georgia, who is a big, cool, kindergartener, and appalled and angry about wearing large padded socks up to her knees. Also, she was a wee bit disappointed that her team shirt turned out NOT to be purple.

But the game must go on.

First play of the game Lauren lines up around the circle in the center spot. The other team gets the first kick and WHAM! Lauren gets smacked square in the face with the ball. I mean, you could hear the thuhwack from the sideline.

It was heartbreaking and I did the only thing I thought was right. I stayed in my chair and didn't say a word. Her coach ran over and checked her out, and gave me a glance to let me know that Lauren was relatively okay, only psychically injured. Lauren cried, copious tears that were more about fear and shock than pain. Still, I stayed in my chair.

Lauren cried through the whole game. Once or twice she kicked the ball, and once she got to make the starting kick herself. She's got dead-on aim. Her tears slowed, but mostly she stood rooted with her hands up by her face. It was killing me, but A) she stayed out there and didn't try to leave the field, B) her team only has 6 kids so they couldn't really afford for her to be out, and C) I don't think it's a good idea to always rush to the side of your kid, especially when you know they are more scared than hurt. I wanted her to be brave and realize that things were really okay, and that we were still there watching, but we couldn't play the game for her.

But I felt like a heel.

The brownie and juice box afterward worked wonders for her soul, as did the visit from Georgia, whose game had ended first. She's already looking forward to Saturday's game.

I, however, am still recovering.

the raw truth

2010-03-25T09:00:00.002-05:00

A couple of days ago I was snuggling in bed with Lauren on a Saturday afternoon in a desperate attempt to get her to nap. It wasn't working, but that's beside the point.

As I lay there sort of marveling at her still baby-fatty elbows and hands, and wondering when she might stop flopping around like a walleye trapped on the dock, she snuggled up close and looked up into my eyes. In a perfect stage whisper she said, "mama, you have bears in the cave."

You can do maaagic....

2010-03-10T10:49:00.003-05:00

My good friend Hannah is a first-time mother (and one of, like, 3 people who read this blog so I hope you don't mind that I'm talking about you). Her new daughter was born on my oldest daughter's birthday, which makes it easy for me to remember and also is pretty cool. Avery is bright-eyed with wild hair and a look of total happiness on her face. I'm sure this baby must cry, but no one ever takes pictures of that part, so from my point of view she is the happiest baby on earth.

Hannah is awash in new-mother joy and tiredness, but mostly joy I think. She wrote a blog post recently about how she hopes she can create the magic for Avery that her parents created for her growing up. I know what she means. Making magic is the best part of being a parent. Playing Santa and watching your kids faces light up as they come downstairs in the pre-dawn, twinkly-tree light to discover a plate full of cookie crumbs on the hearth. Slipping your hand under their crinkly pillow to spirit away a tiny tooth and replace it with a gold dollar or two. Deep discussions about how Ariel lives at Disney World but still visits her sisters and King Triton in the ocean. It's magic of the very best kind because when you create it for them you're living it yourself.

But I'll tell you something. I'm on baby #3 and I'm wishing for another kind of magic. For example:

- I'd like to make my childrens' voices magically disappear when they begin to whine.
- I'd like their lunches to magically be made and sitting by the door when I get up in the morning. It's the easiest job I do and I freaking hate it.
- I'd like to magically remove every Littlest Pet Shop bobble-head freak animal, Barbie, Hannah Montana doll, and Dora-with-baby-twins-in-a-snuggli doll from its packaging on Christmas Eve without having to get out a pair of pliers and a band saw.
- I'd like my children to magically learn to love fruit, vegetables and my cooking. Before age 35.
- I'd like to magically be able to sleep 9 hours a night without having to go to bed at 8:30 pm to do it.
- I'd like Mary Poppins to magically land on my doorstep and not only be my nanny for the next three years but to do it for free.

That last one is definitely NOT going to happen.

But you can always dream.

P.S. I've been away a long time. I've been kinda busy. But I miss writing so I'll try to do a little more and thanks for reading. All 3 of you.

2009-11-12T21:25:00.003-05:00

I'm not usually a worrier, but still...

what if my boobs wind up permanently lopsided from their slightly uneven milk production?

how will I get three kids to bed? In the same evening? In a reasonable amount of time? And without falling asleep myself?

will I ever sleep again once Anne comes home?

why are my boobs so freaking itchy half the time?

will Lauren ever stop getting syrup in her hair?

why can't the Bears seem to win a game? (I actually know the answer to this one.)

will my inability to resist garlic and Diet Coke make my breastmilk taste horrible?

what if I lose my mind being in semi-quarantine this winter?

which is a better value - DirecTV with premium channels or just upping my Netflix to the one where you can have three movies at a time?

who puts nuts in perfectly good brownies?

does Chad Ochocinco know that that's not how you say 85 in Spanish?

if I ever met Tina Fey we could really kinda be friends, right?

is it just me or does Jay Cutler look like he's just thinking, "kiss my ass people"?

how long will it be before my children can go to the bathroom all by themselves? With no need for me to be even within 10 feet of the bathroom door?

why do we have to start listening to Christmas music in public places when Thanksgiving hasn't even happened yet?

I wish.

2009-10-23T12:59:00.003-05:00

If only it were this easy....

Everyone's good at something.

2009-09-15T14:01:00.002-05:00

I may have an incompetent cervix, but I sure as heck have competent boobs.

Exhibit A:

And I've got about six more bags just like it in my freezer right now.

I think he's serious.

2009-09-11T11:33:00.002-05:00

I'm sitting on the couch in the little conference room at the Ronald McDonald room. It has glass pocket doors that block out sound and give me the illusion of privacy, even though anyone walking by really could get a good look at my monstrous girls if they wanted to.

Chad is checking phone messages and getting me a drink of water, because I always find myself suddenly and terrifically thirsty while pumping.

He clicks off his bluetooth thingy and turns to face me. My shirt is pulled up, my industrial bra is unclipped and pulled down, and I'm hooked to my electric double pump like a Holstein. And he says, "You look so incredibly sexy right now. I'm sorry, I just can't help it. You do."

So far, so good.

2009-09-05T19:41:00.008-05:00

It's been two weeks. Well, two weeks and two days.

The baby we weren't even sure we were going to have, the one we debated about for nearly a year and half because things were getting really easy with the girls, the one we were expecting in December but instead arrived in August has taken hold of us - and everyone who knows us - utterly and completely.

Not a night goes by that we don't call the NICU before bed for an end-of-the-day report. We plan our week around what times we can go see her and who can watch the girls while we go. Or we bring them, and the incredibly patient and accommodating nurses at the NICU bring out child-sized rocking chairs for them, and the volunteers at the Ronald McDonald room give them beanie babies (two each so far, and counting).

There is still a feeling of unreality to all. As if this has happened to someone else, and now I am getting a glimpse into a life that is not really mine. I look around the NICU studying the other parents and, as shallow as it seems, I can't help feel that we are somehow different. We are not like them, I say to myself. But we are because we're all in the same boat. Learning what the numbers on the monitor mean, watching our children for the tiniest changes or the smallest signs of progress. Hoping for the best and holding our breath to ward off the worst.

I've had my breakdowns, my tears and frustration. But my natural tendency is to look on the bright side, to find the silver lining no matter how far I have to dig to unearth it. Plus, I think I might be a little unhinged if I was able to do that all the time without ever succumbing to the intensity, the emotional roller coaster of it all. I've stopped wondering why this happened because there isn't an answer. And I've learned that being a mother sometimes means just being. Being hopeful. Being calm, even when you don't feel calm at all on the inside. Being in the moment and not projecting what will happen next, because there's no way you can know.

Funny how such a little girl has so many big lessons to teach me.

I guess it is what it is.

2009-08-24T23:38:00.002-05:00

It's 12:38 am and I'm in Chad's recliner watching Jimmy Fallon (who is so sadly unfunny outside the structure of SNL) and waiting for 1:30 am to arrive so that I can pump for Anne and go to bed.

Yes, my wee sweet Anne is here. 15.5 weeks early. In the NICU they call her a "24 weeker." But they mean it in a nice way. In fact, I think the people in the NICU may be the nicest people on earth.

This is foreign territory to me. My two previous babies were robust, healthy, average size, right on time. My pregnancies were epicly - and blessedly - dull. And yet here I am with a tiny little preemie in the NICU, recovering from the c-section I didn't want and didn't have a choice about, and pumping breast milk every three hours because it's really the only thing I can do for my daughter right now. It's a very strange feeling to be driving home from the hospital, your body beaten by surgery, and the baby is not with you. She is in the best possible hands. But she still is not with me.

I'm not a worrier and I am prone to looking on the bright side. So far that's been pretty easy. Anne is tough. She is doing remarkably well. Every day we've been lucky to get good news about her progress. I know that probably won't always be so, but I'm not capable of thinking beyond tomorrow - the details of what time I have to pump, what time I can take the Percocet, who will take the girls to the beach for a couple hours so I can nap, and what time Chad will be home so that we can drive the 35 miles to the NICU and hold our sweet girl for the first time. It is what it is, but it seems like I'm living in a bizarro universe.

And just in case you're wondering - she was 1 pound, 8 ounces and 13 inches long. Her toes are the size of Nerds candy, her head the size of a tennis ball. She has a surprising amount of dark hair and toenails so small that you can hardly believe they actually exist. And she is beautiful.

I just wish I had been the only one.

2009-08-10T09:36:00.003-05:00

I brought a circular saw as a gift to a wedding shower this weekend.

See, the bride and groom were registered at Bed, Bath & Beyond, but the closest one to where I live is nearly 40 minutes away. Had I been going that way anyway I would have happily stopped in, bought a mini food processor and been on my way. But I wasn't going that way. So I checked out their other registry, which was at Sears. And I decided on the circular saw.

Secretly I was delighted to break the ironclad femininity of wedding showers by bringing a large, noisy power tool as a gift. Showers are a wonderful tradition and I truly wish you could have one right around your 10th wedding anniversary. But I don't really like to go to them. Looking forward to being "the chick who brought the circular saw" was going to be my own personal entertainment, my little way of making the ritual and procedure of the shower more interesting.

My whole plan was working. Until someone else's gift turned out to be a miter box.

New clothes. Big whup.

2009-08-06T13:22:00.002-05:00

When I was about 10 my best friend and I had this saying: big whup. Big whup applied to anything that was beneath our prepubescent sense of cool or was just plain unimpressive. I haven't used that phrase in a while, but it seems fitting today.

This was my second trip to the Motherhood Maternity outlet at my nearby outlet mall. I'm realistic enough to know that I'm not going to find any high fashion at an outlet and Motherhood Maternity is kind of the lower end of the spectrum of my personal taste as it is. But seeing as this is definitely my last child and I only have to suffer through maternity clothes for four more months I'm not going to splurge.

But I would like to look at least a little bit like myself.

Two of my friends were kind enough to lend me a lot of clothes, but it's mostly jeans and khakis. I am looking forward to an exceptionally cute pair of black corduroy jeans, but since it's only early August I've got a ways to go before I'm wearing those. There are a couple nice tops that are also waiting for the cooler weather, so I've supplemented with my outlet purchases - about three t-shirts and a couple of tank tops – as well as a couple of blousey non-maternity shirts that I'm pretending (for as long as possible) are just fine for someone who's five months pregnant. It's an acceptable wardrobe but not even close to my usual taste or style.

But back to the outlet. One bargain I found was a t-shirt that said "good things come in large bellies." An excellent choice if you feel the world has not already taken notice of your enormous abdomen and protruding belly button, but not so much for me. There was another shirt that had a large heart on it and the word "baby." Again, a good choice if you are visiting with someone who has never before seen a pregnant lady, but you couldn't pay me to wear that.

I've got a wedding shower this weekend and I wanted a cute dress, so I tried a purple cotton dress with a small ruffle on the neckline and an empire waist that was gathered. The color was great, but sadly, my oversized boobs looked like a big, lumpy sausage.

