Just Write

If you support the Department of Education, please tell me WHY?

2012-01-25T12:48:00.001-08:00

As a homeschooling mom, I suppose it's in my DNA to oppose the existence of the Department of Education but I do so with conviction and facts to back up my beliefs. Of all of the things we've entrusted to our government (retirement, health care, the environment, charity, etc. etc.) perhaps the most shocking, to me, is the education of our children.

Most of us can agree that government is, in a word, INEPT. Yet, we are expected to trust that the Department of Education has everything taken care of when it comes to educational standards, benchmarks, facilities and schedules. Why? Where does this blind trust come from? We have become so dependant that most parents feel completely unable to assume responsibility for their child's education (or, perhaps, they just don't want to. It is easier, after all, to just leave it all to the government).

People think I'm crazy when I speak of my disgust for the Department of Education but few are able to articulate the reasons why they support its existence. I am a reasonable person able to make decisions based on facts. So, if I am overlooking actual (and by actual, I mean real) facts, I am open to hearing them.

The latest issue of Imprimus, a publication of Hillsdale College, addresses this very issue. If you haven't already, please read this piece from Charles Murray, the W.H. Brady Scholar at the American Enterprise Institute. Murray makes the case that the Department of Education is unconstitutional, spends ridiculous amounts of money with virtually no measurable improvement to education and is basically at the mercy of the education lobby groups. Since its inception in 1980, the state of education has not improved and we continue to churn out college graduates who have learned nothing, are in debt and are often unemployable. Is this system worth maintaining? Help me out. If you believe in the Department of Education, please tell me why.

Just FYI, "The American Enterprise Institute is a community of scholars and supporters committed to expanding liberty, increasing individual opportunity and strengthening free enterprise. AEI pursues these unchanging ideals through independent thinking, open debate, reasoned argument, facts and the highest standards of research and exposition. Without regard for politics or prevailing fashion, we dedicate our work to a more prosperous, safer and more democratic nation and world."

My husband quit his job to audition for Idol...and I'm cool with that.

2012-01-19T20:42:00.000-08:00

I am not a fan of American Idol. I mean, it's mildly entertaining but I have a few problems with it. First of all, I think they are cruel to make fun of vunerable people who are, ahem, just not that talented. Second of all, I cannot handle the fact that the show completely takes over television. Do we really need to see 2 hours of auditions in 10 different cities 5 nights a week (Ok, slight exaggeration)? Finally, I'm so sick of people worshipping the idea of American Idol -- the quick path to fame -- the Golden Ticket.

My hubby, on the other hand, loves Idol so I endure it when I can. Well, that was the plan at least. After last night (the first night of season 11), the plan may change. I understand that people like to see some of the stories behind the contestants but when one of those stories involves a husband quitting his job to audition, I just can't take it.

This guy was cute. He was a good singer. He was from a small town (which, I would presume, probably doesn't have a ton of options when it comes to employment). Perhaps most disturbing (for me), is that his wife is about to have a baby and she totally supported this decision. What is she thinking? Um, our economy isn't stellar right now. Jobs are scarce and he quit his to "follow his dream." I'm all for dreams, but at a certain point in life, you buckle down and do what you need to do to survive -- to support your family. Bottom line: I so would NOT be ok with that.

I'll give the guy credit for confidence but if he can win Idol (I'm assuming he thinks he can, since he quit his job to do so) there has to be another way to be discovered -- perhaps one that doesn't involve walking away from gainful employment and towards an uncertain future (one that certainly involves a wife and newborn). Before we were married, I would have totally supported my hubby if he wanted to go crazy to follow a dream. But, the game changes once you have actual responsibilities -- a family. I can only hope that this particular contestant goes all the way or is able to find a job to support his family when he returns to Appomattox.

There's an appropriate time for everything and, on a certain level, I think we all understand that...unless a carrot full of quick fame promises is dangled in front of our face. Why is that life so much better than a simple one full of hard work, small town quirks and family? It isn't...unless you watch American Idol.

Sarah's Key - A (Tearful) Review

2012-01-18T08:12:00.000-08:00

Shortly after my husband and I were married, we were sitting in our hotel room in the Dominican Republic. He was slipping through the t.v. stations and I was on the bed flipping through the final chapters of The Notebook. As I turned the last page, I burst into tears and my husband immediately dropped the remote and rushed to my side.

I'm not a big crier, so he was obviously alarmed. Through sloppy tears, I tried to explain to share the powerful message of this book and the heartbreak I felt I was experiencing after reading it. He just stared at me, not sure of how to react. Of course, he couldn't understand a word I was saying so, after he realized I was not in physical pain, he started laughing hysterically at my emotional breakdown. I wanted to hurt him.

We laugh about it now, but I'm really glad he wasn't by my side last night as I finished reading Sarah's Key. Wow. Talk about emotional. I read at night before bed but found myself thinking about the story of Sarah and Julia during the day as if they were walking with me. I couldn't escape the horror of the brutal Vel' d'Hiv' roundup and imagined myself in Sarah's shoes on that fateful July morning in Paris, 1942.

While the story is fictional, the book is based on the very real experiences of French Jews during World War II. In the spirit of some of my favorite books of all time, All Quiet on the Western Front and A Farewell to Arms, author, Tatiana de Rosnay, invites the reader to experience a historical event through the eyes of her expertly developed characters.

Sarah's story is truly devastating. Heartbreaking. Almost unbelievable...if you didn't know it could be true. This innocent child transformed into a hardened and scarred woman virtually incapable of experiencing joy at the hands of a world that completely discounted her existence. How could this happen? I couldn't even hold back the waterworks until the last page turned. Usually, when I love a book, I am crushed when it ends. In this case, the ending was satisfying. Kudos to de Rosnay for her perfect timing (sometimes an author just doesn't know when to call it quits). After I (somewhat) pulled myself together, I hovered over my sleeping children and thanked God for their rhythmical breath -- for their carefree giggles -- for their warm and sticky hugs.

Simply put, I LOVE THIS BOOK. I am better for reading it -- which is rare.

My homeschooled kids are under the microscope

2012-01-13T22:10:00.000-08:00

Not too long ago, it was cute when one of my kids mispronounced a word or failed to conjugate a verb correctly. I rarely corrected them because I felt their lack of language skills demonstrated a sweet sort of innocence that I wasn't ready to leave behind. I figured they have plenty of time to pour over grammar workbooks, diagram sentences (do people even do that anymore?) and ponder the use of a dangling participle.

That was before homeschooling.

Now, whether right or wrong, I feel a bit under the microscope when it comes to the way my children speak. When we're out and about during the day (when most kids are in school), many people stop to ask my children why they aren't in school or what they're doing at Target in the middle of a Wednesday. I tend to hold my breath and pray that they answer in complete, well-formed sentences. Most of the time, they do. Whew!

Now, saying "winned" instead of "won" isn't so much cute as it is a reflection on my teaching skills. True, this probably isn't the best way to approach my first year of homeschooling but all of these little mistakes leave me making mental notes at a furious pace. Should you open up my brain, you're sure to find a road map of red Sharpie scribbles and notes all designed to make tomorrow's homeschool day better.

Homeschooling has taught me that everything my kids do or say can be traced directly back to something I've taught them, or failed to teach them. That's really the essence of parenting, isn't it? Eventually, the responsibility for their words and actions will fall squarely and completely on their shoulders, but for now, I'm hyper-sensitive to each and every move they make. Exhausting? You bet. Worth it? Absolutely.

Ronald Reagan's Christmas address 1981

2011-12-25T18:23:00.000-08:00

This wasn't that long ago, but I wonder if a President would speak so plainly about the true meaning of Christmas today. As always, to-the-point and eloquent. My kids will listen to this today with me. God bless us, every one.

The problem with Santa.

2011-12-24T08:32:00.000-08:00

It's Christmas Eve morning and I've officially HAD IT with Santa. My kids are obsessed with the presents under the tree, even though I've done everything I can to keep them focused on Christ during this circus of a season. They know the importance of giving, at least intellectually, but the lure of shiny wrapping paper and colorful bows seems to mesmerize them.

Every year, my goal is to have 3 presents for each child on Christmas, since that's how many Jesus received. We put them out well before Christmas morning because I want them to realize that Santa didn't bring them anything. Still, they expect their presents to multiply on Christmas morning. I've gone back and forth on how to explain this lack of multiplication. I want to tell them that Santa skipped our house because we don't need anything from him but that statement validates his existence (doesn't it?). I could just completely debunk the Santa myth but I've been told that would be harsh (really?). Santa is taking up way more of my mental bandwidth than I would like. But how do I escape?

How do you handle Santa in your house? I am desperately resisting the urge to gather up every present under the tree and hand them out to random people in the Target parking lot or on any city street. It shouldn't be such an uphill battle to shake the excess off and focus on the fact that a sweet little baby came into this world to die for ME. But, here we are again, fighting that battle. Any tips on how to win it?

The Bungalow by Sarah Jio - A Review

2011-11-11T12:26:00.000-08:00

Sarah Jio gave me one of the best birthday presents…and I’ve never even met her. My birthday was on Wednesday and I just wanted an afternoon to tackle the pile of unread books I’ve accumulated on my nightstand and iPad. Simple, right? Graciously, my husband obliged and I was able to indulge in hours of uninterrupted literary bliss. Yes, this makes me happy – very, very happy.

I finished the final two chapters of a book I had been working on for a month, digested a few chapters of an economics books I’ve been reading (for a year!) and started Sarah Jio’s new novel, The Bungalow. That was the plan anyway.

Time swallowed me up as day turned to night. Before I knew it, it was midnight and I turned the last page of The Bungalow. Seriously. I finished it in a single sitting…and I couldn’t imagine doing it any other way. Sometimes when you read a book, there is a natural place to grab the bookmark and pause. Not the case with The Bungalow. I just couldn’t stop.

I love wartime fiction. There’s something about a story unfolding with the backdrop of international tension, boundless courage and unknown outcomes that sucks me in -- if that story is a romance, even better. The Bungalow is an emotional story of uncertain love, true love, the lure of stability, the ugliness of pride and the beautiful intertwining of lives through generations.

The skillful, clean writing that Jio exemplified in her first novel, The Violets of March, pours over into The Bungalow, making it a true pleasure to read. It flows so effortlessly from one scene to the next while carrying the reader from a wealthy Seattle neighborhood to the jungle of Bora-Bora. As I turned the final page, I literally wanted to hug the book. Had I not been reading on my iPad, I would have (one disadvantage of e-reading: the hugs aren’t quite as satisfying).

Thanks, Sarah, for the awesome birthday present. I wasn’t expecting to spend my evening with Anne and Westry, but I’m so glad I did.

Success with Honor?

2011-11-10T13:21:00.000-08:00

I just read the entire Grand Jury report from the Jerry Sandusky investigation. I wish I hadn’t. I felt compelled because the entire story has been so disturbing and there was just so much speculation swirling around all of the commentary. The only way to get around all of the emotion was to go to the source and read the facts, as presented to the Grand Jury.

I don’t think anyone should be commenting on this painfully disgusting story until they read the Report. Once you do, I’m convinced that there’s only one way to view Sandusky: as a perverted serial abuser with an ego a million times bigger than his conscience. His behavior was repeatedly horrendous – shockingly so – yet he continued to prey on young kids without anyone questioning him. Sure, some said his behavior was odd but appropriate outrage was nowhere to be found. I believe he felt invincible and empowered to continue his crime spree by the lack of action taken against him.