(Speaking of boobs - mine are so big that they make the bottom of my bra into a kind of shelf. The other day I was at my desk and found in there an earring that had fallen off my shelf at home while I was getting dressed. I hadn't even noticed it.)

I wound up with a black-and-white dress that will probably see a lot of use since it is officially the only business-appropriate maternity item I have at this moment, a fairly cute white linen shirt that I am pretending does not have puffed sleeves, yet another t-shirt, a cute flowered skirt that would look a whole lot cuter if I actually had a waist, a blue sundress that may also be acceptable for business if I put a cardigan over it and a tank top with flowers on it that I will probably only wear at home.

Big whup.

Yes, he really did say that.

2009-08-04T15:45:00.003-05:00

The setting: my kitchen this morning - I'm getting breakfast for the girls and Chad is pouring coffee for himself.

Chad: You know honey, you're looking kind of big.

Me: I know, but could you just not mention it? I mean, I realize I'm pregnant and this is normal and everything... but, you know, even people who really should not make a comment at all feel like they can say something, so I'd really rather not have you say anything about it, okay?

Chad: I know honey, but I live with you and I was just wondering....

Me: What?

Chad: Well, if you have four more months to go.... are you going to need a cane to walk by the end?!

A sphincter says what?

2009-07-15T17:13:00.003-05:00

Chad and I are having a hard time settling on names. The baby's not due until December, but the ultrasound is next Friday and I like to have things buttoned up. I mean, if I know it's a boy or a girl, I want to also know who this little person is. So today I was looking at a Web site and had limited my search to one-syllable girl names (Chad's preference and a distinctly difficult one to work with). By the time I got to the letter L, I had to start taking notes.

Lute (because nothing says 2009 like naming your child after a medieval instrument)

Mab (what?)

Mauve (this is just plain bad)

Ode (as in, "ode to the idiot who thinks this is a name")

Paz (yeah, 'cause that child will never be nicknamed "spaz," right?)

Phlox (this one just sounds bad when you say it out loud)

Po (isn't that the fat guy in Mulan who later dresses up as a chick?)

Quay (why yes, old chap, I'd love to name my little one after an English wharf!)

Sea (I also saw an entry for Beach - just plain weird)

Snow (seriously? Should her middle name be White?)

Song (possibly the dumbest of all)

Teal (how about Chartreuse? Navy? Ocher?)

Wheat (the only person who can name her baby after a food and get away with it is Gwyneth Paltrow, and even then it's questionable)

Zest (I can't even think of what to say about this one, it's so weird)

I'm thinking of expanding the search to two syllables.

Now I remember...

2009-06-30T15:24:00.002-05:00

My little G3 (my personal pet name for my boy or girl to-be) has been very wiggly today. All tiny kicks and bumps as I sit at my desk working on headlines for a new hydronic products campaign. And with every little nudge I remember that this is what I love about being pregnant.

Once your baby is born it belongs to the world. It truly does take a village to raise your children and, once out of the womb, you are sharing that sweet little life with a host of siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, neighbors and people on the street who can't resist the siren call of a baby in a snuggli.

But before it's born? Well, for that short time it's just the two of you.

Your baby listens to the echo of your voice as you sing to the radio, talk on the phone, laugh at your sister and cry over Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. He or she comes along wherever you go, a silent companion that you can't help but think about every minute of every day. You are never alone, but you don't mind because you have your own delicious secret - the dynamic and busy life of your baby inside. When you are resting, they are awake, wiggling and poking and sometimes hiccuping their way through your Oprah magazine reading or movie watching. As you cruise the grocery aisles or vacuum the living room, they are quiet, lulled by your movement and the white noise of the outside environment.

But no matter what, they are there. You feel them and they feel you. You know each other completely and, for a while, that baby is yours and yours alone.

It's like magic and to me it's just about the only proof I can come up with that there is a higher power laying a hand down upon us.

But the rest of pregnancy sucks.

Phew!

2009-06-26T09:42:00.003-05:00

When you grow up with a doctor for a dad you pick up a lot of weird medical knowledge that is not terribly useful and grossly incomplete. You'd probably think that would turn you into a hypochondriac, but in my case it's turned me into someone who feels fairly sure I can make a diagnosis with only limited information.

So yesterday I took a long walk during lunch. It was lovely to get the fresh air and the part where I stuck my feet in the lake was divine. But it was freakin' hot on the way back and I could feel a "glow" taking over my already-expanding body. And then I started to think I smelled like fruit.

That doesn't seem too bad, right? You sweat and it smells like fruit. Could be way worse.

Except in my annals of useless and incomplete information is this: if you find yourself smelling like fruit for no apparent reason you are probably an undiagnosed diabetic.

I spent all afternoon alternately sniffing my armpits and wondering if it was just gestational diabetes (which I've never had before) or something more permanent and infinitely more of a pain in the ass.

At bedtime I opened the drawer to get my toothpaste out and noticed that my new deodorant is scented Tropical Fruit.

So I guess it works.

I guess I really shouldn't complain.

2009-06-25T15:11:00.002-05:00

Things I hate about summer:
- Working when I'd rather be at the beach
- Listening to my children fight as they re-acclimate to being together 24/7
- Mosquitos
- Yard work

Things I love about summer:
- Not having to get everyone out of the house by 7:40 am
- Sunsets
- Sunshine when I wake up in the morning
- Going to the beach after work
- Being able to walk to the beach over my lunch break
- Date night on the boat
- Campfires and s'mores with the neighbors
- the 4th of July
- my brother home from California for three weeks
- sun-kissed children in soggy suits with little wet otter heads and sand in their hair
- sweet corn and fantastic tomatoes
- farmer's markets
- neighborhood-wide garage sales
- no coats, no boots, no hats, no mittens
- the sound of the waves at night when I'm lying in bed

It all kinda outweighs the whining of the kids, which was really getting to me this morning. Now I have a little persepctive. And a lot of blessings.

BFFs really are.

2009-06-16T14:00:00.003-05:00

Whenever I go on a trip I always have this little moment on the first night where I think I want to go home.

It doesn't matter if the trip is guaranteed to be fun, or if it's a place I've always wanted to visit or even if my entire family is with me. It's just that I have a little part of my brain that fears the unknown and, even if only for a moment, longs for the security and comfort of home and its routines. And I had this moment the first night in Las Vegas with my two BFFs.

We haven't been together in, literally, 20 years. During that time our lives have followed their own separate paths, spreading us out across the country and away from one another. The magic of the internet has brought us back together and we've been planning this trip to Las Vegas for at least six months. I have been giddy with excitement and antsy for the big weekend to get here, but yet I lay in my ultra-comfortable hotel room bed last Thursday night and there it was, that flash of thought flittering across my consciousness. I want to go home.

But the magic of BFFs is that they really are. My little fluttering thought lasted for barely a nanosecond, and then I was left marveling at how easily it all comes back. The late night chatting before falling asleep. The easy way of deciding what we want to do, where we want to go, what snacks we need to have. The absolute lack of judgment about our bodies, our wardrobes, our hair styles, our taste in food and our tolerance for movies based on juvenile, scatalogical humor. It was as if no time has passed, but instead has bonded us even deeper as we share the experiences of being wives and mothers, daughters to aging and ever more eccentric parents, and just plain friends having a great time together even if we're doing exactly nothing.

Same time next year, right ladies?

Whaddya mean there's no pasta?

2009-06-09T08:25:00.003-05:00

We have these friends who are vegetarians and we've gone with them to a lot of banquet-style functions where you have to choose your meal ahead of time. Inevitably I find myself feeling a little jealous of their fettucine alfredo or delicious-looking ravioli while I am working my way through a somewhat taste-free piece of chicken or an overcooked steak. And why do they always put the steak on top of the potatoes, then cover it with sauce so that your potatoes look like they're covered in liquid rust?

These friends and their delicious vegetarian dinners came back to me several weeks ago when I had to choose my entree for an upcoming wedding. At the time I was still in the throes of ongoing nausea and feeling fairly meat-averse. So I picked the filet for Chad and I chose the vegetarian dinner, looking forward to a lovely plate of pasta on the big day.

Here's what I got: a mound of brick-like mashed potatoes in the center of the plate, surrounded by asparagus (hate it - gave it to Chad), broccoli (hate it more - gave it to Heidi), cauliflower (kind of blends in with the potatoes) and zucchini/squash (had potential).

It was a plate of side dishes.

No pasta.

Heidi and Chad shared their steaks with me. They were delicious.

The word is out.

2009-05-20T09:34:00.005-05:00

So here I am, 36 years old, mother of two relatively self-sufficient children who are well beyond diapers and can easily speak in full sentences, and pregnant with number three. I think I might have lost my mind, but oddly I feel very at peace about it. Mostly, I think, because my hormones have taken over and are preventing me from dealing with the eventual reality of a full-time job and three kids.

11 weeks into this I am disappointed to discover (for the second time) how intensely focused all baby magazines, pregnancy books, blogs and web sites are on first-time mothers. There's all these dumb articles about how to divide up chores with your husband after the baby comes, what to expect at the hospital/during delivery, what your baby's first poop will look like. It makes me want to puke. But the upside is that I realize I've learned a thing or two over the last seven years of parenthood that no magazine article is ever going to tell me. As Oprah would say, these are the things I know for sure.

1. Sometime within the first month of having this baby I will want to kill Chad. I will hate him for his inability to cope with sleep loss, his half-assed cleaning up of the kitchen after dinner and his seeming refusal to notice when he should probably get up out of his chair and HELP somebody with something. This feeling of hatred in no way reflects his real and unrelentingly cheerful attitude, his absolute willingness to do homework, play basketball/t-ball/soccer/tea party, his innate ability to make even morning toothbrushing fun and his overall general willingness to do just about anything to keep things running smoothly.

2. There's no one way to skin a cat, I mean, take care of a baby. Every baby is different. So is every family. What worked with Grace absolutely did not work with Lauren and I'm sure I'll be figuring out something new yet again. But that's exactly what we'll do: Figure it out. And it will be fine.

3. I probably won't have this crushing wave of love that comes over me at the moment of delivery. Yes, of course I love this baby already. But the actual reality of love, that moment of WOW I would do anything for this child takes a few days, at least for me. That's okay. I'm not a weirdo.

4. This is the luckiest baby alive because he/she has a village of people who are excitedly awaiting his/her arrival and whose hearts are filled with love and gratitude for this gift in which they will share. That makes me a lucky mom too.

Maybe I DO know a thing or two....

2009-05-13T14:13:00.009-05:00

Sometimes I have a moment with my kids where I feel like I really might know what I'm doing. I recognize this feeling because I have it at work quite a lot. But the difference between work and parenting is that work is somewhat more predictable in its behaviors and cycles than any kid I've ever met. Either way, I was feeling pretty good last night. My cases in point:

A) Lauren and the band-aid
Put a band-aid on Lauren and within 7 minutes she will pull it off. Like all kids, she loves band-aids, which means that as of today I am fresh out of them because she has used them all, and not necessarily for a legitimate injury.

Last night she fell in the driveway. Hard. Bloody knee, skinned elbow, doting big sister getting in the way of mama's comfort. At this point my band-aid inventory was already down to just 2. I cleaned and kissed the knee, convinced her that her elbow would be just fine, and asked Grace at least three times to PLEASE get out of the way while I am trying to wash this bloody knee in the kitchen sink while keeping Lauren's hands off the knife rack. Twenty minutes later Lauren was tucked into bed with her doggie and book and I was on the couch.

"Maaaameeee..... MAAAAMEEEE!"

I tried to ignore her, but I knew for a fact she had taken off her bandaid and was freaking out at her neosporin-greased and still semi-bloody knee. I also knew the band-aid would not stick again. And I only had one band-aid left in the entire freaking house. So instead of ignoring her, which is my usual MO post-bedtime, I got the band-aid and delivered it with a brief speech about how this was the last. one. in. the. house.

B) Grace and the....uh... bathroom

Right after the band-aid incident I was settling in for the thrilling conclusion of The Biggest Loser when I heard the other voice floating down the stairs, this one a little weepier, but not so freaked out.

"Mommmmm.... can you come heeeere?"

I looked at Chad. For reasons unknown to me, Grace is unable to poop by herself after 8 pm. Up I went again and sure enough, there she was on the potty. To give her a little break, she was having some tummy trouble. One children's chewable Pepto-Bismol (LOVE that stuff!) and a hug and kiss later she was back in bed, albeit a little puny looking.

Finally I made it back to the couch, feeling like a mother who really knows her children. Knows what they need and when. And how to deliver it.

At least I felt that way until this morning, when it occurred to me that maybe my children really are quite predictable. And I've just been really well trained.

Lucky me!

2009-05-11T13:50:00.003-05:00

I'm not sure if you all are aware, but I was named Mother of the Year recently.

Thanks to Hannah, for a total crack-up and Happy Mother's Day to all of us!

TGIF

2009-05-08T08:43:00.004-05:00

I actually hate the phrase TGIF, but it's really the most appropriate thing I can think of right now. Here are a few highlights from my week.

Monday – on the way to the airport for a meeting to present creative I get a call that we absolutely must send the creative ahead of the meeting because they have a team meeting scheduled before we get there. And, oh, could we also make it in time for a 3:00 meeting instead of the 4:30 we were scheduled for? Arrive in Tampa, drive straight to the client's office then wait in the lobby while they have a meeting that we can see through the glass walls of the conference room. During said meeting the team is looking at copies of the material we are supposed to be presenting. After a while, they bring us in to present creative they've already seen.

Tuesday – can't sleep in hotel so am up from roughly 3:30 am on. Get on 7 am flight then go straight to office and write two brochures before picking up my children, who fight like banshees the whole way home.

Wednesday - more banshees in the back seat. I actually pull the car off the road and (without yelling, which I'm kinda proud of because I really wanted to scream) tell them that they will not be having bedtime stories tonight. This works. Kind of.

Thursday – drive 45 minutes for a 30-minute meeting that does not result in any new work, but a vague promise to think about our new 3D animation capabilities.

Friday – on the way to the office get a call from my partner informing me that the 3D animator we just hired (who is supposed to be moving here from Georgia in about two weeks) went to the hospital with chest pain yesterday and is today, at noon, having six bypasses. Six.

I think I'd better go home.

P.S. The good news about Monday is that we got the business. Yay!!

The 8 Commandments of Sandal Season

2009-04-24T13:27:00.002-05:00

Sandal season is upon us, ladies. That means it’s time to brush up on the 8 Commandments of this mostly lovely, but potentially gross, foot-baring season. Feel free to add your own.

1. Thou shalt shave your toes. (That’s right, shave your toes. We all have little hairs on them and we totally forget about it in the winter because our toes are only briefly bared during the transfer from one pair of socks to the next. Clean ‘em up.)

2. Thou shalt use lotion. (On your legs. And your feet. And on any other exposed skin because white, crackly flakes - or skin that is "ashy," as it was called in my high school - are not nice to look at.)

3. Thou shalt invest in a Ped Egg or at the very least some powerful exfoliating scrub. (Your heels should look like heels, not hooves.)

4. Thou shalt not spend unnecessarily on professional manicures. (Seriously, just using a base coat, topcoat and giving yourself enough drying time will make your toes look salon-perfect. For free.)

5. Thou shalt shave your legs every day. (Yes, every day.)

6. Thou shalt avoid the French pedicure. (Why? Because this involves having toenails that are long enough to have a white tip. And it looks weird.)

7. Thou shalt not wear colors appropriate for a 12 year old. (Even if you work in a really creative environment where people actually wear flips flops, like I do, it’s still not a good idea to have alternating polish colors, weird neons or glitter on your toes.)

8. Thou shalt encourage the man in your life to groom his feet. (Nothing is worse than a guy in sandals with overgrown toenails or hoof-like heels. Or both.)

2009-04-21T12:43:00.003-05:00

Did I also mention that there is nothing cuter than little wet heads and slick-as-an-otter bodies peeking up at you over the edge of the pool?

Exhibit A:

2009-04-20T18:16:00.002-05:00

Here's why swimming lessons are great, especially on a cold day
1. You can leave work early. I mean, I can do that any time, but going to swimming lessons makes me feel less like a slacker and more like a nicely involved mom

2. It's really nice and warm in here.

3. For 30 minutes I truly have nothing to do but sit here.

4. The kids are freakin' tired when we get home!

5. They take a shower here so no additional prolonged bath at home

6. Did I mention that all I have to do is sit here?

Gotta go.....my doing-nothing time is burning up.

Again?

2009-04-20T13:42:00.001-05:00

An Ethiopian won the Boston Marathon. They always win. This is not news, Yahoo.

The ugly truth.

2009-04-17T08:26:00.002-05:00

Last night I had two bowls of macaroni and cheese for dinner. Kraft, traditional noodle shape, nice and warm and cheesy, with a little salt on top. No salad. No veggie. No protein. Actually I made peas, but conveniently "forgot" about them in the microwave.

Chad and the girls had various combinations of mac & cheese, chicken nuggets and Chad's custom blend of baked beans with cut-up hot dogs.

I really believe in making healthy, balanced meals. I truly enjoy a fresh, crisp salad with my dinner.

But to tell you the truth, I'd be perfectly happy just eating a bowl of mac & cheese with a big ole' glass of milk. And no matter how many great/fast/easy/kid-friendly/ready-in-30-minutes recipes I have, some days making dinner is just too.... I don't know.... exhausting.

And I refuse to feel bad about that.

Still filing....

2009-04-15T13:21:00.003-05:00

The sky was dark with the gentlest hint of light blue peeking up above the horizon. The car was loaded - luggage on top, snacks in the back, DVD player ready and bikes on the rack. We swept up the girls, blankets and all, and buckled them into their car seats, still in their jammies. One last check of the doors, turn on the alarm and off we go into the 6 am darkness on a family road trip to Pawley's Island, South Carolina - two parents, two kids, one grandma and a black lab named Charlie.

Because I'm pretty much addicted to my iPhone, I decided to keep some travel notes on it as we drove. Here are some of the highlights:

April 2
6:15 am – Lauren is singing "Mary Had a Little Lamb" and MIL is filing her nails, which sounds extraordinarily loud in the dark at this hour.

6:35 – MIL is still filing her nails. How many fingers does this woman have?!?!

6:52 – Still filing....

8:10 – MIL is putting on lavender essential oil. I think my nose hairs are curling. Kids are coloring quietly - those lap desks from Hobby Lobby are working great!

8:24 – Seriously, my eyes are watering a little from the oil. I'm not going to complain about her the whole time, but man, who puts on scented oils in an enclosed space the size of a refrigerator?

10:57 – We've made one stop and both Charlie and Lauren pooped, so it was totally worthwhile. That and the McGriddle I had for breakfast. Lauren had to poop while I was already on the toilet, so I had to get up with pants around my knees and assume my usual position - standing in front of her with her head against my legs and hands on the sides of my knees - while she pooped. Smells great. Heading south, lots of hills and beautiful flowering trees.

11:09 – We're on 275 going in and out of Kentucky and Indiana. I swear to God I just saw a dead kangaroo on the side of the road.

4:07 – Our third stop - gas and Starbucks. Lauren napped. Grace didn't, but so far so good. Have headache, probably from waiting until 4:07 to get my Starbucks.

And that's just day one.

Good mom, bad mom

2009-03-30T10:02:00.003-05:00

Good mom comes back to Grace's room after tucking in Lauren for a little extra snuggle and a few stories about when I was kid.

Bad mom tells Lauren she can have lots of pancakes for breakfast when Lauren starts to cry at bedtime that she's hungry.

Good mom has grapes and crackers ready for a post-swimming lessons snack.

Bad mom forgot to bring underwear for the girls to put on after swimming lessons are over.

Good mom gets out the matching aprons and lets the kids do most of the work - and all of the spilling - while we make cupcakes.

Bad mom makes muffins while the kids are sleeping and then hides them in the morning so Chad and I can have them to ourselves.

Good mom has all the kids clothes clean and laid out on the toybox at bedtime, so the morning will go more smoothly.

Bad mom is stuffing microwaved pancakes into ziploc bags, then throwing them and the kids into the car.

Good mom has the kids bathed and in their clean jammies with enough time left over for two bedtime stories.

Bad mom figured they can go one more day without a bath AND says it's so late we can only sing songs, no stories.

Why is that bad mom really seems a lot more like NORMAL mom?

Close to home.

2009-03-24T08:56:00.002-05:00

When you live in a small town you develop a sense that nothing truly bad could happen there. Of course this is not true, but the fact that you know your mailman, your favorite waitress at your favorite lunch place, the school principal, the guy who owns the giant condo development that everyone hates and even the mayor by name lulls you into a sense of wellbeing. It's the best of Mayberry, only not so corny and with free wireless in a few places.

But blind wellbeing is not a good idea.

On Friday, the school district here in our town of about 3,000 full-time residents (at most) received a tip that someone had read on the internet that there would be a shooting at a school here that afternoon. Thanks to the district's Web site, they were able to receive the information and respond quickly, immediately engaging our local police forces to patrol the schools. At the same time, a search began to track back to the source of the threat with full intent to prosecute.

As of Tuesday morning nothing has happened. Thank God. There was a police officer in the front lobby of the elementary school when we got there, but my first-grade daughter didn't even notice. After all, one of her good friends is the child of two police officers. I also saw a police presence at the high school - low key, but still there.

My gut tells me the threat was probably not real. But I'm grateful to the school district for taking it seriously and taking prompt action to do what they could to protect the children and staff. It's easy to say that a school shooting here doesn't "fit the profile." After all, looking back at most cases it's a kid who is lost in the roiling sea of a big school, an anonymous face who doesn't feel he fits in. Around here, it's pretty hard not to fit in because everyone is involved in everything. That's the way it is when there are less than 100 kids in the senior class.

I'm not a worrier or a fear monger. But you still have to take it seriously. You still have to be cautious. And you have to make a conscious effort to take note of the issue and then move on. Because living in fear is not living. And if you spend all your energy on things that haven't happened and that you can't control you'll miss out on the beauty that is unfolding in your life every day.

Now it's a cat?

2009-03-23T13:40:00.005-05:00

Swimming lessons are on Monday and Wednesday evening. Miraculously both girls are in lessons at the same time. Different levels, but same pool, same day, same time on the clock. The stars will probably never align like this again, so I'm trying to enjoy it.

So far Lauren has sobbed through her first two lessons. This is a mystery to me since she was jumping off the swim platform of our boat at 18 months. So it's not the water, but maybe the place. The pool is cavernous, bright and teeming with soggy kids, swim instructors who I'm sure are not paid nearly enough to herd cats all evening, the older crowd who are waiting for us to get done so they can start water aerobics, and the uber-clean smell of chlorine. It's a lot and I think it freaks her out.

But I don't like to be a hovering parent. So I sit on a storage locker nearby and wave cheerfully as my wee Lauren clings to the side of the pool and sobs. When it's her turn for one-on-one practice of whatever skill she changes her tone, and in an instant she is engaged, smiling and fluttering her little feet like an old hand. This is why I'm not falling for the tears. That, and this conversation:

Lauren (sobbing, gasping and red-faced): Mommy, (sob, gulp) I have to tell you sumpting.

She is in a pull-up position, her round grey eyes just peeping over the tile edge.

Me (finally giving in and crouching poolside): What is it honey?

Lauren (deep breath): I was sitting in my garden and I saw a purple cat. And a pink cat. And the purple cat was named Kania (caw-nee-uh) and the pink cat was named Kania. And there were two Kanias!