Evidence of the deterioration of our society is plain to see when you consider how many people could have stopped Sandusky’s sickening pursuit of innocent children. Is this who we are? How does a 28 year old man not beat Sandusky to a pulp when he walks in on him seriously abusing a 10 year old boy on Penn State property? How did he turn and walk away? My heart breaks for that child, as well as the other victims (who really knows how many there were?). On top of it all, Sandusky met most (if not all) of these kids through The Second Mile Foundation, a charity he established to help at-risk youth. Revolting.

The reaction to the firing of Joe Paterno over this mess is embarrassing. Rioting? Really? Clearly, football is more important to these students than protecting children. These weren’t white collar crimes or crimes against capable adults. These were little kids who were manipulated and forever changed by a man they trusted. I don’t know Paterno, but he strikes me as a guy who likes to be in control. To think that he did not know the true extent of the situation is far-fetched at best. No, he didn’t do nearly enough. If you have even the slightest inclination that a child (let along, multiple children) is being hurt, you make it your mission to figure it out. You pursue the truth…because the child cannot.

Sandusky is pure evil. The people who turned their heads are equally as repulsive. Penn State’s priority should be education, not football. Sure, it’s great to have a powerhouse team, a respected coach and a long-standing legacy, but not at the expense of morals and basic human decency. As a mother, to say that I’m nauseated by this situation is an understatement. I appreciate Paterno’s contribution to NCAA football, but I wonder what Sandusky’s victims think about his “Success with Honor” mantra. Actually, I think I have a pretty good idea….

Disclaimer: I cannot bring myself to link to the Grand Jury Report, but a quick web search should uncover it. Proceed with caution.

Agoraphobics in Love

2011-08-19T08:52:00.000-07:00

How is your summer reading going so far? I love this time of year because reading just seems to come with the territory. Whether I'm reading on the iPad or have an old-fashioned paper version in my hands, it seems I'm always processing a story.

Right now I'm working on a gigantic historic non-fiction, an adventure on the e-reader and an advance copy of a much anticipated novel. Sometimes you don't need to dive into a full-length novel to be transported. Case in point: Agoraphobics in Love by Lisa Tucker. This charming short story was just what I needed to refresh my summer reading plan. It's available only for an e-reader and it's only a 99-cent download! This sweet story is worth way more than 99-cents.

What crazy thing have you done for love? Tucker will inspire you to consider this question as you turn the e-pages of this short story. The fact that Tucker is able to develop adorably quirky characters that evoke an emotional response from the reader in such a short amount of time is a true testament to her ability as a writer.

Agoraphobics in Love is a refreshing, honest and light-hearted read that should definitely be included on your summer reading list. Oh, and did I mention it's only 99-cents!!! Love it.

Our homeschooling journey begins.

2011-07-09T21:37:00.000-07:00

I wasn't expecting our first day homeschooling to go the way it did. All three of my kids were up before me. Eden made breakfast for all of them and then carefully put the dirty dishes in the sink. As I walked down the stairs, I heard them saying the Pledge of Alligence and then walked up to see them standing at attention, hands on their hearts facing the flag on our mantle. I was shocked, to say the least. Ok, I guess they're ready to jump right in.

I wasn't prepared for their level of preparation. After the Pledge and a serious rendition of My Country 'Tis of Three, they looked at me expectantly. Even though I had spent the past week preparing for this day, I froze. What now? Oh yeah, downstairs to the "classroom" to start the day's lesson. All three students eagerly marched behind me as I descended the stairs.

Two minutes later, we were sitting around their mini art table, books open in front of us, and their attitudes had changed. I realized then that they expected homeschooling to be a big party at home. Perhaps they looked forward to a permanent pajama party complete with games, movies and an endless supply of snacks. Once then realized that we would actually be learning (or trying to), their willingness took a collective turn for the worse.

We've been at it for about a month now and I can't say they've been cooperative. I've been met with far more push-back them I expected and I'm honestly not sure how to handle it. I sometimes relive those first few moments when I saw them standing in the living room, excited for the day ahead. How quickly they've turned. Regardless, I'm pressing on. They've been asking me, "How long are we going to homeschool?" Sometimes I want to tell them, "This is our last day!" But I know the real answer is, "As long as God tells us to."

Am I crazy for taking this on? Am I going to be able to do this? Will I ever have a life again? These questions and more circulate through my head on a daily basis but I know I'm doing the right thing. One of Eden's teachers (pre-homeschooling) taught her to take deep breaths by telling her to "smell the flower, blow out the candle." I've been doing alot of that lately. Alot.

And so, our journey begins. This should be good.

Here, Home, Hope: A Review

2011-05-28T19:15:00.000-07:00

Have you ever considered changing the course of your life…even though you are firmly grounded in your present reality? Kaira Rouda explores this idea in her new novel, Here, Home, Hope. This is the story of Kelly Johnson, a mom of two and loyal wife who finds herself no longer content with her comfortable suburban existence. She begins to question whether being comfortable is a good thing and decides to dust off some buried dreams. In the process, she rediscovers the importance of friendship, becomes a mentor and witnesses the power of identifying exactly what it is she wants in life.

When you finally turn the last page of this book, you’ll probably feel like you just took a long walk with you best friend. Rouda’s expertly crafts a comfortable and creative plot that is just complex enough for an enjoyable bedside read. Most, if not all, women can relate to the theme of transition which is weaved through Kelly’s interactions with her friends (both new and old), her neighbors, her husband, even her social nemesis. My feelings toward Kelly ranged wildly between wanting to smack her, hug her, cry with her, cheer her on and share a bottle of wine with her. The up-and-down relationship I cultivated with Kelly in the pages of this book is exactly what kept me intrigued.

Whether you are lying on the beach, by the pool or on a lawn chair in the backyard in the next few months, Here, Home, Hope is the perfect summer companion. It's 'chick lit' at its best.

The Atlas of Love - A Review

2011-04-02T10:13:00.000-07:00

How do you define family? Is it limited to blood relatives or can this title encompass relationships that are cultivated through life's experiences? Laurie Frankel's The Atlas of Love redefines what it means to be a family and asks readers to examine the strength and fortitude of their own relationships. . .space space spacespace space This is the story of three friends and their adventures in parenting, although only one of them actually gave birth. When Jill finds out she's pregnant, she almost immediately finds out that her boyfriend isn't interested in being a father. As he pulls away, her two friends, Janey and Katie, pull closer. Faced with the reality of an impending birth, the three friends decide to work together to raise Jill's baby. . ,space space spacespace space pacespace space space The concept seems a bit whimsically and, on the surface, barely realistic, but they do what they can to make it work. Nobody is prepared for the enormity of the task, which they quickly realize is not defined by a plethora of lollipops and roses. The situation brings with it "family" dynamics to which any mother, daughter or close friend can relate. . .sace spcae scspace space spcae Frankel is simply a gifted writer. Her characters are well-developed, intriguing and thoughtful. The dialog is witty and well-paced. The plot is imaginative but curiously realistic. Overall, just a truly enjoyable read that makes you appreciate the friends you have and look forward to the relationships you'll forge in the future.

Skipping a Beat - A Review

2011-02-17T12:22:00.000-08:00

Not long ago, I was sitting in the Charlotte airport, en route to Gainesville, desperate for sleep after a very uncomfortable red eye from Denver. My exhausted body was telling me to curl up under a bench, pull my sweater over my head and sleep for a precious few minutes. But my restless mind wouldn't allow it. I only had one more chapter left in Sarah Pekkanen's new book, Skipping a Beat, and I had to finish before I could ever think about sleeping.

After turning the last page, I quickly sent Sarah (who I do not know personally, but she did send me an advanced copy of her book) an email saying, "Damn you for not letting me sleep!" quickly followed by, "Brilliant work!" I adored this story. It is my favorite kind of book...the kind that lures me into my bed each night with the promise of another unexpected twist in the story. I kept telling myself (and my husband), 'Just one more chapter,' which turned into at least 4 or 5 a night.

Although I really connected with Sarah's first book, The Opposite of Me, her second effort grabbed my heart. Anyone who is married (or otherwise committed, long-term) will appreciate Pekkanen's candid look at the emotional ups and downs of relationships, in this case, in light of tremendous want and extraordinary success. On one hand, her words validated my own frustrations towards life's drama. On the other, she left me contemplating the meaning of true love and the promise of healing in the face of heartbreak.

Skipping a Beat is creative, honest and emotional. Pekkanen's writing style reminds me of a chat with an dear college friend. Bottom line: Go get it (it comes out in Feb). Read it. Share it.

Discloure: This post serves as entry into a sweepstakes and I received a free copy of the book to review.

His Excellency: George Washington - A Review

2011-02-07T15:23:00.000-08:00

I've made a vow to myself this year to read more books, but not just books in general -- a specific kind of book. Namely: historical biographies. I kicked off my new goal with His Excellency: George Washington by Joseph J. Ellis. Although I've studied Washington before, I focused more on what he did rather than who he was. This biography certainly filled in the gaps and gave me tremendous insight into Washington's personality and character.

The more I read, the more I started to understand the man behind the wooden teeth (which, by the way, are a myth). Before reading this book, my perception of Washington was that he was a brilliant, rather unemotional, focused man. Of course, this idea was based purely on the facts of history and the stoic pictures we see of him (many of which, by the way, are grossly inaccurate). Ellis uses Washington's personal and public correspondence to create a vivid picture of a man who was passionate, socially savvy, respected and determined.

It's funny because we are constantly hearing about how polarized this country is and how explosive the political scene is today. But, Washington was faced with the seemingly impossible challenges of defeating the greatest military power in the world with a rag-tag militia, creating a viable government when every leader seemed to have a different idea of how things should be and staying true to his truly independent point of view when political parties were just beginning to surface. It seems Washington's time was just as contentious and ours (maybe more so).

This book is extremely readable and not at all intimidating as many historical biographies can be. In a time when the freedoms and essence of this country are at risk, tapping into Washington's vision for the United States helps put it all in perspective....so go read it. :-)

It's just a 'stew' kind of day...

2011-01-31T16:26:00.000-08:00

I'm not a huge fan of the Today Show, but I do like to check out their cooking segments. They tend to coordinate with the seasons, which sometimes helps me get out of a cooking rut (you know the one when you make the same 5 things over and over and over again). I often run out the door right after I see a recipe that I like to gather the ingredients and try it out that night. It happened again this morning.

Today, Ellie Krieger demonstrated two yummy, comforting recipes for a heart healthy segment. This appealed to me because it's snowing outside and I love to cook warm, hearty meals in weather like this. Also, Krieger is a nutritionist and she talked about how these recipes are heart- and cholesterol-friendly. Who wouldn't love that?
I made it to the store before the weather turned horrible and I was looking forward to cooking dinner all day long. After spending 2 hours cleaning the kitchen, I proceeded to destroy it again to make Krieger's Aromatic Beef Stew with Butternut Squash. I wouldn't have thought beef would be included in a heart-healthy recipe, but it's all about moderation. I only used a pound of stew meat for 5 people. Enough to get the idea, but definitely not meat-heavy.

This stew just made me smile. It was full of flavor and a little spicy. It gave my stomach a big ol' hug -- much needed on a day like today. Oh, and it was EASY to make. Promise.