Me (trying, I mean it - really trying, not to laugh): Okay, well keep listening to your teacher. Only 10 more minutes of swimming.

The minute I settled back on to my fiberglass poolside post the sobbing started again.

Drama queen.

2009-03-19T16:21:00.003-05:00

We sat curled into each other on the bed, Grace a puddle of tears and anguish.

"Mom, she HATES me! Lauren HATES me!"

"No she doesn't honey, she loves you. She just says that to make you upset. Shhhh, it's okay sweetie."

How does a 3 year old know just what to do to get her sister's goat? I wonder. Where did she learn this?

"She hates me mom!" More tears. "And she keeps on saying that stupid thing about her garden.... it drives me NUTS! Make her stop!"

"Oh honey," I say. "Just ignore her. She's using her imagination. I know it's kind of weird, but it doesn't bother me. Just try to walk away if it bothers you."

"WHY!? WHY doesn't it bother you," Grace nearly shrieks. Her face is tear stained, her nose running. "And why (sniffle) does Lauren keep saying she doesn't liiiiike meeeeee?!"

She buries her head in my torso. I stroke her hair and wonder what to say. Lauren doesn't hate her. Far from it. But Lauren doesn't need her big sister's approval either. And she seems to take a mean little delight in tormenting her. Secretly I think it's a little bit funny. But Grace is Lauren's polar opposite: sweet where Lauren is stubborn, kind where Lauren is, well... not. I don't know how to explain why siblings torment each other any more than I know why, when my sister and I were kids, I used to pretend I was dead until she would start to cry in fear and panic. How do you explain mental torture to someone who would never even conceive of performing it?

As I rock Grace gently and try to shhhsh her into quiet Lauren nimbly climbs up onto the bed and presses herself against me.

"Mom," she stage whispers. "I need to tell you sumpting."

"What is it Lauren," I ask.

"I was sitting in my garden and I saw puwple biwd."

"AAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!" Grace flings her self up, over and then facedown in the opposite direction at the foot of the bed.

I swear, I tried not to laugh.

I'm still laughing.

2009-02-26T15:42:00.001-05:00

Me: So Grace, how was the birthday party this afternoon?

Grace: None of your bees-wask, mom.

Now I get it.

2009-02-20T16:27:00.002-05:00

When I was first starting out in advertising I used to work with a woman who brushed her hair every day after lunch. She kept a little hairbrush in her desk drawer and, along with refreshing her lipstick after lunch, she also brushed her hair. At the time I thought that this seemed like a little bit much. I don't know why I thought this, since I put on lipstick about five times a day.

Nearly 15 years later I look in the mirror at the end of the day and think maybe she had something there.

So that's what that's called!

2009-01-26T11:10:00.004-05:00

I've been away from blogging for a while. That's because I've been very busy having conversations like this:

Grace: I saw some rabbit tracks in the snow today, mom!

Me: You did? Cool!

Grace: Mom? How can you tell if an animal is a boy or a girl?

Me: Well.... um... you look under their body and see if they have a penis or not.

Grace: What's a penis?

(Does she not know this? Should I be glad she doesn't know this? How the hoo-ha will I explain?)

Me: What's a penis?

(I'm trying to buy some time.)

Grace: Yeah.

Me: Well, um.... okay, a penis is what boys have to get their tinkle out. You know, girls have a... vagina... and boys have a penis.

Grace: They do?

Me: Yes.

Grace: All boys?

Me: Yep, rabbits, dogs... boy people.

Grace: Okay.

Sometimes they just catch you off guard, you know?

Wish I'd done this project.

2008-12-17T09:43:00.002-05:00

When you're in the advertising business you're always seeing work you wish you'd done. (And some work you wish you'd been able to be in the meeting to see sold because it's so unbelievably bad, but I digress.)

Here's one I wish I'd done.

It takes a couple minutes to load, but it's totally worth the wait.

Only 3 more to go.

2008-12-16T09:52:00.010-05:00

I love fashion. Fashion magazines. Fashion TV shows. Looking at people who have NO sense of fashion. What Not to Wear is one of my favorite shows, and I've got Grace hooked on it too. (Never too early to learn how to put together a sharp outfit!)

During the winter it's easy to get in the wardrobe doldrums. And it can be hard to figure out what to wear to work when it's 14 degrees outside. Here's a list I got from the Oprah Show last year of 10 things you must have in your closet. Start with these basics and you can build any outfit by adding jewelry, a colorful bag, a great scarf or dynamic shoes. What I loved about this particular episode and list is that these are all attainable things that real women can wear, whether you're running to the grocery store, going to a client meeting or having lunch with your friends (this is a fantasy experience I hope to have someday. Right now my lunch with friends boils down to going to whatever place we're the least sick of during the workday. But at least I can look good while eating at Brewster's for the 978th time, right?)

These items are not in order of priority, just a list you can refer back to when you shop and as you build your basics. Remember, quality is more important than quantity. They always preach that on WNTW, and I've found that it really is true.

1. Colorful trench coat
I bought a bold green one from Ann Taylor a year ago. Every time I wear it I get at least one compliment. I love how it ties at the waist so you look like you have an actual shape and I feel great in it.

2. Black and white turtlenecks
Not the seamless LL Bean kind. Nice cashmere or a more shape hugging good quality knit. These will go with everything and are great for layering. You might also have to replace them yearly because nothing says bad fashion like faded or greying clothing.

3. Black trousers
Go with a nice 3-season gabardine wool or other light wool. Stay away from pleats. A slight boot cut is flattering to nearly everyone. Don't avoid buying nice pants because you don't want to deal with getting them hemmed - it's worth it. So is dry cleaning. So are pants that cost a little bit more than you'd like. They will hold their shape and hem, they will fit great and they will last a long time. White House/Black Market has some really great options at an affordable price.

4. Tunic top
Okay, I thought tunics were only for women at least 55 years old. Not so. I have a tunic top in a flowered print that looks fantastic and age-appropriate. Pick a bold color like a rich blue, deep pink or purple, which is very trendy this year and flattering to many skin tones.

5. White and dark jeans
Dark jeans can go dressy with heels and a jacket, or casual with a turtleneck and down vest. It may take a long time to find some that fit you just right, but be patient. You WILL find them. White jeans look great all year - forget that silly Labor Day rule. Personally, I think white jeans are more on the casual side, but they are a great mix of a casual cut and fabric, with an unexpected color. Like the trousers, boot cut styles are pretty universally flattering and will outlast ridiculous trends like pencil jeans (are they kidding!!). Again, don't be afraid to go to the tailor - it will be well worth it.

6. White or dark denim jacket
Nothing says "I love the 80s" like a light denim jacket (or worse, acid wash, but I know none of you have that. Anymore.). Look for a jacket cut to fit a woman's body with a little curve in on the side. Do not buy a boxy boy's jean jacket. Do not buy a jean jacket with metal studs or any other type of bedazzling.

7. Black dress
The LBD is something I've read a lot about, but never owned. Until recently. Now I have a summer version and a fall/winter version. The fall/winter version I sometimes wear over jeans for a really cool tunic-y look. It can also go with tights and boots. Like good jeans, this is an item it might take time to find. It needs to fit perfectly. You might need to have it tailored to fit around the waist or bust, or wherever your body doesn't exactly fit the model they use to sew from. (No one's body fits those perfectly. Find a good tailor and make sure to give him/her a Christmas gift.) Don't search for this dress when you need it or you might make a bad choice. Just keep your eyes open and the right dress will find you.

8. Black skirt
Keep it knee length. Go A-line or do a pencil skirt, but avoid pleats. Stick to a wool blend that will hold its shape well. Another way to go on this is a very dark denim skirt. I got one from J. Crew earlier this year that works just as well as a black skirt, but I like it better because it's a notch funkier.

9. Cashmere sweater in bold color
I had long wondered whether the rumors of cashmere's superior qualities were real or a gimmick propagated by... well, everyone. This year I discovered they're true. J. Crew has excellent cashmere that's pricey, but too much. And Ann Taylor recently won some kind of affordable cashmere showdown I read about in a magazine. But the real key here is the bold color. Don't get black because it's cashmere and you don't want to buy orange when you're spending this kind of money.

Here's why: The sweater will pay for itself in comfort, warmth and utter wearability. Also, in the dead of winter you need some color near your face, for god's sake! I got a cashmere sweater in bright peony pink. I have to be careful not to wear it every other day I love it so much! And who knew that peony pink could go with so much!

10. Bold flats and an oversize bag
Okay, that's actually two things, but that's what the list was on the show. The point is, you don't have to kill yourself in heels (says the queen of impractical shoes). Flats with an embellishment like a buckle, simple bow or other detailing look great and are a hundred times more comfortable once you get used to living at your actual height. And an oversize bag - oversize, not suitcase size - can double as a work tote, diaper bag or whatever else you need to carry, without making you look like a bag lady.

The after-Christmas sales are coming! Happy shopping girls!

Just say No to clutter!

2008-12-15T15:43:00.004-05:00

How's your Christmas shopping going?

Mine is not going too hot, but I have big plans to get done by Thursday of this week. It's hard to avoid buying toys for the various kids in my life, but for adults and older kids I really try to give gifts that are not clutter. This isn't always easy, especially when you don't like to give gift cards (which I don't). I only have a couple of good ideas, but in case you only need a couple of good ideas here they are.

1. Give food. Everyone loves food and it doesn't have to be homemade. Food is especially good for older people who don't always have a lot of space, but pretty much always have a lot of STUFF.

2. Teach people how to make food. A gift subscription to an online recipe newsletter like The Scramble is truly the gift that keeps on giving. The recipes are good, easy and quick, which is especially important when you work outside the home.

3. Give books. Okay, books are technically clutter. But they can be shared. And when you're a reader (like me) who doesn't really like to spend the money on buying a book it's a wonderful gift. Books give us a shared experience and can be totally life changing. Not to mention funny.

One of the perks of owning your own business is setting your own vacation schedule. That means I've got two weeks off for Christmas so you might not hear too much from me.

Merry Christmas!

Yes, you can give a great gift without spending a ton.

2008-12-03T13:25:00.002-05:00

I have a friend who is already done Christmas shopping (you know who you are!). I wish I was that person, but I'm just not and probably never will be. I'm not that organized, and I also sometimes struggle to find creative gift ideas that aren't expensive but kinda seem that way.

I also like to give gifts that do not add clutter to people's lives. We all have enough stuff. We don't need more. So what's an anti-clutter, wanting-to-be-creative, looking for something personal and fun, gift giver to do?

Why, go to colorbutton of course!

This is a business started by a good friend of mine who is very talented and creative. Her custom stationery designs are fresh, fun and make a great gift for someone like a teacher, your great aunt who still writes thank-you notes by hand or even as a cool hostess gift for your sister-in-law who always knocks herself out putting on the family Christmas dinner.

Know what I love most about this gift idea? It's a great way to support a small business owned by another one of us girls just trying to do things our own way.

Travelin' mama.

2008-11-18T09:08:00.004-05:00

I'm traveling on business this week. We left on Sunday for two days in Tampa (which, by the way, is COLD!), then I'm going to Indy for a meeting on Wednesday. I feel like I've been gone forever. I know my house will be a mess when I get home, because I'm pretty sure moms have a specialized ability to not only feed and dress their children, but to do it while also putting away dishes and toys. Since I've been gone I've had two incredibly good dinners and totally enjoyed getting ready in the morning by myself. With the TV on. And the curtains open to let in the morning sun.

I've met Jessica Biel's dad (yes, that Jessica Biel) and took a hospital tour guided by a Shriner wearing a sequin-encrusted fez.

I've gotten turned around in traffic and drove back and forth across a 5-mile bridge, only to get to dinner at the time I was supposed to be there anyway (without having a chance to get back to my hotel in between, which was my original goal).

I've slept in the Westin's Heavenly Bed and taken a shower in their Heavenly Shower, which features TWO shower heads working simultaneously.