Recipe: Ellie Krieger's Aromatic Beef Stew with Butternut Squash

Ingredients
2 teaspoons olive oil
1 pound stew beef (round or chuck), cut into chunks
1 large onion, chopped
1 tablespoon minced peeled fresh ginger
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 pound peeled cubed butternut squash, cut into 1[1/2]-inch cubes (about 2[1/2] cups)
One 14.5-ounce can no-salt-added diced tomatoes
One 8-ounce can no-salt-added tomato sauce
1 1/2 cups low-sodium beef broth
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
3 cups cooked whole-wheat couscous
1/4 cup sliced almonds, toasted in a dry skillet over medium-high heat, stirring frequently, until golden brown and fragrant, about 2 minutes
4 teaspoons minced fresh parsley

Preparation
Far from your run-of-the-mill beef stew, this one transports you to another land with a unique combination of everyday ingredients. In it tender beef is nestled with chunks of sweet butternut squash in a rich Moroccan spiced tomato sauce. That exotic inspiration continues as it is served over fluffy couscous and topped with crunchy almonds. It’s just as easy, if not easier, than the same-old stew, but so much more rewarding.

Heat the oil in a 4-quart saucepan over medium-high heat. Add the beef and cook until browned on all sides, about 5 minutes. Transfer the meat to a plate, leaving the juices in the saucepan. Add the onion and cook, stirring, until softened and translucent, about 6 minutes. Add the ginger and garlic and cook, stirring, for 1 additional minute. Return the beef to the pot and stir in the squash, diced tomatoes, tomato sauce, beef broth, cumin, cinnamon, and red pepper flakes. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to a simmer. Cover and cook until the beef is tender, 30 to 35 minutes.

Spoon the stew over the couscous, and sprinkle each serving with almonds and parsley.

No, kids, life is NOT fair. Deal with it.

2011-01-15T21:03:00.001-08:00

My 6-year-old is on a "life is not fair" kick. If you're a mom of a child that can talk, you know what I'm talking about. It doesn't matter what we do, somehow circumstances leave her feeling inadequately equipped to handle the situation. She always wants more (or less depending on the 'thing' in question) and compares her lot to whomever happens to be in the immediate vicinity.

If her brother happens to land in the seat in front of her favorite bowl, you guessed it: "It's not fair." If her sister's favorite song comes on the radio and I cannot magically instruct the DJ to play hers next, "That's not fair." If she has to clean the shower and her (3 year old) sister has to wipe down the counter, here it comes: "This is sooo not fair!" You know what? She's absolutely right. It's NOT fair....and it never will be.

Clearly kids are born with the inane ability to distinguish inequality, especially when it comes to something that they want more/less of. It's human nature. Still, the reality is that life is not fair. It never was and no matter how much you cry and scream about it, that truth will remain.

I realize that in between my generation and my kids' generation is a generation of kids that grew up with the false assumption that life is fair. Subsequently, they feel entitled to....well, pretty much everything. I realize this is not a popular statement, but most people in the aforementioned "middle" generation would be shocked to know that they do not have a right to a job, to health care (at least under the federal government), to a house....just by virtue of breathing. They do have a right to acquire those things...if they have the means to do so.

I hope to teach my kids that they will gain that for which they are willing to work. Work requires effort and sacrifice and it's not always fun...still, it is required. Perhaps they will be surprised to realize that their perception of their quality of life is in direct proportion to their ingenuity, effort, education and implementation of their vision.

I want my kids to know that we succeed and fail on our own accord. Contrary to what some think, the fact that life is not fair is what makes this country the greatest, most exceptional country in the history of countries. Someday, I hope they will celebrate the fact that life is not fair rather than whine about it. That someday feels pretty far away right now...

What's your legacy??

2010-11-26T14:51:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking about this for a while now, but have recently committed to exploring a new avenue of writing. You may recall me blogging about my kind-hearted neighbor who, even in the midst of personal tragedy, still exemplified exceptional kindness and generosity. Well, her husband passed away shortly after that post and, since then, I've been able to learn a bit more about her.

We've spent time talking about her childhood, her love story and her family. As a student of history, she's captivated me with her personal vignettes. I didn't take long for me to offer to document her personal history for the benefit of her family and future generations. Her response, though heart-warming, shocked me a bit. At first, she was reluctant to acknowledge that anyone would be interested in her story. She also said that she and her husband talked about how they never wrote any of their memories down. After hearing that, I was 100% on board.

We're starting the process next week and I'm really excited about it. I plan on interviewing her 2-3 different times, transcribing her feedback, editing it and producing a complete history in bound-book form (along with a CD of the audio recordings). If it goes well, I may offer these services professionally for other families and individuals.

So, what are your thoughts? Have you considered documenting your own personal history, or the history of an aging relative? Do you think preserving personal history (in hard copy form) is important? Why or why not?

If you know my mom (or have a mom), read this

2010-10-20T08:53:00.000-07:00

**I know this a tad long for a blog post, but indulge me, especially if you know my mom***

Over the course of my life, I've never been told I look like my mom. My younger sister heard it often, but me? My mother and I look nothing alike. She is fair-skinned, 5’3” with blue eyes and blond hair. I am olive-skinned, 5’8” with hazel eyes and brown hair. Our personalities are quite different as well. She is the consummate mediator and resident saint. I have a temper and struggle with forgiveness. Everyone (and I do mean that literally) who has ever met my mother falls in love with her free spirit, easy-going attitude and her teary-eyed laugh. She is the ultimate comforter, a skilled listener and a compassionate soul. I, on the other hand, make friends at a snail’s pace, am more of an introvert and am hesitant to become emotionally-vested in anyone’s life beyond my familial circle.

Growing up, my friends flocked to my mother and she was always there to listen, guide and hug. While I have always adored my mom, seeing how effortlessly she diffused heated situations and calmed frayed nerves caused me to feel a bit distant from her. I just could never relate to or understand her selfless motivation. How could she constantly put her own needs and interests on the back-burner so that she could nurture the needs and interests of others? She would not think twice about completely disappearing into the life of her children, if it meant that we would flourish.

I remember looking at pictures of my mom from her grade school days searching for some hint of my nose, eyes or even ears. I wanted so badly to look like her but my fruitless search left me asking, "Who are you? What are your dreams and aspirations?” I’ve never really known the answer. I do know that the answer changed once I and my siblings entered the scene. Perhaps the little girl in the white lace dress smiling back at me from those black and white photos dreamed of a life full of adventurous escapades, exotic travel and lavish celebrations. Perhaps.

But life unfolds, as life tends to do. As the path of her journey progressed from one of endless possibility to a clearly marked paved road, my mother’s aspirations for herself obviously changed. We became the embodiment of her dream. My mom has always been so incredibly happy watching us bloom. Subsequently, her support, love and warmth have been constants in our lives. She has been an unwavering example of grace, mercy and kindness. When I was completely unlovable, she always loved. When I was utterly incorrigible, she encouraged. When I gave into my anger, she wrapped her arms around me and softened the pain, all while expecting nothing in return.

It really wasn’t until I had children of my own that I actually recognized a common thread between us. I too have no problem disappearing into my children so that they may flourish. Even though we live hundreds of miles apart, I learn from my mom every day. Whatever challenge my children present, I tap into the wisdom that she instilled in me and try my best to show them the same love that she showed me.

I'll probably never look like my mom. I'm ok with that now. But, the older I get, the less important it is for me to resemble her in appearance and the more I strive to resemble her in character. If someone sees my mom in me, through my actions, demeanor or in the way I relate to my kids, I’ll consider myself a success.

Moi? An inspiration? Stop it right now.

2010-10-17T15:43:00.000-07:00

Most days, I certainly do not feel inspirational as I'm just trying to hold the various moving parts of my life together. But, then again, I suppose most mothers can relate. Recently, my friend via the blogosphere, Wendy Irene, asked me to contribute to her Interviews for Inspiration segment for her Give Love, Create Happiness blog.

The idea that we mothers can really find inspiration and encouragement in each other is just fantastic...and true. How could I not contribute? The best part...in doing so, I learned a lot about myself and was energized by the process of defining my answers to her questions. Thanks for the exercise in self-discovery, Wendy! Check out my interview here.

Flashing back....

2010-10-14T17:32:00.000-07:00

I started riding horses when I was 5. My little sister went to pre-school on a farm in NJ and when my mom went to pick her up, I would go visit the horses. At first, I leaned on the fence, then I stuck my heard through the fence, then I climbed on the fence, then I forgot the fence was even there. Ever since then, there was no turning back.

I wouldn't recognize my life without horses, and I don't want to even consider the thought. Some of my fondest memories of my childhood involved spending hours and hours at the barn, riding, cleaning tacks, mucking stalls, feeding, and generally soaking up wisdom. Sometimes I would just sit in the pasture with the horses and just....be. I couldn't think of another place I'd rather be.

Recently, I've been blessed with an opportunity to lease an amazing horse (Mags) who is absolutely perfect for us. She is a saint with Eden, who has just learned to post the trot, and she is an eventing school master. Today we pulled up to the barn and Eden said, "It smells soooo good here." I could not be more proud.

Watching Eden learn to ride and interact with Mags sparks flash backs every day. Although I'm definitely not forcing her to ride, she clearly wants to be there with me and, right now, I'm just enjoying the common bond we share. As she grows up, my hope is that it will still be there...because I know what horses can do to a girl. Since she already appreciates the smell of leather, manure and dirt, there's pretty much no turning back. :-)

If you ever wanted to be a makeup artist in a strip club...

2010-10-02T08:02:00.000-07:00

....this book is for you. Actually, it's for anyone who is passionate about the makeup/beauty industry. Well, really it's for anyone who is remotely curious about the life of a makeup artist.

I dabble in makeup. Meaning, I occasionally try to put it on. It's definitely not my forte' but I'm in awe of people who do it well and can transform a face with a few strokes of a makeup brush. For that reason alone, I had a hard time putting The Lipstick Classified by Karen Cecilia down once I started reading.

As an industry insider, Cecilia dishes on the fabulous (and not so fabulous) world of a professional makeup artist. The book (which is a super fast and entertaining read) includes a collection of Cecilia's published articles, which are engaging and definitely manageable (length-wise). Yes, she shares her experience as a makeup artist at a strip club (talk about hard work!!!) but she also shares valuable makeup tips. As soon as I finished the book, I ran to my bathroom to try her trick for mimicking airbrushed foundation...and it worked!

Overall, The Lipstick Classified is a funny, honest escape. I definitely recommend it, even if you are completely inept at putting on makeup (like me).

Love in Mid-Air....a review

2010-09-20T08:39:00.000-07:00

If you're contemplating an affair, don't read this book....or maybe read it. I'm not sure if it will empower you to act on your impulse or if it will dissuade you from moving forward with your tryst. Either way, Love in Mid-Air by Kim Wright is simply a captivating read. It definitely feel more like a diary than a novel in some instances.

The main character, Elyse, takes us through her journey from a young woman intrigued by the idea of marriage, to a mother and wife struggling to hold on to her identity, to the daring and brazen mistress who guiltlessly tours the country with her lover, one city at a time. Wright provides the reader with an intimate portrait of the guts of Elyse's affair, marriage and friendships. Although some of the dialog made me blush (literally!), every word contributed to the complexity of the plot, which was often unexpected, sometimes painful and always alluring.

I've never met Wright but, based on this novel, I am guessing she's not shy and I would love to sit down for coffee and a chat. I imagine we'd talk about female friendships and how difficult it can be to truly connect with women...as well as the importance of a true, solid friend. I would probably lean in closer to her and whisper as I asked about the writing process of this book. Her writing is brave, raw and honest. I love it.

Grab this book and read it. It will devour you, as you devour it.

Witnessing kindness

2010-08-29T17:40:00.001-07:00

We recently moved into a new neighborhood that is...transitioning. There aren't very many kids in our neighborhood because most of the people there are "original" owners...and the homes are 35+ years old. Still, all of our neighbors, especially in our immediate cul-de-sac, have been extraordinarily nice and welcoming.

We've had cookies, brownies and a pie delivered to our door. The couple across the street has given us an open invitation to use their pool whenever we want. The couple at the top of the cul-de-sac mowed a path for us from their back gate to the park just behind them. In short, we feel very blessed to have the opportunity to be a part of this community.

Recently, our immediate neighbor has been experiencing some pretty significant health problems. They are an older couple and he has Parkinson's disease. We knew he has been in and our of hospitals and rehabs recently, but even through his trials, she comes home from a long day of nurturing to water her gorgeous flowers, chat with the neighbors, return my children's shoes from her back yard to our front door...even offer us a bag of freshly picked fruit from her trees.

Being the newbies on the block, I don't ask too many questions, but we've heard her husband recently moved to a hospice, which is never good news for a loving wife. I hadn't seen her since hearing this news....until this morning. I was cleaning the kids' bathroom when, out the window, I saw her pull up with her daughter.

As she got out of the car, she looked a bit frail and very tired. Instead of walking into the house, I saw her take a quick scan of the cul-de-sac that she's called home for 30+ years and then slowly walk over to the neighbor's house. Gingerly, she picked up the huge Sunday edition of the Denver Post from the middle of the driveway, walked to the front door, and gently placed it on the welcome mat. She did the same for two other neighbors, while her daughter stood patiently in the drive-way, watching...almost as if she fully expected her to do this.

When all was well with the papers, she meandered back to her house and walked arm-in-arm with her daughter through the front door. I don't know why this hit me, other than the fact that she is probably going through the most difficult experience of her life right now, but she still went out of her way to make someone else's life a tiny bit easier today. Without knowing it, she inspired me.

She's Gone Country...a review

2010-08-16T16:03:00.000-07:00

Reminiscent of the message in Alan Jackson's namesake song, She's Gone Country by Jane Porter is the story of Shey Darcy, a soon-to-be-divorced mom of 3 boys, and her new life on the ranch where she grew up. After discovering husband of 15 years had been living a double-life, Shey leave her jet-setting life in New York and returns to her tiny hometown in Texas where she is determined to pick up the pieces and start anew.

Of course, her boys each have their own opinions on this new lifestyle, which causes Shey to both question and celebrate her decision. As a former Sports Illustrated and Vogue supermodel, Shey is now a big fish in a small pond trying to overcome her fear of disappointing her family while hoping to figure out who she is without all of the glitz and glamour she left behind.

Returning home means facing the unanswered questions of the past, which mainly involve an old flame, Dane Kelly. Dane's history with Shey's family is deep...and became even deeper while she was off in New York living her life. As mysteries of the past unfold, so too does Shey's love for Dane.

While I sometimes felt that Shey obsessed a bit over Dane, further consideration leaves me to believe that her emotions are pretty realistic given her situation. You may want to dislike Shey because of her supermodel status and ability to jaunt off for a swimsuit shoot in an exotic location (without doing much physical preparation..at least as far as the storyline is concerned), but she is really likeable and even relateable. By the middle of the book, I wanted her to find a happily-ever-after. I love the idea of returning to your roots to rediscover yourself. Although I would probably never do it, I understand why people do.

This is a quick read...perfect for the nightstand. It isn't overly romantic, explicit or mushy, which I liked. Porter provides just enough raw emotion and curiosity to keep you coming back. Guess what? I recommend it. :-) Happy reading!

The Brazilian Blowout....Results

2010-08-15T15:33:00.000-07:00

Maybe my expectations were too high. Maybe my hair is too stubborn. Maybe it's the high-altitude Colorado air. Whatever the reason, my Brazilian blowout was a dud. I've only heard great things about this process so I'm a bit shocked by my lack of success.

I followed my stylist's directions and allowed my hair to 'cure' for a few days before washing it. When I did wash it (well, some of you know, I don't ever really 'wash' my hair, but condition it), I was overwhelmed by the cocoa smell and did notice my hair felt a bit softer in the rinse. I styled as usual and waited for the big moment...the moment that all of my frizz-free, curly-haired dreams would come true. Finally, when it was completely dry, I checked myself out in the mirror...and I my hair looked exactly the same.

Although I knew it would be no miracle, I at least expected a tad less frizz and maybe some added shine. Nope. Nada. Nichts. Niente. I will say that my hair does air dry faster, but who really cares about that? Actually, feeling my hair right now, I'd say it's a tad drier than it was before the process. Not good. :-(

My stylist did say that the more you do it, the better the results but I have a feeling that my hair will resist to the death. I probably fall into the .001% of people who have Brazilian-blowout resistant hair. That's fine. I'll live, but I am disappointed. Seriously, it's not even worth posting a pic. I'm happy for those of you who have found the Holy Grail of curl-care, but I am left searching.....

How I saved my chairs..at least for now.

2010-08-13T14:09:00.000-07:00

Having to re-furnish an entire house is exhausting...and expensive! We've been scouring the markets for some fantastic buys and have stumbled upon some great deals (like my new table!!). We've been at for a little over a month now and, other than a coffee table for the living room and a sofa table for the den, we're pretty much good to go on the main floor.

The furniture may be in place, but every time I walk past our dining room, our ugly chairs stare back in contempt. They used to be just fine...until 3 kids worked their magic over the course of 3 years. This morning, the grey, mircosuede (which I never liked to begin with) was covered with pen scribbles, sticker gum and bite marks (don't ask). I've been wanting to get rid of them, but other than the covers, they are perfectly fine. Seems wasteful to just toss them (plus, I can't afford that).

For some reason, those chairs popped into my head this morning in the middle of my second hurdle pose at yoga. With a flash of (budget!) inspiration, I knew what I needed to do to save those ugly chairs. After class, I hopped two doors down to the Salvation Army and picked up some vintage t-shirts. I'm not sure why I didn't consider recovering them before, but this totally works.

Given, this isn't for everyone, but we use our dining room rarely, if ever, and at $0.99 each, old t-shirts are much cheaper than fabric. My favorite chair now features a Pirate skull with the words "Surrender the Booty." How could I pass up putting that on a chair? What is typically a more formal environment (the dining room), is now fun and a bit casual.

I'm not sure how my husband is going to feel about this change. He seems to have more structured, less whimsical, tastes...but, what's done is done and I love it. The best part is, I can totally change these out quickly as the whole project took me about an hour. What do you think?

The Brazilian Blowout

2010-08-07T15:32:00.000-07:00

Why is it that those of us with curly hair are constantly battling for validation, as if we are somehow second class citizens of some bizarre beauty universe? There's really no arguing the fact that straight, wavy or manufactured curly hair (blown out and then curled) is preferred by most, as opposed to natural curls (which are sometimes crazy, kinky, frizzy and generally out of control).

At a recent visit to my hair salon, my stylist suggested I try a Brazilian blowout at my next appointment. I was a little offended at first because she always says how much she loves my natural curls. But then she explained to me that it isn't a chemical straightener, it's more like an intense deep-conditioning treatment that is suppose to eliminate 80% of frizz while cutting drying/styling time.

So, a few days ago I went in for my big appointment: cut, color and Brazilian blowout. I was pretty excited by the prospect of eliminating 8% of my frizz, let alone 80%! The whole appointment went just like any other, until it was time to wash out the color. As an aside, I don't shampoo my hair...ever. No, it's not gross. Any curly-haired girl will tell you that curls dry out really easily. Shampoo strips my hair of every precious drop of oil, so I just don't use it. I do condition every time I "wash" and use the (sulfate-free!!) conditioner as I would a shampoo. At first, I thought this routine was a little nuts, but I'm a big believer now.

Anyway, my stylist had to clarify my hair TWICE...so it was basically stripped down to nothing. I could feel it go into shock as she scrubbed, scrubbed, scrubbed. Left in a matted knot of tangled, I carried by towel-wrapped hair back to the chair and she then proceeded to comb out every knot. Ouch. Once that monumental task was complete, she brushed on a thick, white concoction that smelled like chocolate and combed it through every strand. It looked sort of like a lighter version of body butter and it foamed up in my hair just a little bit.

Next came the blow dryer, which left my hair frizzy and sticky. At that point, I was convinced that my hair fell into the .001% of hair that just wouldn't submit to any sort of anti-frizz plan. Great...all of this for nothing. But then, she busted out the flat iron. Suddenly, my hair was smooth as silk. I've flat ironed my hair before, but it never looks or feels perfectly smooth. This didn't even feel like my hair. When she finished, I hardly recognized myself (check out the side view)!

I'm not sure how I feel about my straight-haired self. Sometimes I like it but sometimes I catch a glimpse in the mirror and it freaks me out. It's definitely a departure. So, I've been instructed to keep my hair straight for a couple of days to allow the product to settle. Hopefully, when I "wash" it, it will be a gorgeous mass of Botticelli curls. :-) We'll see...stay tuned for a post-wash report.

I am in love with Paris.

2010-08-07T13:40:00.000-07:00

I don't know about you, but for me, summer is so much sweeter when there is a regular, bustling outdoor market nearby. We are fortunate to have numerous farmer's markets, swap meets and antique malls around us. Actually, we could go to a new venue every weekend if we wanted to. This weekend, I visited the Paris Street Market at Aspen Grove, which is literally just up the street from us. I've heard about this market but my schedule has never allowed me to attend...until today.

Most of the time, I don't really need anything when I go to these markets. I mean, who really does? Still, I go for the rare thrill of seeing a unique and perfect treasure that will make me ridiculously happy when I see it in my house. The Paris Market is rows and rows of booths full of antiques, vintage pieces, handmade clothes, architectural salvages, art, organic produce, the list goes on and on. I found an exquisite rebuilt/refinished Art Deco-ish table an 4 chairs, which now sits in our breakfast nook (and I adore it!).

I also happened to stumble upon my new favorite web site: GoGreenWithJeanne.com. I met Jeanne at her vintage furniture booth as I was drooling over this gorgeous office chair upholstered in burlap with flowers made of upcycled scarves (which I also adore!). She does AMAZING work and shares her design insight on this site. Of course, she also has a retail site: VintageRenewal.com. This is why I love markets like this. I appreciate the opportunity to meet artists like Jeanne and buy a piece of furniture from Steve, who lovingly referred to my table as a "her."

Here is my new table in her new home. I love that she has a history and could have easily been trashed, had it not been for a dedicated wood artisan who saw potential and was willing to give her another chance. I'm going to recover the chair seats but I am so ridiculous happy with it.

As summer winds down (can you BELIEVE it's August already!?!?), I can't wait to see what other markets we can visit before the leaves start to turn. That's one good thing about having to rebuild a home interior...I actually do need stuff. :-)

Who puts carpet in a bathroom?

2010-08-02T08:29:00.000-07:00

First of all, I know there's a good chance that someone reading this has carpet in their bathroom. I'm sure you have a good reason for this so know that I am in no way criticizing your decision, which may be right for you. With that said, I just cannot see the wisdom in this.