And the whole time I've missed my kids so much I can hardly stand it. I miss kissing them at bedtime. Reading Dora's Princess Adventure to Lauren for the 987th time. Lying in bed with Grace laughing about her day or my made up song. I miss their sweet smell and soft, dimpled hands.

So many times, on so many hectic days I've thought how nice it would be to have some time to myself. No fannies to wipe. Meals to make. Bedtime routines to complete.

This week I have it. But I'm ready for it to be over.

It must have been the wine.

2008-11-11T15:44:00.003-05:00

Last night I went to my first ever jewelry party.

Actually, it was my first-ever purse/jewelry/make-up/cookware/tupperware party. Ever. I've been invited, but I've never actually gone. And just exactly what happens at these things has been a total mystery to me.

Well, I'll tell you what happens. You spend $137 dollars and wind up booking your own party for a Monday night in December.

It really must have been the wine, because I'm just not in the habit of doing this kind of thing. This is, in part, because I secretly fear I don't have enough friends and I'll end up with a party consisting of me, my sister (who also does not participate in this sort of thing, but would come out of sympathy for me), my mother-in-law and the cat. It's also because, although I actually love to entertain, I just don't know what these parties are all about and I feel a little awkward about asking people to come over to my house and buy stuff.

But as it turns out this party was totally fun! I really didn't mind spending the money because I got three Christmas presents and one birthday present bought. I won a prize! And I got totally sold on the idea of how much jewelry I could buy if I was actually a hostess. Did I say sold? I meant suckered.

Sorry, I don't mean to offend those of you who already know all about this thing and love it. Because while I feel a little bit suckered, I also feel like I've discovered a great way to get together with some girls and have a good time doing what comes pretty naturally to us all - shopping.

If you aren't around here I'll be emailing you to invite you to shop via my party online. The actual event is December 8, and all orders are guaranteed to get here before Christmas. And I KNOW you've got a mother in law/sister in law/mom/aunt/secret santa partner/grandma/best friend who has everything, but still loves jewelry. Only 42 shopping days left until Christmas!

P.S. Sorry about the Exhibit A on the previous post with no photo. I'm having some trouble with that.

Some people never go out of style.

2008-11-07T15:49:00.009-05:00

It's no big secret that I love clothes and shoes. What girl doesn't? As I get older I find it hard to hit just the right note - not too juvenile, not too matronly. I want to look good and stay current, but not like I'm trying too hard. You know what I mean.... the cleavage, the nails, the highlights, the clothes just a little too tight? The skirt that was really meant for a 16-year-old? One too many pieces featuring shimmer/animal print/denim? Also, I occassionally have to visit clients who have a slightly less.... creative... environment than I normally spend my day in.

I'm sure I'm not alone on my quest for timeless style. Make that timeless style that doesn't look like what everyone else bought at the mall. I'm guessing I'm also not alone in my continuous quest for ideas and tips on how to make it happen. That's one of the reasons I love the blog Omiru. It's kind of a weird name, but they have great ideas for how to put together really fun, fresh and simple outfits. As a working mom, simple is a huge deal. I mean, who can grocery shop in 6 inch heels and stacked bangle bracelets? I love their posts on re-creating the look of stars/people with great style.

As for the shopping piece of it, one of my favorites is Boden. They're pricing is about like J. Crew, not too cheap but not out-of-range expensive either. They're clothes are fun and creative and everything I've bought from them I have fallen in love with immediately.

One of my other best resources is What Not to Wear. This may be the greatest concept for a TV show ever invented. (Besides Lost, which is a whole different post.) If I could actually get a job hosting that show I would drop everything I am doing and run to NYC. These people have the most super fun job on earth. I mean, how many times have you wanted to pull someone over on the street and just say, "Honey, what kind of pants are you wearing?! Let me help you!"

But I have to confess: Sometimes all my logic gets the best of me.

Exhibit A:

GOBAMA!!!

2008-11-05T13:38:00.005-05:00

How late did you stay up last night? Did you feel certain that Obama would win, or were you wondering if somehow John McCain could pull a rabbit out of his hat? Were you celebrating or worrying?

No matter what the answer, all of us shared one thing: We were witness to history.

Record voter turnouts. Dramatic shifts in voter demographics. A populace engaged like never before in recent memory. And a black man elected president.

I was at an election results party at the home of close and long-time friends of ours. They are lifelong Republicans who had voted Democrat this time around. They are also old enough to remember the struggles of the civil rights movement. One of the most interesting conversations we had last night was about the idea that some white voters might say they would vote for a black man and then not be able to do it when they were in the privacy of their voting booth. All of the guests gathered there (besides us) were in their same age group and shared this opinion.

But Chad and I both agreed that this seemed unlikely. We aren't naive, but we didn't believe people would get to the voting booth and have a sudden change of heart based solely on skin color.

Our friends remarked that we are part of a different generation. We are post-civil rights movement, part of the generation that brought rap into the mainstream and has grown up in a much more multi-cultural world than our parents.

That's true. We grew up watching Sesame Street and Fat Albert, the Cosby Show and Different Strokes. We listened to Run DMC, Bobby Brown and Michael Jackson. We looked up to Michael Jordan and Magic Johnson. We wanted to be Will Smith and Whitney Houston (before she hooked up with Bobby Brown!).

It's almost impossible for us to imagine the struggles the generations before us faced. Yes, we've learned about them, talked about them. But we haven't lived them. At least for me, it's hard for my imagination to stretch so far that I can imagine what it was like when people were treated differently based on one criteria over which they had no choice or control.

The more I thought about it the more I realized how proud and thrilled I am that my daughters will grow up not remembering a world without a black man as president. I can't wait to tell my grandchildren stories they will barely believe about how exciting it was when this man was elected. How, even though we had come a long way, we had not yet leaped across this important hurdle. But most of all, I will be proud to tell them how we, as a country, made our voices heard. How we voted for a man who inspired us, who showed remarkable calm in the face of almost unbearable uncertainty about the economy, the environment and the middle east, who was a father, a son, a husband and a human being. How we chose the best man for the job and the color of his skin was totally beside the point.

That's a little awkward.

2008-10-20T09:15:00.002-05:00

Is it just me, or do these rolls look a little bit like boobs?

Ta-ta-ta-tah!

2008-10-15T14:21:00.002-05:00

Transcript from last night:

Lauren: Mama! I have to go poopie! (Runs to bathroom holding her fanny with one hand.)

2Job mama: Okay, let's go! Do you want me to come with you?

Lauren: No! Go away, mama! Close the door! (gives me a signal like she's one of The Supremes and plunks down on the potty.)

A minute or so passes....I go back to the kitchen. Lauren comes running out, her skirt tucked into her Dora underpants.

Lauren: Mama, mama, come on!

2JobMama: Okay, here I come...

We get to the bathroom door....

Lauren: Wait mama!

2JobMama: Okay

Lauren: Close your eyes!

2JobMama: Okay, they're closed.

She leads me into the bathroom.

Lauren: Close your eyes! Say "ta-ta-ta-tah!"

2JobMama: Ta-ta-ta-tah

Lauren: Open!

She lifts the lid of her potty.

Lauren: Ta-ta-ta-taaahhhh!!

I love green! Maybe.

2008-10-14T13:21:00.002-05:00

It all started with these great cleaning cloths I found. I've been trying to cut down on my use of paper towels, because at the height of my paper towelishness I was going through a roll a week. Maybe even a roll and an eighth. I mean, what's not to love about paper towels? They're absorbent, you can use them wet or dry, they're right there on the counter and - this is the real key - you can just throw them away. This throwing away thing is a huge benefit when you have to pull things out of dog's butts.

But I felt bad about all the waste. And I started thinking that maybe I didn't need three whole paper towels to kill a spider the size of a pencil eraser.

I haven't actually tried these new cloths yet, but I'm embarking on (yes, I know) another experiment. Can I live without paper towels?

It's one small step in a quest to live a greener life. I'll let you know how it goes.

My secret weapons.

2008-10-10T13:21:00.002-05:00

Behind every successful working mom are a few secret weapons. Her go-to sources, tips and tricks that keep the home/work/family operation moving, while keeping major operational disasters to a minimum. My own personal system definitely has some kinks. And some days I travel or don't feel like doing much more than vegging on the couch after the kids go to bed, so things temporarily get a little off keel. But there's nothing I love more than a system for doing things, so I thought I'd share a few of my favorites with y'all.

My#1 secret weapon is FlyLady. She inspires me to have a good attitude, keep things simple and not get overwhelmed by trying to do all and be all. She sells the most excellent calendar I have ever owned. Also, a subscription is completely FREE.

Another of my favorite secrets is the Six O'Clock Scramble. I get great recipes that are fast and easy to make. You can search by ingredients, create your own recipe box and also print out a grocery list based on the recipes you choose. The woman behind it all, Aviva Goldfarb, will actually answer email personally (which I know from my own experience), and she has a nice little blog attached to the site now, too. This one isn't free but it's pretty darn inexpensive and a great value for the money.

The newest addition to my personal weapons cache is the House Fairy. The House Fairy helps kids keep their rooms neat. Really. You can watch a couple of videos on the site before you subscribe (at an incredibly low price). The first time I showed the videos to the girls they could not get up to their rooms fast enough to do what the House Fairy said. (She is Santa's sister, by the way.)

When I need to get a grip on life, to step back and have some perspective, or just be completely enthralled by the human experience I check out PostSecret. This is a Web site started by a guy who asked people to send in their secrets – anonymously – on a postcard. It's turned into a series of books, a MySpace community, and one of the most moving things online, in my opinion. The secrets that are sent in are moving, funny, sometimes disturbing and always compelling. It makes you realize that we are more alike than we think and that it's okay to think and feel the things we do. I wonder what his mailman thinks?

If you have any great secret weapons to share please do. As the song goes, "I get by with a little help from my friends."

I promise none of these people have paid me to promote their businesses in any way. These are just a few sites I've discovered over the years that I come back to time and again.

Gratitude and grossitude.

2008-10-06T20:17:00.002-05:00

The first 24 hours of my experiment have been remarkable. First off, I got two completely unexpected and wonderful letters from good friends telling me that they were glad I'm in their life. Thanks to both of you - you never know if you've made an impact in someone's life and it's overwhelmingly nice to hear that you have.

Secondly, saying thank you has made me feel good. I know... that's not exactly a revelation, especially if you like Oprah and self-help books. But it has. And I've realized that one of the most important people to say thank you to is my husband. Like any relationship, it's easy to notice the little things that annoy you and not always so easy to focus on the little things that make your life easier. Taking the time to actually mention the good little things makes the others kind of disappear.

And now for a little grossitude.

Last night I let my dog in to eat his dinner and noticed that he had some...ahem.... poop hanging from his butt. Luckily I had some rubber gloves nearby from a wood staining project. Turns out, I think he ate a dryer sheet. You can probably put together the rest. Seriously, I almost puked.

The Gratitude Experiment

2008-10-03T10:48:00.003-05:00

Earlier this week a coworker of my sister's suffered the worst possible loss I can imagine. He and his wife lost their 6 month old son to shaken baby syndrome at the hands of the babysitter.

As a parent you can't even allow your brain to begin to comprehend the loss of a child. You can't imagine anything worse. Yet, for this couple, it did get worse. They'd been on my mind a lot as events had unfolded prior to the baby's death, and time and time again I've thought how lucky I am to have happy, healthy children. To just have them here. With me. When my sister called to tell me that the baby had died and how, I cried. Then I went straight to my computer and sent an email to my daughters' baby sitter to thank her for the loving care she gave them for nearly 6 years.

Miss Penny moved to Oregon earlier this year. Her move was the right thing for her, but it was the loss of a family member for us. Finding childcare is hard enough. Finding childcare from a person who genuinely falls in love with your children, makes tater tot casserole for their birthday party, takes it upon herself to keep your baby's eczema from itching her like crazy, gives you endless advice that makes you feel like you actually know what you're doing, and still finds the time to sell Body Shop is nothing short of a miracle.