Our new house is 35 years old and, according to the carpet cleaner guy, the carpet up stairs is original to the house. Clearly, the best option is ripping it up and starting over but finances prevent us from doing so right now. The worst part is that the master bathroom is carpeted (thankfully not where in the water closet or surrounding the shower...but still!). I never had any illusions about living with this situation. My husband, on the other hand, doesn't see it as a big deal. We've been here for about a month now and I can count the number of times I've walked in there on one hand. I just can't do it.

Of course, I've been quite vocal about my repulsion towards the carpeted bathroom but there is just SO much going on right now that removing it hasn't been a priority. I've been slowly picking at it, pulling up the corners, hinting at my desire to "get rid of it already!" The major hang up is the fact that we aren't sure what to do once the carpet is gone. It's not as easy as putting some tile down, as the bathroom needs some reconfiguring to make it really usable. That basically means a remodel, which again means more cash. We just aren't ready to do that yet...or so I thought.

Last night, after getting the kids ready for bed and showering myself, I heard banging noise coming from our bathroom. I walk in to find my husband rolling up the nasty carpet and pulling out the tack strips. A sense of sweet freedom washed over me as the vicious grip of 70s interior design loosened its hold. Ahhhhh! I was giddy.

Thirty minutes later, the sad looking carpet rested in the trash can and I examined my hubby's handiwork. Remnants of blue carpet padding cling to what's left of the floor and I wonder, "what have I done?" My huband doesn't want me to attempt tiling and refuses my suggestion of just putting down some "peel and stick tile until we can figure something else out." No, turns out, we just started our bathroom remodel, which could take a very, very, very long time (and we're apparently doing it all ourselves!!). Fortunately, the kids' bathroom is plenty big enough for all of us to share for now.

My lesson: 35 year old carpet in the bathroom may not be my first choice but it may be better than bathmats on floorboards. Let the bathroom adventure begin... I'll leave you with a lovely "before" shot. Ugh.

Our day on the farm...

2010-07-29T07:53:00.000-07:00

The other day, I took the kids to Berry Patch Farms in Brighton, Colorado with our friends Kim and Joey. On the picking menu...black raspberries and currants. It's a little bit of a drive but such a great experience for the kids (and me). This precious little organic farm invites visitors to pick fresh berries, veggies, herbs and flowers, pet an enormous pig, shop for organic eggs, take a tractor ride and enjoy the view from a rocking chair on their covered porch. I could stay there all day...every day (or at least 5 days a week).

We visit at least a few times each summer and the produce is fantastic...and fantastically different from what you find in a traditional market. If you've ever held an organic berry in your hand, you've probably noticed how perfectly delicate it was...a far cry from the firm, large waxy berries you find at the store. While the berries are much more delicate than traditional varieties, they are also soooo much tastier. The difference is night and day.

Picking black raspberries gives you a deep appreciation for the ability to grab a pint off the shelf and simply pay for your juicy purchase. The bushes are covered in tiny thorns which do their best to stop curious hands from reaching in and plucking the prized, plump berries. As the pints fill, our arms and hands were covered with scratches but we just couldn't stop.

The currants were much more accessible. The little bushes were teaming with bright red goodness just begging to be picked. We picked 3 pints, which was enough for a good batch of currant jam. The kids loved it on toast and I also made some fantastic chicken and ribs bathed in currant love. Yum.

At the end of our day, I had to ask my kids the big question: Chuck E. Cheese or berry picking? Two out for three kids chose the latter...making mama proud. :-)

Sand in My Eyes by Christine Lemmon

2010-07-19T09:28:00.000-07:00

I don't know how she did it, but author Christine Lemmon, must have chatted with a fly on my wall. The next time I sit on my kitchen floor as my kids swirl around me, I won't feel so alone. Her depiction of the chaos of motherhood in her book, Sand in My Eyes, is dead-on honest. She skillfully rips off the band-aid of domestic bliss to reveal a raw and itchy truth. This is the story of Anna Hott and her varied relationships with her husband, her children and a wise neighbor who becomes a trusted mentor (and her creative inspiration); a great read for women in all stages of life. If you're not familiar with Christine or her work, perhaps this informal Q&A will shed some light on this literary talent:

Your portrait of motherhood is dead on. Is it reflective of your own experience or a creative vision based on stories of chaos?

I wrote Sand in My Eyes while a stay-at-home mother of three little ones and I remember running through my house, responding to their needs, feeling more like a chicken with its head cut off than the organized, neat freak, showered woman I once was. Getting myself, my newborn and my three- and five-year-old boys all dressed and out the door each day was my biggest accomplishment. Hardly could I find time to fold laundry and it would form mounds that the boys jumped in.

I love how this novel is so realistic, but I think readers who are not mothers may think, "There's no way motherhood is really this traumatic." Respond.

Before I had children, I had a confidence to me, a knowing that one day, when I do have children, I am going to keep my bathrooms clean, my children dressed so cute, and read them stories and paint pictures with them. No one told me it could be so hard, that motherhood would give me an indescribable joy in exchange for who I was as an individual, and that the accumulation of it all, of worrying, caring for, responding to their every whimper, oh, and all the housework and grocery shopping, the cooking of things they do not like and cleaning, would turn me into a completely different person—a mom!

I've often tossed around the idea of writing a letter to my younger self, which, in a way, is how I see the relationships between the characters Anna and Fedelina. If you were to chat with the Christine of 20 years ago, what are the top three things you would tell her?
1. Everything you are experiencing in life now is going into the making of the woman you are becoming
2. Don't worry so much about all the little jobs you have to take here and there when first out of college. In a roundabout way, our detours play significant roles and are still bringing us to where we are meant to be.
3. I love you! You are a unique and beautiful person and I love you for being you! Don’t try to change or be someone you aren’t.

All of your novels take place on Sanibel Island, FL. How has this location become a character of sorts? For those of us who have never been there, describe it in 5 words.

Sanibel as an island in my books is symbolic for any time or place a woman spends a moment to herself to think her own thoughts. Often we go through life hurrying from one destination to the next but sometimes we need to stop and anchor, refuel, revive.

Sanibel in five words: tropical, sanctuary, seashells, paradise, bliss

I've always thought that mothers who are writers (or writers who are mothers) have a unique advantage in that their domestic bedlam becomes literary fodder. Have you found writing to be a coping mechanism of sorts when it comes to motherhood?

I have found motherhood and creativity to be very compatible. I often get most of my ideas while outside with my children at the beach, the park, or as we bike ride. But then I must hold my ideas in until night when they are sleeping and I can write. Then, writing becomes my own selfish time. It’s a two-hour chunk of quiet time in which I can hear my own thoughts, but more importantly, express what is on my mind. It’s adult conversation with my own characters who say what I want them to say, do what I want them to do, and often, tell me things I need to hear. I do believe I create characters that help pull me through specific stages of life that I am in. Life does enhance writing and much of what I encounter goes in a roundabout way into my writing.

A husband's heart break

2010-07-13T14:42:00.000-07:00

It's odd...earlier today, I posted about living the life you want and spent a good deal of time contemplating the 'holes' in my dreams. I even put pen to paper and wrote down some goals and some timeline expectations. As I've been moving through my day today, this is what I've been chewing on...until a few minutes ago.

The blogosphere is a funny place. It connects you with people you will probably never meet, yet you share insight into your life and take a peak at theirs. On the common grounds of communication, motherhood, the love of creativity or a beautiful space...we connect for a few minutes a day.

That's why I was so saddened to read today's post at Holding Court, titled I Love You, Marija. Today's post was written by Marija's husband because Marija died in a car accident on July 10. Just like that...a life gone, a husband and two kids shattered. Funny how I've been sitting here planning my life, when I really have no idea if I'll be here tomorrow. Marija could have been doing the same thing last week.

So, I've shredded my plans...deciding instead to embrace right now. To finish this post as I wait for the kids to walk through the front door...to hug them, relish their giggles and calmly appreciate that we are all here to make a mess together...for now.

The life you want to live...

2010-07-13T08:23:00.000-07:00

Lately, a friend of mine has been repeatedly posting cheery, curious and inspiring Facebook updates. I haven't been able to talk to her directly for a while, so I don't know exactly what is going on but I can tell that she's in a good spot. She is one of those friends who encourages me to take a serious look at my life, question its direction and do something to change it if it's not making me ridiculously happy.

Her latest post: Have you heard of the Happiness List? In her 10-10-10 book, Suzy Welch dares the reader to name 12 people who are actually living the life they want. Are you one of 'em?

At first, I glanced over this post, almost afraid to contemplate my response. But then, I kept coming back to it. Am I living the life I want? Saying 'no' seems so...ungrateful, as I am blessed in so many ways. Is this the life I envisioned? That's tricky. On one hand, I always envisioned a life full of professional success. On the other hand, I've always wanted a big family (although, not as big as I once thought). How do you marry the two? I haven't quite figured it out yet...at least not to the extent that I'd like.

The chasm between my reality and my hope for my life is not all that wide, but it does exist. These are some areas that I hope to work on:

Finding balance. I am just overwhelmed right now with household responsibilities and kids. I know it's possible to find a healthy balance between who I am as an individual and who I am as a mother and wife. I'm not there yet.
Creating memories. It seems I am in survival mode most of the time, when I really want to be creating wonderful memories for my kids. I have a million ideas swirling in my mind, but when it comes to execution, the day's to-do list takes over..almost always.
Story telling. For as long as I can remember, writing has been my refuge, but I'm a dabbler. At some point, I'll take it seriously.
My passion. Given the time and financial constraints of life as small business owners, my dream of raising and training horses seems impossible right now. Still, it's part of the life I always envisioned so we'll see what comes to fruition.
Freedom to explore. During college, I spent a good chunk of time backpacking through Europe. It was an incredible experience, but more than anything, that trip taught me how much I love my own country. I hope to have the time and funds to be able to explore it with my family...even if we shoe-string it.
Family vacations. I used to think vacationing with our extended family only once a year was a ridiculous concept, because once a year couldn't be nearly enough. Well, it's been 3 years since our last vacation. Since we don't live near each other, this is a must...but each year, a solid plan seems to evade us.

As I continue to chew on this concept, my list will undoubtedly expand, but that's where I am right now. Not too bad, right? What about you? Are you living the life you want?

Sometimes motherhood is humbling

2010-07-11T17:42:00.000-07:00

It's no secret that I have been burning the candle at both ends lately. Between writing, kids, unpacking, feeding the hubby, keeping the dog in an unfenced yard, running two businesses and brushing my teeth every now and then, I am knowingly pushing myself to the limit. The only thing helping me maintain a semblance of sanity is the fact that I know this time will pass (it will...right?).

When life is running a 'normal' speed, I feel like sleep is fleeting, but lately sleep seems to come and go in a snap of a finger. This explains why the first few hours of my day are spent in a literal mental fog. Some say that coffee inspires the haze to lift, but, so far, the magic of caffeine evades me (but I still drink my 2-3 cups before I'm out of my PJs).

Since we are in the process of moving into and sort-of renovating a new house, the neighbors stop by pretty frequently to check on the progress, see the updates as they unfold and drop off goodies. Our neighborhood is full of sweet retired couples (which I love), so they show up on the doorstep at all hours of the day.

Yesterday, a neighbor rang the doorbell at 9am...not early by motherhood standards, but still within the PJ realm. I answered the door in my robe, figuring she would understand once she saw the lawlessness of childhood swirling behind me. We chatted for 10 minutes or so, exchanged numbers and said goodbye. It wasn't until I went to get changed that I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. At some point during the morning, one of the kids bestowed me with Princess Aurora's sparkling crown. I don't recall it happening, but the mirror didn't lie. Immediately, I thought about my new neighbor and wondered if she thought me batty, or if she simply understands that motherhood is a mess and princess crown surprises come with the territory. At least I took the sticker off my cheek before answering the door (I was aware when they stuck that to my face).

Yes, motherhood is humbling sometimes...

Riding the Motherhood Teeter-Totter

2010-07-09T08:13:00.000-07:00

Inspired by a post by my witty blogger friend, Wendy Irene at Give Love, Create Happiness, I have been thinking about the many decisions we make throughout the day as mothers and how those decision impact our kids.

We mothers know that at any given moment we are seconds away from an impending disaster, a colossal mess, an emotional breakdown, a financial implosion, a teaching opportunity. Immediately following the unfolding of said event, we teeter on the verge of reaction. The whole experience takes only seconds (if that), but during that time we mull over our options and....react.

I find myself hanging in this balance ALOT. On one side, there is the instinctive need to explode, scream and wonder out loud why my life is such a mess. On the other side, there is a chance to appreciate the moment, no matter how dirty, loud or chaotic. As I'm teetering, motherhood hovers above the domestic bedlam. Almost in slow motion, I sway back and forth, trying on each decision like a new coat.

I'm not gonna lie, I don't always make the right decision. But, on occasion, I take a deep breath and choose to embrace the pandemonium of childhood. I'm a big fan of the radio talk show host Dennis Prager. He always says that we have a moral obligation to be happy and, although I struggle with that, the truth of this statement comes to life when I choose to approach the clutter of motherhood with a smile, even when I don't want to.

What clutter are you teetering over today and on which side will you fall?

Home...again.

2010-07-08T15:55:00.001-07:00

I have been sooo MIA lately. Finally, I have forced myself to pull away from the maelstrom of life so that I can take a second to blog and share some news. The past two months or so have been absolutely crazy. As in, I literally feel insane.

First of all, we said goodbye to our cute little bungalow in Washington Park. It was a painful parting for me, but it needed to be done. The lack of space was starting to take its toll just as a great house in one of my favorite neighborhoods came on the market. It just seemed right to jump at the opportunity...and so we did.

I love this house, but it is a wreck. It's 33 years old and it shows. The bones are good, but aesthetically, there is much to be desired. So, we are moving and doing a mini-renovation at the same time. I took the kids to Arizona for a few weeks to get out of the way but now we're back and in the thick of it.

Where to begin....

the side yard looks like a war zone

the family room looks like it belongs to 4222 Clinton Way (the address of the Brady Bunch)

the office is a cave, highlighted by lovely dark wood panelingand the front porch, though promising, is currently in disarray. On the flip side, the back yard is fantastic, the floor plan is perfect, the views are spectacular and I do love that front porch (or, I should say, what the front porch can become).

We've already made some progress. We've painted all the woodwork white and the walls a calming gray. We replaced the industrial/outdoor carpet (you read that right) that was in the entry/kitchen/hall and the crumbling parquet floors with hardwoods. The house is starting to breath again.

Originally, we planned to replace the carpet before moving in, but life threw us another curve just before the move: Cody had an opportunity to buy another location of our business and couldn't pass it up. So, goodbye carpet money, hello new business. Not a horrible trade in the grand scheme of things, but now I must learn to love this goldish-brown plush with a super thick carpet pad (as in, I want to perform a gymnastics floor exercise on it).

So, that's where I've been. I'm looking forward to posting some shots of the improvements as they unfold. I am seriously exhausted. Between work, kids, unpacking, fixing up, cooking, and shopping, my bandwidth is expanding to a size I never thought possible. You're prayer is appreciated, as my sanity is waning.

If my daughter wants to be a welder...

2010-06-24T14:35:00.000-07:00

Not going to college was never an option for me. While my family and educators never really verbalized the pressure, the expectation to pursue higher education was always understood. Even though I was interested in non-academic pursuits such as training horses and building furniture, those activities were defined as "hobbies" rather than careers in my mind.

Growing up, the words "trade school" were only spoken with a slight smirk and an understanding that those who went down that path couldn't muster the smarts or motivation to tackle the substantive challenges of academia. To put it simply, this idea is pure crap. Our skilled workforce is disappearing because such jobs have been vilified rather than glorified. We don't know how to do anything for ourselves. Our first instinct is to pick up the phone when a drain is clogged, a tire is flat, gutters need replacing, trees need trimming or a fence needs mending.

As I carve out a deeper and deeper trench of existence on this planet, I realize just how helpless we are as a society because of this mentality. Skilled labor and craftsmen propped up the once flimsy ideas of this great country enabling us to become a full-fledged nation and free market society. Our ingenuity and ability to build and create helped our economy survive in the post-World War II world. But, our parents' generation went the other direction. They were more concerned with self-esteem and valued "feelings" over hard work (the kind that makes you sweat). Going to college became a right of passage while trade schools were relegated to the edge of civilized society. Men were demasculinized and the role of women was questioned. We honored intellectual concepts rather than the calloused hands of manual work. Suddenly, we gave up building, fixing, tinkering and exploring.

Since then, it seems we are all looking for the next big idea. We choose our educational paths based on the earnings potential of a specific career rather than a personal interest or talent. We are drawn to the dull but seductive glow of the white collar world. Before we know it, life flies by and we realize that we spent our days pushing papers, crunching numbers or analyzing data...trading happiness for a paycheck. Now we have entire generations hating their jobs. We long nostalgically for a hands-on job that may not fuel lofty dreams of a hefty bank account and early retirement, but offers the satisfaction of exploring a passionate curiosity. For a society to thrive, there has to be a balance between the thinkers and the doers.

Everything we dream up needs to be manufactured or otherwise brought to fruition, but who is doing that? Not us. China is, for the most part. We are completely dependant on a country that rejects the freedoms and ideas that make the United States the greatest country on earth. They don't rely on our "ideas" but we rely on their practical know-how.

How we we rediscover a balance? Kids need the opportunity to create their own worlds (imaginative play, climbing trees, building forts, mud pies, etc...) rather than constantly stepping into cyber-worlds created by others. When they show an ability, we need to encourage them to explore it further...to consider a career that will not only allow them to hone a valued skill but also contribute to their overall happiness. Until we get back to doing for ourselves, this culture of dependence will continue to lift up other nations while our autonomy falters.

If my daughters show an interest in metal work, I'm asking my brother-in-law to teach them how to weld. If my son my loves to build, I'm encouraging him to build a playhouse in the backyard. College will be an option but it certainly won't be the only option. My hope is that they will become intimately familiar with hard work (yes, the kind that makes you sweat) and that they are empowered to create, fix and build on their own. I guess we can learn something from China afterall.

The Joys of Housewifery...

2010-06-22T13:53:00.000-07:00

I read an article this morning in the Arizona Republic about the "joys of housewifery" and can't help but comment. The article touches on the rising trend in women taking to the blogosphere to talk about the importance of being a good wife. It seems that many women feel the need to define their era of housewifery, much like we label generations (ex: Gen X, Baby Boomers, NetGen, etc...).

There are those who strive to emulate the perfectly coiffed wife of the 1950s, right down to the crisp day dress and lipsticked smile. These images are perpetuated by popular television shows such as Mad Men, in which female characters carefully wrap wifedom in a tight-fitting cocktail dress. Then there are those who walk the women's lib line, believing that women have a responsibility to wear the proverbial pants, contribute to the household income and do it all domestically as well. I'd say the majority of women fall into the space between the two extremes, trying to create a work/life/home balance that allows her to pursue professional and personal interests while creating a welcoming, stimulating and nurturing environment for their husband and kids.

It's taken me a while to figure out where I stand on this issue. I'm not a stereotypical women's libber, I know that much. I value my husband's role as head of our household. He has a ton of pressure to succeed professionally, be a role model to our kids and lead our family in our spiritual walk. I believe he is uniquely qualified to fulfill these responsibilities. Much to the dismay of my parents (who funded --either solely or in-part-- 12 years of private school and 5 years of undergrad education and supported me emotionally through grad school), I don't feel compelled to work outside of the house. That's not to say I don't have professional goals...I do but my role as wife and mother come first. As a family, we would (and do) sacrifice creature comforts to keep me at home. My situation is a little unique since I do work from home when the kids are otherwise occupied or sleeping. I wonder how the 1950s wife would feel about that?

Perhaps we are in the process of creating a new definition of housewifery as the pendulum continues to swing back in the opposite direction of the die-hard women's liberation movement. Though, I don't think a return to the 1950s housewife model is realistic: Our world is just too complicated, our households too complex, our schedules too intricate. For now, I'm content with the middle place. I've tried wearing a house dress all day while running carpool, cleaning and making dinner. It's not comfortable...though I did notice I stood a little taller and really did feel naked without lipstick. How do you define the joys of housewifery through your unique prism?

Would you track your kids?

2010-06-16T12:55:00.001-07:00

I have not been a die-hard fan of the show 24, but I attempted to watch it for two seasons or so. I don't remember much of the plot or the acting, but I do remember one scene in which one character had a tracking device of some sort inserted just under their skin. I can't recall the situation, but I'm sure it was highly stressful, super secret and death-defying. Whatever the circumstance, the bad guys discovered the device and cut it out of the person's arm, forcing him/her completely 'off grid' and thickening the already intense plot.

I've always remembered this scene because it gave me hope that a subcutaneous tracking device would soon be available for my kids. No, I'm not kidding. Were the technology available, and I could find a pediatrician to administer the 'shot', I would be 100% on board.

A few night ago, I was out to dinner with my brother (who was visiting from Hawaii) and my sister the other night when we started talking about the ability to track kids via satellite. My sister and I each have three kids and agreed that some sort of injectable tracking device is a great idea. Our brother, childless as he is, was shocked that we would even consider such measures. He went off on the "you can't infringe upon their freedom like that" rant. Oh, I can, and I would. Not so much to spy on them (although as they get older, I'm sure I will no qualms about doing so), but definitely to keep them safe. There are just too many dangers and sick people in the world to even assume that our kids are safe.

I know there are plenty of 'child-tracking' devices on the market, but I want something that cannot be detected and cannot be removed (maybe it will dissolve upon their 18th birthday?). Having that sense of security would make parenting just a bit easier (and who wouldn't love parenting to be easier?). My dog is microchipped, and my kids would be too if I had the option. What would you do? If the technology were available, would you use it?

Mothers of Invention

2010-06-10T13:21:00.000-07:00

What comes to your mind when you think of the perfect mother? Perhaps June Cleaver-ish visions of starched aprons, apple pie and just the right shade of red lipstick pop into your head. Or, maybe your pendulum swings the opposite direction towards a cartoonist version of Super Mom. Is she mixing up brownies with one hand and paying the bills with the other all while holding down a full-time job and cooking dinner every night? These mothering extremes leave many of us feeling inadequate at best, like complete failures at worst.

Mary Allison over at MakeShift Revolution brilliantly celebrates the mothering middle-ground, the area in which most of us operate even though we often don't give ourselves permission to do so. Rather than criticize other mothers or hide from the chocolate-stained, messy, sticky reality that is motherhood, let's celebrate our unique experiences in an effort to live in a place of appreciation, acceptance and encouragement. After all, we're all in this together and perfection is a serious myth.