So I wrote Miss Penny a thank-you note, something I probably should have done long ago. A couple of hours later she called me and we mourned together the loss of that couple's baby. We got caught up on our childrens' lives, our jobs. We reconnected and, at least for me, it gave me something to smile about.

All of this got me to thinking about gratitude. What it really is and what it can do for us. Oprah is a big proponent of keeping a gratitude journal, a little notebook where we write down the things we are grateful and appreciative of. I've tried this and, frankly, felt a little silly. But I like the idea. I believe positive thinking is a powerful force and right now we could all use a little bit more of it. So I've decided to conduct what I'm calling The Gratitude Experiment.

Here's how it works:

1. Each day I am going to say thank you - sincerely! - to three people.

This could be the woman at Froehlich's who knows just how much butter I like on my bagel and takes time to put it on right after it comes out of the toaster, so it melts perfectly and I don't have to do it myself. It could be my husband, who stopped to get milk on the way home so that I didn't have to drag two kids into the grocery store and back out. The point is to thank someone for something that may be a small act of kindness (or a really large one), but makes a big difference for you. To look them in the eye and say, "Thank you so much. I really appreciate that."

2. Twice a month I am going to write to someone who has done something thank-worthy. They didn't necessarily have to do it for me, but that list is pretty long so I think I'll start there. Miss Penny was a big one. But there are many other people who have helped me in ways big and small. I know from experience that getting a thank- you note makes you feel good. But writing it also makes you feel good.

Here's what I want to find out:
1. What happens to your own psyche when you take time to say thank you?
2. What happens to your relationships?
3. How do people respond when they are thanked and why?
4. How can this attitude of gratitude be spread around my family, my town, the world?

And I want you to help me find these things out. I want you to join me in The Gratitude Experiment. It doesn't take a lot of time or money. Just a little effort that I suspect will reap very big rewards both intangibly and tangibly. You can send an e-mail, write a letter, make a phone call - whatever works for you.

I also want you to share what happens. Tell me (and everyone else) what people said back to you and how it made you feel to say thank you. Join me in a mission to populate the world with positive thinking. Resist feeling dorky and just do it. You'll be glad you did.

And thank you so much for reading. It makes me feel good to know that you're out there.

I love a fresh start!

2008-10-01T11:10:00.002-05:00

Okay, I have been lax beyond belief in keeping up with my posts. I doubt all three of you are suffering without updates on my life, but now that a fresh school year is upon us I feel like it's time for a fresh start to blogging. It's a somewhat cathartic exercise to write. But given my innate slacker nature, hectic work schedule over the summer and my general tendency to procrastinate (is that the same or different than being a slacker?), I haven't gotten around to doing it. The funny thing is that there have been countless times I've thought to myself: "self, this would be great for the blog!" It's just getting around to writing it down that's been holding things up.

But a new school year is a new start. I always loved that first page of a new notebook. I'd imagine all the things I'd write in it and run my hand across the perfectly smooth page with anticipation. Part of the fun was never knowing exactly what you would write. And that's part of the fun here. I intended my blog to be about life as a working mom. But the truth is that my brain jumps around way too much to focus on just that topic, so you lucky few readers will be getting treated to more randomness than I originally intended. I hope you are also more entertained. Because that's what good writing does. It entertains and it allows us to see ourselves in someone else, and then we feel connected. Getting connected is good for the soul.

I'm aiming for once a week. Wish me luck!

And now, for some deep thoughts.....

2008-02-28T14:07:00.002-05:00

I've been really busy lately. And traveling a lot, which is both exhilarating and awful all at once. Countless times I've thought to myself that I needed to write about something or other in my blog so that the 3 of you who are reading it can stay up-to-date on my innermost thoughts. Obviously, though, you've survived without a regular update from me.

I can't remember everything I wanted to write about, but here, in no particular order, are a few things that have been on my mind as of late.

1. If someone asks you if you'd like to have your upper lip waxed at the same time as your eyebrows you should seriously consider saying yes.

This happened to me recently. Just there for an innocent eyebrow wax (that was about two years overdue), and Rhonda says, "Do you want me to do your lip, too?" I thought I had heard incorrectly and I must have made a face because she leaned over conspiratorialy and said, "all the girls here do it." As if that makes me feel better about A) possibly having a shadow on my upper lip or B) having coated in hot wax and ripped off.

I said yes because I have, in fact, noticed the faintest blush of a mustache, but only when I'm looking in one of those magnifying mirrors. I don't think anyone looks at me that closely, but I figured I might as well be safe.

It didn't hurt as bad as I thought. I'm also not sure I needed it, but I do notice that my make-up goes on a little more smoothly there. So maybe I should just be glad that someone brought it up, no?

2) Don't have aforementioned waxing done the same day you're going out to dinner with friends.

You can get away with the eyebrow part because it could just be pink eyeshadow. But the pink lip? The one that's still a wee bit sticky from wax? Not a good look.

3) Would it really be that weird to have Alice from the Brady Bunch living with you?

I am lucky enough to have a cleaning lady. She comes twice a month and that is my favorite day - when I get home and the floors are absolutely crumb-free and there are vacuum marks in the carpet in my room. I wish I could levitate from the bedroom door to my bathroom so as not to disturb the lovely seascape of carpet.

I would be even luckier if she came and did this every day and then left a delicious home-cooked dinner on the table for us.

Then cleaned it up and did the laundry.

Then magically disappeared into a closet where she stayed preserved, yet frozen and silent, until we left the next morning and she started all over again.

4) Finally, a makeover show where you could actually afford the clothes!

During one of the 978 snow days we've had this winter I watched an Oprah show where they were doing "affordable makeovers." It was something about not being a "schlumpadinka", Oprah's word for people who dress badly and don't make much effort to look put-together.

The great part was that they were taking the women shopping at Kohl's, The Gap, Sears and JC Penney. Seriously, I love a makeover show and this was the first time I've ever seen one that anyone could actually relate to. I mean, who can buy $350 pants?

The best tip from that show? The Brooks Brothers No-Iron fitted white shirt. A fantastic shirt. I tried to buy one, but the Brooks Brothers at the Philadelphia airport was out of my size. And here's another tip: get the one with the red ribbon on it. It has a better collar that will hold its shape well after washing.

The show also had a list of 10 things to have in your wardrobe so that you can always put together a stylish, classic look. It's a great list. Get it at www.oprah.com

5) The best beauty tip I've ever tried is kind of weird.

I've read many times that using white eyeliner on the inside of your lower lid will make your eyes look brighter/make you look more awake/attract the man of your dreams who just happens to be George Clooney....

I finally tried it.

It works.

Proving, at least to me, that all those beauty tips in InStyle must have been tried by someone and really do work.

6) When you have to travel a lot, don't forget to have sex with your husband.

Not that you would. Forget, I mean. But you might want to really make a point of doing so. That's all I'm saying.

7) Robins = spring

I saw three supremely fat ones on a tree outside the girls' window yesterday. And I can hear birds singing in the morning, even though there are about 18 inches of snow in the yard. It has to be a good sign.

Houston, we have achieved meltdown.

2007-12-20T10:53:00.000-05:00

I should have known what was coming when we were on the way home from the dollar store.

Grace's school Christmas program was last night, and we stopped at the dollar store on the way home from school to get a "beautiful jewel" to pin on her dress. We were doing this because the dress that Grandma bought her - which has a "beautiful" rhinestone jewel on the front - is too big to wear this Christmas. So we settled on adding a pin to this year's dress.

Note the Christmas tree pin. Snazzy, no?

As we drove home we discussed the program and who would be coming. And that's when the tears started. She was heartbroken that my mom (AKA Grandma Muti) couldn't come. It's not like this was a surprise. She's known for weeks that Muti wasn't going to be there, but somehow it became a life crisis. I really didn't know what to say because, frankly, I was kind of relieved she couldn't come. My dad and step-mom were coming and those two groups don't really mix. But promises of videotaping the show didn't help. Calling Grandma Muti didn't help - in fact, Grace wouldn't even get on the phone.

I decided a long bath would help and threw her in the tub as soon as we got home.

The bath worked. The show was cuteness to the 15th power.

That's Grace in the front row, red dress on the right.

We traipsed out to the car with our somewhat large entourage of grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles and Grace insisted I sit in the middle in the back. I did. She insisted on clinging to my arm, which was stretched across her body, and whining, "I waaaannnt you," all the way home.

I had to work very hard not to lose my temper. For one thing, I hate whining. It is my absolute number one pet parenting peeve. For another, she was clinging to my arm like a guy who just picked up the very last Wii at BestBuy, yet was still going on about "wanting me." Also, Grace likes to repeat herself. So I got to hear her tragic plea at least 8 times.

But on the other hand, I felt for her. It was bedtime. The energy that had been spiraling upward in a slow-growing frenzy of holiday excitement had reached its apex on the stage, and all she really wanted was a snack and sleep. Truthfully, I felt the exact same way.

It's like this every year. The energy builds, the excitement grows, the lack of sleep and change in routine weaken one's defenses and general good will, and then.... the crash.

But somehow I think this process is a strangely essential part of the whole Christmas experience. The mild sense of being disoriented and over-tired makes it really easy to believe in magic. And that's what Christmas should be. Magic.

Have a wonderful holiday, be safe on New Year's and nap whenever you get the chance in the next few days.

2007-12-17T11:52:00.001-05:00

When it's 3:45 am and your baby is calling "mommy, mommy, mommy" in a loud, yet disoriented, voice, and you have to force yourself out from under your deliciously warm blankets for the third night in a row remember:

It's good to be loved.

At 6:18 pm, when everyone is hungry - including you - and your children are literally hanging on your legs and your dogs are wagging their tails eagerly awaiting their own dinner (and even the cat is meowing at you in a very demanding manner) remember:

It's good to be loved.

When you are attempting to go to the bathroom all by yourself, but your littlest one insists on actually sitting on your lap while you poop remember:

It's good to be loved.

When all you want is to stretch out on your belly and hang your arm off the side of the bed, but your husband wants to snuggle up like spoons, even though he will fall asleep before you and give you a heat stroke remember:

It's good to be loved.

When you're just trying to watch a movie and your child headbutts you in the mouth, splitting open both your upper and lower lips, but all they're really trying to do is settle in more comfortably on your lap remember:

It's good to be loved.

When you're trying to go out to dinner and you're leaving your children with a babysitter they adore, yet they still get weepy and beg you not to leave, and pull on your arm and insist on giving you a hug with hands enrobed in ranch dressing remember:

It's good to be loved.

When you are exhausted from a long day doing two jobs that you love and you walk into your childrens' bedrooms for one last kiss of their soft, sweet cheeks and one final covering with the blanket, and you know that you are blessed beyond measure by your strong, healthy, funny, happy children remember:

It's good to be loved.

The working mom's party invitation.

2007-12-14T12:01:00.001-05:00

You know how you find those party invitations in your kid's backpack? The cute ones in envelopes that are hand-written? Or the ones created on the computer on party-themed laser-friendly paper?

I have done both of those myself. I probably will again, but only the handwritten ones because I'm not that crazy about using my computer at home.

But here is the best party invitation I've ever received, from a good friend and fellow working mom.

Seriously... PowerPoint? Wish I'd thought of it.

On the road again.

2007-12-13T16:35:00.000-05:00

One of the great things about my job is that I don't have to do a lot of overnight travel. When I do have to travel overnight I luxuriate in the perfectly organized quiet of my hotel room. I browse the on-demand movies and weigh the benefits of choosing my own movie against the glory of an evening spent reading without interruption.

But that kind of travel doesn't come up very often and, truthfully, I'm glad. Because usually I spend about 10 minutes on the aforementioned luxuriating, and the rest of the time I'm either conking out at 9:30 in front of Law & Order or wondering what to do with no one to tuck into bed but myself.