I am honored that Mary Allison featured me as today's Mother of Invention, as I always find inspiration in the mothers she includes on her blog. Check it out and consider how you navigate motherhood in light of the chaos that, well, is.

The view out my side mirror

2010-06-06T15:42:00.001-07:00

Do you ever catch your child in a moment of pure innocence? Maybe you've watched them lean down to smell a flower. Or, maybe you've observed as they imaginatively role play with their favorite teddy bear or doll. These precious moments allow me, as a parent, to take a deep breath and invite the giggle, smile, serenity or excitement to wash over me like a healing salve.

The moments in which our children celebrate the simplicity of life and wonder of childhood take away the stress and chaos of parenting, if only briefly. The other day, my three kids and I were running errands (one of the great anti-joys of motherhood) when I peaked out my side mirror and saw Eden's delicate hand peaking out of her window. As I was rolling through my mental check-list of things to do, she was simply enjoying the ride. Her eyes were closed as her hand rode the current of the wind, the corners of her mouth turned just slightly up in a subtle acknowledgement of contentment.

As I watched her tiny hand, palm turned up in acceptance of her blessings, the rolling check-list came to a screeching halt. Only then did I notice Gioia's head swaying back and forth to the Sugarland song on the radio and Rocco intently trying over and over again to tie his shoe. I was so busy racing (both mentally and physically), that I wasn't as mindful and thankful for my cargo as I should be.

This whole experience lasted a short amount of time, but it changed my outlook and made me realize that some day soon, I will be running errands alone as they continue to explore life without me. Whether she's with me or not, I will probably always see Eden's hand riding the wave of childhood, every time I look out my side view mirror. For that memory, I am thankful.

Life with my "only" child

2010-06-03T15:41:00.001-07:00

I don't know much about the "only" child world. Being the oldest of four, I've picked up a few sibling survival skills over the years. For instance, I learned that setting my alarm just one minute before my sisters would get me into the bathroom first. Also, in order to get my fill of mom's gnocchi, I would shovel the first plate full into my mouth and dive in for seconds (hopefully) before anyone else (or at least right after my brother). Personal space is just a concept, not an actual experience and sharing is something that happens whether I like it or not.

I've been married to an only child for almost eight years now. Through our marriage, I've learned characteristics that come with being raised sans siblings. I'm not saying that one experience is better than the other. Clearly, parents makes the decisions that are best for them and the family, which is the way it should be. But, I see how he winces when the decibel level climbs in our house and he's obviously uncomfortable when two or three other people try to join him in the bathroom for a pre-bed teeth brushing session.

Watching him navigate life with three little kids is almost like a clinical social experiment. I see something about to happen (ex: Rocco eyeing a toy that Gioia is holding), I quickly glance at my husband (who is currently oblivious to the soon-to-be-unleashed fury), I see Rocco grab the toy and watch as Eden jumps into action to protect her little sister. Uncontrollable screaming ensues. Quickly, I look back at my husband who is turning a subtle shade of red. His eyes start blinking faster. His whole body tenses. I can almost see the wheels of his mind spinning as he tries to decide what to do: go with his instinct and explode in frustration (which could result in a 30 minute disappearance) or take a deep breath and realize that this is his life. Meanwhile, I am almost unfazed by the chaos. In fact, sometimes the noise sparks a fond childhood memory. I'm sure that's a bit odd to some.

For the past five days, I've been raising an only child. My two older kids are in AZ, which means Gioia and I have been hanging out by ourselves. What a wildly different experience! I've been focusing solely on her, which has provided tremendous insight into her personality. I can take her to the park and enjoy the day myself because I'm not keeping an eye on three kids running in opposite directions. I can take her shopping and actually fill up my cart since two other kids aren't inhabiting valuable grocery real estate. Yes, there have been some mishaps. Without her brother and sister to occupy her, Gioia found her way into my mascara and decided to give herself a black eye, but that's pretty much the worst of it.

Raising a temporary only child is a huge and much-needed mommy respite. I'm so grateful to my extended family for this opportunity to take a breather and get to know my youngest a little better. But, of course, there is a big part of me that misses the chaos. My husband on the other hand.....

Kick off your summer reading - The One That I Want

2010-06-01T08:04:00.000-07:00

I'll get to the point: The more I read from Allison Winn Scotch, the more I want to read. Her first two books, The Department of Lost and Found and The Time of My Life, are on my short list of chick-lit favorites. I have been anticipating her new book, The One That I Want for a while now. When it showed up on my door step, I seriously stopped what I was doing, brewed a cup of tea, plopped down on my porch and dove in immediately. I thought I would start a chapter or two, but as life swirled around me, her words kept the chaos around me down to a dull roar. By the time I put it down, I was half-way through.

I recently interviewed Allison for the Tattered Cover Bookstore blog and she admitted the pressure was on for book #3. With the bar set so high by her first two efforts, I wanted to see if she could pull off another stellar story line. Of course, she didn't disappoint. The One That I Want takes a sometimes painfully honest look at complex relationships and explores the concept of fate. True to form, Allison skillfully takes the reader into the life of her protagonist, Tilly Farmer, as she recognizes her inability to control the details of her life.

Like many of us, Tilly has a very definite idea of her perfect life. When that life seems unattainable, she has to decide whether she is open to possibilities she never considered, or if her happiness is intrinsically linked to her idealized vision.

This is a fantastic book to kick off your summer reading. It's fast-paced, always interesting and really difficult to put down. Now I'm eagerly anticipating Allison's fourth book and wondering what journey she'll take me on next.

Order your copy today...you won't be disappointed.
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Allison is also the queen of awesome contests. If you order her book between now and June 4th, you can win some really great prizes. Check out the details on her web site.

Follow Allison on Twitter: www.twitter.com/aswinn

and on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Allison-Winn-Scotch/49841196684?ref=ts

Unexpected Lessons from a 1/2 Marathon

2010-05-23T12:07:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, I ran my first 1/2 marathon, along with my friends Lisa and Jinjer. I've only recently recovered enough to revisit the event and blog about it. You may expect this to be a recap of our brutal struggle to finish the 13.1 mile race (note: I use the word 'race' loosely). It isn't, but before I share the insight I gleaned while on course, I will say, it's probably not a good idea to run a 1/2 marathon without stretching first. We were late for the start and had to park a mile away, so we ran straight from the car to the starting line...and were off. I didn't think much of it until mile 7. At that point, I was really regretting my decision to leave the duct tape at home. My knees could have used some sturdy convincing to not detach from my body. I tried to run and stretch at the same time. No, it doesn't work.
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Overall, the race was actually really fun (in spite of the fact that we followed a "Dead Men Tells No Tales" t-shirt for a few miles...not really encouraging, lady). We were all amazed at how clean and shiny Colfax Ave. looked and we were happy to see a shady, tree-canopied final stretch before the Finish Line called us home.

All of the race details aside, I was most impressed with the people who came out to support the runners. You've probably seen them before, lining the sides of the course with signs, cow bells, whistle and folding chairs. Maybe you've considered how incredibly boring it must be to watch thousands of runners traipse by in varying degrees of malfunction...for hours. Well, until you've run a race of any distance, you probably can't fully appreciate the power of their presence.

There was the family sitting in the back of a pick-up around mile 2. The adults were sipping coffee and the kids were ringing bells. Then, around mile 6, race volunteers blasted "Footloose" from their car and performed an interesting combination of cheering and dancing. A mile or two later, what looked to be a garage band set up shop and did their best to entertain the struggling masses. At mile 10, it was impossible to miss the jovial police officer standing in the middle of the course, giving hi-fives and barking encouragement. Finally, an enthusiastic drum circle played a joyful tune as we rounded the last turn.

I was completely surprised by how much the claps, shouts and simple presence of strangers helped me to put one painful foot in front of the other. It was almost like we didn't want to let them down, even thought we had never seen them before and probably would never see them again. In my mind, I was an Olympic marathoner vying for the adoring cheers of the fans. Thankfully (or not), the race-day pictures slap my funny-running, painfully white-legged self back to reality.

Still, I am left with the realization that a little hopeful cheering goes a long way. With that, I am making an effort to be more encouraging to those around me, even to the people I don't know. After all, the stranger standing next to me in line at the bank may be facing a challenge of his own today...

An Impromptu Date with my Daughter

2010-05-19T21:39:00.000-07:00

Earlier tonight, after a dinner of orange chicken and a quick trip to the ice cream store, Cody volunteered to get the bath started for the kids, so I tried to duck out for a run to the market.

As I'm walking out the door, Eden noticed my sneaky demeanor and asked me where I was going. When I told her I needed to dash to the store quickly, she immediately begged to come with me. I stared down at her chocolate-smeared t-shirt and sticky fingers and told her that I would be back before she got out of the tub. Ever-loyal to the six-year-old's code of conduct, she continued to beg with increasing passion.

Although I try to avoid her manipulative tactics, I figured I should jump at the chance to spend a few moments with my daughter, so off we went, sticky fingers and all...to Whole Foods.

I gave her my short shopping list and asked her to help me find the ten items I needed (which turned into twelve after a run-in with gourmet gum drops and ginger snap cookies). She took her time sounding out each word and running from aisle 1 to aisle 9 and back again to find the organic honey, baby wipes, granola, cheese and blueberries. I felt no need to rush, to grab the list from her and read it myself in the interest of time. I simply knelt down in the middle of the cheese department to help her with a word or two, then watched her eyes light up as she unlocked phonetic treasures.

As we checked out and filled our bags, the sound of bluegrass music wafted into our space. Again, Eden's eyes lit up. Just like mama, she can't resist the sweet sounds of a banjo and a fiddle. Enter: begging, part 2. Off we went, bags in hand, to the Whole Foods eating area to listen to a 4 piece bluegrass band. A group of kind-faced older men sat in a circle, lovingly holding their instruments and skillfully making them sing. Eden and I were the audience. As I sat and listened to the music, I saw her toes tapping, her hands clapping and her shoulders swaying ever so slightly. She was so happy just sitting there...and I almost missed this opportunity.

On the way home, I thought about how parents of young children need to take advantage of every chance we get to spend quality time with our kids, but quality time doesn't have to be a big production. This simple trip to Whole Foods became the highlight of my day. Had I sent her sticky fingers to the tub instead, I would have never found out that she wants to be a "figure-outer" when she grows up ("you know...someone who figures stuff out"). To think, I almost missed that.

Why I ride....

2010-05-15T14:08:00.000-07:00

My former trainer in California just sent me a link to a contest sponsored by Ariat called "Why I Ride." The winners gets a trip to the World Equestrian Games in Kentucky, which is a pretty big deal. I have a very slim chance of winning, since voting started a month ago and ends tomorrow, but I'm giving it a shot. This is why I ride. If you like it, please vote for me HERE!

I ride because of the horse bug. Every horse lover knows about the bug. Somewhere between the time I learned about horses and my first ride, this invisible little insect silently landed on my heart, and just as quickly flew away. I didn’t feel anything at that moment, there was no stinging sensation, no itchy lesion, no urge to shoo a flying pest. But, somehow the fabric of my being transformed. Horses were now a part of me and there was nothing I could do to change that fact. I was forever changed. Some people say they’ve been bitten by this bug, but I prefer to think it kissed me. This experience formed my hopes, my dreams, my goals in life. It gave me the courage and desire to pursue an unbreakable bond with an animal ten times my size. I ride because I love the smell of manure and wood shavings. I ride because of the feeling of a horse’s warm breath on my hand as he nibbles a carrot. I ride because it is my sanity, my escape, my truth. I ride because I can’t not ride. Really, it’s not a choice, it’s simply who I am.