I do, however, do a fair amount of day travel. What I love about day travel is that I get to have some of the good stuff about traveling and still sleep in my own bed. I might get a great lunch. I can listen to a book on tape while I drive. I get a dose of the juice that comes from a great presentation or an exciting new project discussion, and then get myself on home. And if I'm really lucky I get home AFTER bedtime.

The house is quiet. The kids are nestled all snug in their beds. The dogs are walked. All I have to do is kiss a couple of foreheads, maybe hit the jacuzzi and get to bed. What's more, everyone who's awake is delighted to see me. My dogs rush to my side and nuzzle their heads into my lap as I sink into the couch and flex my ankles. My husband gives me a kiss and a hug and asks about my day. And I can actually answer him.

Once in a while my homecoming sets off a karmic disturbance and Lauren will wake up suddenly, weepy and a little confused. Then I get to tiptoe up the stairs in my nice clothes, lift her sleep-warmed body out of her crib and settle into the rocking chair for a sweet snuggle. It's as if I'm the queen of a soft, warm and quiet little kingdom and my subjects need nothing more than to bury their head in my neck to set the world back to rights.

The funny thing is that even though I've enjoyed the rush of a great meeting and (hopefully) the pleasure of an adult lunch, I've also missed my girls. Secretly I'm happy when they rustle awake, that their subconscious minds know I'm home, but just need to check to make sure. It's these moments that remind me that I truly do have it all.

What did you say?

2007-12-06T16:39:00.000-05:00

Me: So remember Grace, you don't have piano today so take the bus to Miss Penny's.

Grace: But I haaate the bus!

Me: You love the bus.

Grace: No I don't because I have to sit by Dylan and he smells like poop!

Me: Oh. Well. I wouldn't like that either. (impressive bit of wisdom there, eh?)

***

Grace: Mom, I had a nightmare it was REALLY scary!

Me: Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. What was it about?

Grace: A mean lady came into our classroom and turned everyone into a salad and then ate us! It was so scary!

Me:(nothing. I had to bite my lip and turn my head to keep from laughing)

***

Me: Lauren, do you want some milk.

Lauren: yeah

Me: Lauren, let's put on your shoes.

Lauren: yeah

Me: Lauren, are you opposed to President Bush's stance on the Kyoto Treaty?

Lauren: yeah

Will I ever get it?

2007-12-03T13:06:00.000-05:00

Have you ever been at your child's school and you see all the parents of the older kids? They seem like they know what they're doing. They've been here before. They know how to handle things. But the other day I had an epiphany about these people.

They don't know what they're doing as a parent any more than I do.

That's because, at least with your oldest child, every new thing is.... well, new. And with each new thing you have to figure out what to do, how to answer. So while I'm well equipped to deal with Lauren's on-the-floor temper tantrums, I'm totally unprepared to deal with Grace's crushing need to memorize her piano songs instantly so that she can impress her teacher.

And that's the irony of parenting. You never really get it all figured out.

This moment of realization has made me feel a whole lot better about the job I'm doing. It's like realizing that even the CEO of your company has to go poop. We all do it. And we all get through it. We may not always get it right, but no one else is either.

Week....whatever

2007-11-08T09:26:00.001-05:00

Getting up early has its good points. You get a head start on the day. You get to see the sun come up (especially now that it doesn't rise until nearly 8 am.) You get all the hot water all to yourself.

But I still can't get used to it.

Enough complaining, though. It's been busy days around here and the most exciting recent event is a poop and a few tinkles on the potty by the wee Lauren (no pun intended). I'm delighted that she's interested in the potty, and even more delighted that my wonderful Penny at daycare is facilitating her interest and putting her on it.

This is where being a working mom is really paying off. I have NO idea how one goes about potty training. Grace got through it thanks to one of her grandmas, so on my end it was like a miraculous transformation I just got to enjoy. Not once did I have to spend 30 minutes or more sitting in the bathroom waiting for the action to happen. Which is good, because that kind of patience is not one of my strengths in motherhood or otherwise.

I'm hoping Lauren's transformation will be just as miraculous.

There's always hope, right?

Week 2

2007-09-11T09:57:00.001-05:00

My sister says that it takes three weeks to get used to a new schedule, specifically, the schedule that involves me getting up at 5:30 am.

It's week two and I think I'm making progress. The hard part is being disciplined about going to bed on time. I mean, on the one hand the kids are going to bed early now that school has started, so I have a little more free time in the evening. On the other hand, I have to go to bed earlier too, so the free time has not really changed relative to the kids' bedtime.

Darn it.

The good news is that Grace loves school. And I have a whole new insight into one of the reasons I love work. It's the structure. I like knowing I have a place to get up and go each morning, that there are people depending on me to get their stuff done. I like having a reason to wear shoes that aren't flip flops (at least from October to April, that is). I can tell that Grace likes this too. Today it's art class, tomorrow it's PE, computer/library time and guidance. Whatever that is.

Now if I could just get used to that early wake up call.....

Where did the summer go?

2007-09-05T15:40:00.001-05:00

Okay, so I've been a little bit lax on posting lately. Sue me. It's been summer.

And I've been too freakin busy to worry about writing about it.

We've had one large beach party, one small birthday party, one case of bronchitis, one huge (and incredibly boring) trade show, one sold car, one bought car, one case of pneumonia, one office move, three weddings, one new baby (not mine!), and one blown gasket on the boat. That one came last, and was a definite indicator that summer has come to an end.

Yesterday was the first day of school, which has, for most of my life, been the equivalent of New Years. Now that I actually have a kid in school it feels more than ever like that. I like the structure and I'm going to get back on track posting here, not because I have hundreds of fans clamoring for my words of wisdom (because I KNOW that's not the case), but because it gives me a nice record of what's been going on in my life. I know that someday I'll have trouble remembering what it was like when my girls were small and I was busy building a business. But maybe not. Every time I'm at the pool, or at a restaurant or running errands with my girls I catch an older woman gazing a little wistfully at me and my children. Usually they smile. Mostly they give me a looking of utter knowing and commiseration. I know I'll be one of those women someday, but right now I'm kind of glad those days are still far away.

Some days are weirder than others.

2007-06-26T15:41:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I had a client meeting in DeKalb, Illinois. That might not sound too exciting, but it was a nice break from my usual trek down US 31 that I make just about every week. Anyway, we had this great meeting where we presented true creative work, also a nice break from the usual stuff we work on. They loved the work, complemented our research, my partner and I had a great lunch, and we didn't even get caught in the usual home-from-Chicago traffic nightmare.

When I got back I headed over to my parents' house to pick up the girls and have some dinner.

And then my step-mom brought out their new miniature horse.

We all screamed so loud she could hear us from outside the house. This is the cutest, littlest horse you've ever seen. Knee-high, with feet the size of silver dollars.

Me, my sister and her husband, my niece, my Dad and my two daughters ran outside and spent a half hour oohing and aahing over the horse. I took a picture with my cell phone that, of course, I can't show you because I don't have a clue how to get pictures from my phone to my computer.

Anyway, after the girls had soaked themselves playing in the birdbath (gross, I know), we went inside and had dinner. Lauren ate four (4!!!!) plates of spaghetti and was so messy I had to strip her in the high chair and take her straight to the bathtub without getting slimed on my dress pants.

Finally, around 9:00 and way past bedtime I got everyone clean, dry and loaded into the car. And then I had the feeling you get when you've had a day where you've spent considerable time in two totally different environments. Kind of like you had two separate days, but really it was all one very weird day.

Weird. But good.

What I like about work.

2007-06-20T10:09:00.000-05:00

There are some days when it's hard to leave the girls at daycare. When I look at their sweet smiling faces and want to whisk them back into the car and straight to the beach.

But there are other days where work is like a drug I can't quit taking. I mean, yeah, my work is creative and fulfilling and all that jazz. But it's mostly the intangible benefits of going to work that make it all worthwhile. For instance, when I go to work no one is hanging on me. That's right - hanging. As in Lauren hanging from my thigh until I pick her up, or Grace (who is nearly too big for me to pick up without getting a hernia) reaching up to hug me, only to pick her feet up off the ground and swing from my neck like we're a pair of orangutans.

Parenting is an incredibly physical job. In fact, it's the sheer physical labor of it all that makes me relieved to go to work by Monday. Everyone at my office can walk up the stairs unassisted. Everyone here can go to the bathroom all alone. No one here has to be lifted into their booster chair or car seat or swing, or carried down a mountain of blistering hot sand that shifts with every step (much less carried back up!).

Best of all, no one here is crying. Which is good because, in our house, crying is contagious.

Exhibit A:

I guess it's the contrast between worlds that makes each one so great.

It's summer. Now what?

2007-06-13T21:17:00.001-05:00

During the school year being a working mom is pretty easy. Sure, you have to attend some holiday parties and book fairs, but overall the schedule is pretty good. Drop the kids off in the morning, go to work, pick them up at daycare at the end of the day. They're busy. You're busy. Everyone has a routine.

Only now it's summer.

No schedule, for the kids anyway. Late bedtimes thanks to the sun setting at frigging 9:30. And my kids can't understand why I'm not on summer vacation too.

I used to have a friend who spent part of her childhood in California and went to school year-round. She totally dug it. I'll bet her parents did too. Instead of three months of "how in the heck am I going to keep these kids from getting bored out of their minds" they got a nice long vacation every few months, and then they got right back onto the schedule.

I'm not sure why we're still living our lives according to a turn-of-the-century agrarian calendar where the kids have to quit school at planting time and can't come back until the harvest is in. I mean, I LOVE summer. But I still have to work.

We're thinking about day camp. Of course, since I work, getting Grace to day camp, then from day camp to daycare is somewhat a logistical challenge. I'll let you know how it goes.

P.S. Thanks for reading girls. I've been doing a bad job keeping up with my posts, even though I have plenty to write about. But my PC at home is fixed now, so you should be hearing more. At least, that's my plan.

Guilt..unh... what is it good for? Absolutely nothin.

2007-05-07T22:07:00.000-05:00

Say it again.

I've been feeling guilty lately.

Guilty that I've been working really hard and I'm so tired at the end of the day that I don't have it in me to re-enact Cinderella 3/play Polly Pockets/play peekaboo/or whatever other thing my girls would like to do at the end of the day.

Guilty that I've been bringing home a lot of carryout and not making dinner because I haven't had time to go the grocery store for nearly two weeks.

Guilty that I pass out on the couch at, like, 9:30 every Friday night because I'm just kind of fried from the week.

Guilty that I cringe every time I get a call from a certain client because I know it will be another new project or meeting that is great for business, but no so great for having a life.

Even guilty that I hadn't been writing in this blog.

And then I realized that I was just wasting my time.

There is no mother on earth who doesn't feel guilty about the choices she makes every day. If you work you feel guilty that you aren't at home more. If you have to leave work early during a really busy time to do something with your kids, then you feel guilty about that too. Heck, sometimes you even feel guilty about not feeling guilty.

But here's the thing I realized: no one is making me feel guilty except me. And even though I've been somewhat mentally consumed by a) work and b) guilt, the people around me are getting on with their lives. Grace thinks she's hit the jackpot because I let her watch Cinderella 3 for two nights in a row. Lauren is just fine playing with blocks by herself for a while. And Chad? Well, he's had a few Friday nights to watch a movie that I wouldn't have wanted to watch anyway.

Guilt is insidious. It's a living thing that, if we let it take hold, will prevent us from living in the moment, enjoying what we have and letting go of the things we can't control. A little guilt is good. It keeps us from checking our e-mail on Saturday when we should really be taking a walk with the kids. But too much can distort your view of reality. And no matter what extra stresses you may be experiencing right now, they will pass. And your kids will still turn out just fine. It's not our job to be 24/7 entertainment for them anyway.

So sing it with....Guilt...unh... what is it good for? Absolutely nuthin, say it again....

2007-05-01T09:49:00.000-05:00

I'm at work right now and that 80s song "Our House" is on the radio. (We listen to internet-streaming radio all day, and not that crappy lite rock stuff that's approved of in most offices. We listen to some crazy stuff, and good stuff, and old stuff and sometimes my partner Chris likes to play latin music that makes me feel like I'm at Don Pablo's. But I digress.) You know how songs can call up a specific time and place in your mind? Here's the visual that, for me, always goes with this song:

A guinea pig funeral.

Yep. A funeral. For a guinea pig.

I was about 9 or so and I was going on a weekend trip with my somewhat friend Hillary to her family's lake house. But the first stop was a couple days at her house in Fort Wayne. This was my first real trip away from home with people who weren't my family and, frankly, once I got there I was not too excited about it. For one thing, Hillary was a raging brat, a fact that I couldn't help but notice even at age 9. For another, I was worried about what we would be eating because I was a fairly picky eater. I wrote in my diary my first night there that I really wanted to go home. (My diary!? Who travels with a diary when they're 9? What a dork.)

On the second day we went to the Fort Wayne mall, which, much to my surprise, had an ice skating rink inside. I still have the scar on my thumb from nearly shutting it into one of those lockers where you have to shut the door and pull the key out at the same time. So after an afternoon of skating and looking at earrings at Claire's we went back to her house only to find that Hillary's guinea pig had passed to the great beyond. Hillary was distraught. I could have cared less, but I was the guest, so I had to go along with the tragic grief.

We ended up out in the back yard with the guinea pig in a shoe box and the family (and me) standing in a circle around its tiny little grave. And here's where the music comes in. Up to that point I'd never been to anyone's house where they had speakers that played music OUTSIDE. Like, whatever was on the stereo in the house was piped outside. They seemed rich beyond imagination to me. I mean, not only did they live by a mall with an ice skating rink inside, they also had a lake house that we would be going to soon AND speakers that played music out in the back yard!

We had a swing set that wasn't anchored in concrete and a membership to the Moose pool.

"Our House" was on the radio during the funeral proceedings and I distinctly remember thinking that maybe I'd better not sing along during the actual funeral, even though it was one of my favorite songs.

Along with the gift of having an eternal link in my mind between "Our House" and a guinea pig funeral, there were a few other things I picked up from that trip:
• a love for Golden Grahams cereal
• the knowledge that I really don't want to eat venison again
• the ability to water ski

All in all, not a bad trip.

Some days.

2007-03-23T10:13:00.000-05:00

So I'm getting breakfast made for the girls and myself this morning when Chad comes upstairs and informs me that Charlie (remember the best Christmas present ever?) has pooped in his crate. I had walked this dog about an hour before. But pooping outside just wasn't on his agenda this morning.

Chad has a seriously quick gag reflex, so off I went to clean the crate. In truth, it doesn't bother me that much, but cleaning a poopy dog crate tray is not the way I usually like to start my day. I gave Charlie dirty looks while I dumped the poop into the outside bin and quizzed him on his scatalogical habits while I wiped the tray down with Clorox wipes. (I use Clorox wipes like the dad in My Big Fat Greek Wedding used windex. I swear, they clean everything.) He just wagged his tail at me and blinked.

When I was done with the poop-fest I went back up to the kitchen only to find that Lauren had climbed into Grace's chair and grabbed her glass of milk, which was now all over the chair and dripping onto the floor. Not as stinky as the poop, but still.... two messes in one morning?

Some days, things just don't go quite right. I'm just hoping the rest of the day shapes up a little more neatly.

Maybe we've watched a little too much Cinderella.

2007-03-15T09:05:00.000-05:00

Grace has a boyfriend.

His name is Logan. She's in love with him. And when she's old enough Chad is going to "walk her to him" when they get married.

Oh, yeah. And he's really nice to her.

Apparently, however, Logan is not in love with her. I know this because when I asked Grace if Logan loves her she told me that he didn't even know that she loves him. Guess she hasn't broken the big news yet.

On the one hand I find this whole thing sweet and funny. She is so sincere in her love for him and she goes on and on about how nice he is (thank god). On the other hand, I'm wondering what the heck the Disney machine is doing to my kid that has a 5-year-old planning her wedding. I mean, the only princess movie that's even remotely girl-poweresque is Mulan, and even she gets the guy in the end. It's really starting to annoy me.

I don't think I have to worry too much, though. Grace told me the other day that if Logan doesn't want to marry her then she will live with me in the same house forever. I think that would be just fine, as far as her Dad is concerned.

I'll post a picture as soon as A) I get my PC at home fixed, because it crapped out after only 13 months on the job. Nice.; or B) blogger supports Macs better and lets me upload my pictures.

Did I mention that Logan sits next to her at her table at preschool and also plays with her during centers? What a guy.

The good, the bad and the just plain awesome.

2007-02-28T15:56:00.000-05:00

It's been quite a month.

Here's the good:
One of my brothers is going to be a Dad for the first time. He's thrilled and I'm thrilled for him.

Here's the bad:
A bond issue to build a new elementary school and make sorely needed improvements to the local middle/high school failed to pass yesterday. Chad and I had gotten involved in the campaign because this was an important issue for us, not just for our kids but also for the growth of our small, but great, community. It's depressing to come face-to-face with the fact that we are surrounded by so many cheap, small-minded, negative people who probably will never see the big picture. But that's life, I guess.

Here's the just plain awesome:
I'm a little reluctant to talk about this because it might jinx it somehow. But here goes.....my business may be moving to within 10 miles of my house. This will be the first time in 12 years that I will drive less than 35 minutes to get to work. The whole thing will be life changing on many levels and I'm really excited. I mean, this could add nearly an hour of time back into my life.

My life and my work all happening in one place. That's hard to imagine, really.

Out of the mouths of babes... and grandpas.

2007-02-06T13:38:00.000-05:00

My Dad and step-mom watched our girls part of the time that Chad and I were in Hawaii. It's great for The Toads (our family nickname for the 'rents) because they get some super quality time with the chickens (my nickname for my girls), and it's great for the chickens because they get to stay up way too late and eat ice cream every night. Also, you get to hear some really funny stories when you get back. Like this one, for example...

My Dad and Grace were hanging out in the living room with the TV on in the background when it dawns on my Dad that CSI is on. (So I know we're already up past bedtime.) The CSI gang is making an arrest. In a strip club.

Grace: "What kind of restaurant IS this?"

Dad: "Well, they go swimming after they eat."

Grace: "Oh. That must be why they all have their bathing suits on."

Good save, Dad.

Re-entry is tough. Part 2.

2007-02-05T15:27:00.000-05:00

What is this?

It's me. Exactly one week ago today. In Hawaii. Where it's warm.

Now I'm at home and it's 3 degrees outside. That's not a typo. It's 3 and that doesn't cover the windchill factor (or "windshield factor" as a friend of mine once thought), which is somewhere in the land of 12 below.

Is there such a thing as Hawaii withdrawal?

woooohooooo!!!!!!

2007-01-22T14:44:00.000-05:00

The Bears are in the Super Bowl. In case you hadn't heard.

I'm a lifelong, die-hard Bears fan. Last night's win was about the most exciting Sunday afternoon I've had in a long time. So now the Bears are in the Super Bowl and while I'm waiting around for that day to get here I get to go to Hawaii on vacation.

Life is good.

Welcome to the world, Josh.

2007-01-16T21:52:00.000-05:00

We have a new member of our extended family:

Joshua was born in Seattle today. He's 19 inches long, 7 pounds, 9 ounces and his mother labored 24 hours to get him here. His grandpa Harry has been waiting virtually his entire adult life for his time as a parent to result in the big payoff - grandchildren. Congratulations Harry - your day has come!

Josh's parents, Matt and Beth, are truly lovely people and Josh is blessed to be born into a large and loving extended family who have been anxiously awaiting his arrival. What a gift to be unconditionally loved even before you are born. And you are loved Josh, you are truly, fully and unconditionally loved.

Welcome to the family.

Now if I could just conquer my e-mail....

2007-01-15T21:36:00.000-05:00

We've conquered the binky, I think. Good thing, too, because the last week or two at work has been intense. Why?

E-mail.

I'm completely convinced that e-mail actually hinders communication. However, lately I've been getting more e-mail than ever that requires me to act in some way. I've also had more e-mails than ever that were part of some CYA electronic daisy chain of torture. You know what I'm talking about - you send an e-mail to a client to ask a simple question. They forward it to the entire "team." Everyone on the team responds, but when they do they "reply to all." And pretty soon, even the junior project assistant is adding her two cents because she just wants everyone to know that she's participating in the process. And oh yeah, no one ever actually answers the original question.

It's totally annoying.

At the end of last week I staged my own personal protest and started calling people. On the telephone. I even left one guy a message saying that I was calling him because I didn't want to start up the circling e-mail thing again. You know what? He called me back the next day and we worked out the details of a fairly complicated project in about 7 minutes. The same thing would have taken two days and 18 messages via e-mail.

Yep. The phone. It's amazing technology.

P.S. As I was writing this our new puppy peed on the living room rug. The job never ends, does it?

I mean it. I really am an idiot.

2007-01-11T15:40:00.000-05:00

So we've completed Night 4 of the no-binky program and you know what? Lauren slept right through the night last night without a peep.

What was I waiting for? Why didn't I do this earlier? Why did I even give her a binky in the first place?

Scratch that last one... she's got a crabby streak so I know exactly why I gave her a binky. I'm just glad we got rid of it before she's developed the communication skills to argue about it.

Cold turkey on the binky.

2007-01-08T11:19:00.000-05:00

I'm an idiot.

I've been getting up every night, as much as three times a night, stuffing the binky back into Lauren's mouth. Why? I have no idea. It's one of those things that sneaks up on you, like you think "oh, it only takes a minute to go in there, put it in her mouth and get back in bed." But really, when you do it two or three times, it adds up. And, because her witching hours are between 2 and 5 am, what it adds up to is interrupted sleep right before it's time to get up. It was really making me crabby.

So as of Sunday we went cold turkey on the binky.

Why Sunday you ask? Because if she cried all night at least I could relax a little bit at work.

Don't get me wrong. When I'm at work, there's work to do. But everyone here can feed themselves, wipe their own butts (at least I hope so), and walk. Which is really relaxing for me.

Even my husband said that we should do it on a weekend. You know, so we could take a nap if we needed to. Give me a break! Who are these people with small children who get to nap on Saturday?! Sure, I can nap while Lauren naps. As long as I don't mind Grace watching Go Diego, Go! and climbing on and off the bed about a hundred times.

But I'm getting off track. What really makes me an idiot is that the reason I decided to go cold turkey now was that I have a friend coming to care for my children while we go to Hawaii in a couple of weeks and I didn't want her to have to get up in the night. That's right. I'm perfectly willing to do this endlessly myself, even though I hate it. But I can't stand the idea that someone else would have to. Why wouldn't I treat myself with this much consideration? I don't know, but I feel kind of stupid.

So last night was Night 1. Lauren cried for about 7 minutes at bedtime, but she was also in meltdown from having cousins over for the entire weekend. She woke up at about 1:30 and cried on and off for about 20 minutes. Not in that sad, I'm-lost-without-the-binky-please-cuddle-me way, but more in a who-in-the-hell-do-you-think-you-are-taking-my-binky-away way. She was pissed. But she got over it and went back to sleep until 6:45.

It's the deepest I've slept in a very long time.

P.S. A couple of weeks ago I did take a nap while Lauren was napping. Grace sat on the bed watching Noggin, and once when she got back on the bed she fell on my head. But I did nap and when I woke up Grace said, "Mom, I need to tell you something." I said, "What is it, sweetie?" She said, "While you were sleeping I went downstairs and ate M&Ms." I practically had to bite my tongue off to keep from laughing. Because, when I was a kid, I would have done the same dang thing. And, hey, it could have been worse.