My nemesis: Queen Frostine of Candy Land

2010-05-14T15:22:00.000-07:00

If you're a mom with little kids, you may be familiar with Queen Frostine, the warm-hearted wife of the Candy Land King. This Queen is featured on one of the "jump ahead" (or behind, depending on where you are on the game board) cards. Her royal domain sits as close to the end of the Candy Land trail as you can get on a "jump ahead card." She is far superior to Plumpy the plumpa troll or Gloppy the kindly molasses monster. If you are in it to win it, pulling the Queen Frostine card usually leads to a slightly obnoxious (and premature) victory dance.

This morning, I just about fell on my face after stepping on the blue gingerbread man. When I asked my son to put the game away, he set it up on the table instead and asked me to play. I cannot turn down those big brown eyes so, even though I had two loads of laundry to fold and another three loads begging to be washed, I pulled up a mini chair.

As I watched him carefully shuffle the cards and perfectly align the yellow and green gingerbread men at the starting line, I found myself hoping that somehow, Queen Frostine would appear at the top of the stack. Not because I wanted to win. There was no guarantee I would go first. I was hoping for Queen Frostine because her prompt appearance would mean a speedy game.

At that point, the internal conversation began: "Why do I want this game to go fast? I have laundry waiting for me. I'm not about to leave for a fabulous vacation. I don't have an appointment. I have a fresh cup of coffee, I'm still in my robe and my adorable son is sitting across from me. Even better, he wants to be sitting across from me! Why can't I just enjoy this moment?"

And, with that, I relaxed and forgot about Queen Frostine. "You can go first, mommy, because I gave you two gray hairs yesterday," he says. I make a mental note that he heard me mutter under my breath that I can actually feel my hair turn gray when my kids scream, and then reached for a card.

Queen Frostine smiled back and at me. My son's eyes lit up. He was so excited that I pulled the best possible card and said, "Yeah mommy!" My heart sank a bit as I moved my yellow gingerbread man to the last leg of the Candy Land trail. Six rounds later and the game was over.
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Technically, I won...but did I really? I tried to get him to play again, but other toys called and his interested dissipated. There I sat, in my mini chair, staring at Queen Frostine and feeling utterly pathetic about my mothering skills. Another moment with my son, gone. Damn Queen Frostine!

I am tempted to pull her card from the deck and destroy it so no other Candy Land games will be cut short by her grand entrance. I'm still in my robe this morning, but I've already learned a valuable lesson: Queen Frostine isn't doing me any favors.

What the Nashville flood has taught my kids....

2010-05-13T15:25:00.000-07:00

I am always looking for opportunities to teach my kids about the history of our country, the Constitution, the role of government and the privilege of American citizenship. Of course, there is never a shortage of lesson-worthy events, and recent events are no exception.

Take, for example, the floods in the Nashville area. Not since the Civil War has their landscape seen such destruction. We haven't heard much about this flood, aside from the fact that Taylor Swift donated $500,000 to relief efforts. Between the failed car bombing in NYC and the major oil spill in the Gulf, Nashville has quietly faded into the background. Regardless of the attention (or lack thereof) the flood receives on a national level, there are some poignant comparisons to be made between Nashville and New Orleans during and after Katrina.

While both cities experienced truly horrific natural disasters, the aftermath is night and day. There is little denying that the government did a horrible job saving the people of New Orleans from the wrath of Katrina. It responded slowly and inefficiently. The people looked to the government to save them, to guide them, to feed and protect them, to give them answers. The government did not. Rather than playing the role of savior on a white horse, the government became the villain, leaving an entire population understandably bitter and disappointed.

In contrast, the people of Nashville have not been vocally begging the administration to help them or save them. They have not raised a collective angry voice pointing fingers at a non-existent response from the government. Actually, the government response to New Orleans and Nashville has been pretty similar: minimal at best. I don't begrudge President Obama for not making Nashville a priority. I don't expect him to and I'm actually glad he hasn't. Not because I don't respect the people of Nashville. Quite the opposite, I respect them immensely for stepping up to save themselves.

I am in no way belittling the impact of Katrina. I know the death toll was much higher and the personal stories heartbreaking. Still, in one case, the government was expected to swoop in and save the day. As expected, it failed. In the other case, private organizations have become the lifeline to Nashville citizens. Organizations such as Feed the Children, Hands on Nashville and the Red Cross (just to name a few) are funneling donations from people like you and me to their neighbors and friends.

Yes, several Tennessee counties are receiving government aid but the emotional climate is much different than that of Katrina. The Nashville flood is certainly not the political hot button that Katrina became (and still is today) and I can't help but believe that's because the people impacted do not have high expectations of the government. Fortunately, those are expectations the government can actually live up to.

The lesson for my kids is that when you look to the government to save you (whether it be from a natural disaster, a financial disaster or a situation you created yourself) you will be disappointed. The people around you, your neighbors, friends, even donors you've never met from another part of the country, are much more reliable.

Without the red tape and bureaucracy, private citizens can effectively and efficiently make a difference in the lives of those impacted by life's many trials. While people scream in the streets out of utter frustration, the government is still trying to get ducks in a row, t's crossed, i's dotted and action items assigned. Enough with the savior expectations. Nashville proves that when left to our own devices, we, the citizens of this great country are stronger, more compassionate and more powerful than we give ourselves credit for.

images: http://www.inewscatcher.com/

"House Rules"...a review

2010-05-12T14:01:00.000-07:00

How far would you go for your son (or your daughter)? Is there a limit to your love? These are some of the questions addressed by Jodi Picoult in her latest book, House Rules (a recommendation of the SheKnows.com book club). I just finished this book and I'm sorry that I did. Not because I didn't enjoy it, because I did, but because I want to know what happens after....

In the character Jacob, Picoult provides a glimpse into the mind of a child with Asperger's Syndrome. I had heard of A.S. before reading the book, but I really didn't understand the complexity of the condition or the impact it can have on the "Aspie's" family and loved ones. As a reader, I related most to Emma, Jacob's mother. For her, the analogy of life as a roller coaster is a literal description of her life.
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From a failed marriage to financial troubles and the challenges of raising two teenage boys alone, her ups and downs are enough to make the reader want to reach out and offer a hug or a word of encouragement. Jacob's Asperger's defines not only the lives of his immediate family members (his mother and brother) but also their relationships with friends, classmates, co-workers and their community.
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When Jacob is accused of a heinous crime, Emma's life reaches a tipping point. Although she believes her son incapable of violence, she begins to question her entire world as the case unfolds. The veil between Jacob's world and the world of those around him is thin but tangible. It sometimes seems a real connection is possible but just out of reach. Through all of the proceedings, I wonder (on behalf of Emma) if Jacob really loves or if he simply reacts to the people around him. Of course, I think of my own son and wonder how far my love would take me if I were in a similar situation. Knowing that the answer lies in the unconditional characteristic of a mother's love, I sympathize even further with Emma.
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Picoult truly demonstrates the importance of a writer doing thorough homework before tackling such an in-depth and touchy topic. She clearly delved deep into the world of Asperger's prior to writing this book and her diligence and commitment shows. I will admit, I am not always a fan of Picoult's work, but this book shines.

Questioning my kids...

2010-05-10T18:27:00.000-07:00

My kids, like yours, say the funniest things. I love the way they can't filter their thoughts. The resulting honesty is always refreshing and often hilarious. I've started asking my kids random questions at night as they're laying down for bed. There is no better way to end the day. I thought I'd share some of their insightful answers from last night's chat (I left Gioia's answers out because, at 2, she said whatever Rocco said):

Me: What is mommy's name?
Eden: Tiernan

Rocco: Turnin

How old is mommy?

E: 6

R: 63

How much does mommy weigh?

E: 6 lbs.

R: 31 rocks

Where is mommy's favorite place to go?

E: the barn and Target

R: NOT Chuck E. Cheese

How did mommy and daddy meet?

E: Jesus introduced you.

R: you loved frogs.

What does mommy do at work?

E: I don't know but I bet you tell people what to do.

R: Play on the computer

What is mommy's favorite thing to eat?

E: Cupcakes

R: Green stuff but I wish you liked mac-and-cheese

Mommy and daddy are married. What does that mean?

E: You get to be together, all the time, every day, 1000 days a year, always.

R: You are symbiotic...like a bird eating bugs off a hippo. (yes he said that)

Someone I know MUST win this prize...enter now!

2010-05-08T14:21:00.000-07:00

As many of you know, I am a blogger for the SheKnows.com Book Club. There are some really great selections in this club. Right now, we're reading House Rules by Jodi Picoult. I'll admit, I sometimes struggle with Picoult's novels, but this one grabs me. I am just about done with it and I find myself reading forcibly slowly to postpone the ending. It touches on the themes of autism, family ties, single parenting, finding your identity and love. I highly recommend this book.

The next book selection is Emily Griffin's Heart of the Matter. As a book junkie, I LOVE finding out about my favorite author's "favorite things" and Emily is not only sharing her list, but giving us a chance to win everything on it!

This isn't a skimpy list either. We're talking about a Blackberry, designer shoes (from Ann Roth, one of her designs is pictured here), a gift card from Crumbs Bake Shop, a gorgeous blanket from Keiki Co....and more! Check out her list and enter to win here. Psst...entries are unlimited so enter more than once to increase your chances. I really want someone I know to win this...it's such a great prize! Good luck...and happy reading. :-)

Hunting for a lost dog

2010-05-06T20:43:00.000-07:00

I was driving home the other day with a car full of kids when, after pausing at a stop sign, Eden screams, "Someone lost their dog!" She's learning how to read so the big, bold "LOST DOG" plastered on the telephones poles around our neighborhood called out to her like a cheerleader with a megaphone. I peaked over to see a black and white Spaniel mix staring back at me, with her head inquisitively tilted to the right. "Why did I look?" I said to myself.

At that point, I knew we weren't heading home. "Mama, we have to find the dog!" Eden says, on the verge of tears. Sigh. "Her name is Tally," I said. And off we went. We drove up and down the urban grid of our Wash Park neighborhood, calling for Tally. Fortunately, the boundaries of our neighborhood are pretty clear so we weren't meandering through the open countryside, which could have taken hours, if not days. "Is your name Tally?" Eden would ask every dog we saw, regardless if they were black and white, or on a leash.

We didn't find Tally. I'm not sure if anyone did. But, our afternoon jaunt got me thinking about the dedication and compassion of a six-year-old who was so distraught over the thought of a puppy wandering around Denver without her human family. It got me thinking about how many times we see people (not dogs) wandering, hurting and lost, while we continue on with our lives...too busy to stop, to care, to question.

That night, Eden had a hard time letting go of Tally, especially because we didn't know how the story ended. I tried to teach her that sometimes things don't always work out the way we want them to, but that God is always in control. I was almost proud of my ability to acknowledge and embrace a teaching moment, until she turned to me and said, "I didn't think we'd find her but it would be worse if we didn't look." Turns out, she knows about teaching moments too.

It's official! I'm organized.

2010-04-24T16:13:00.000-07:00

I had just poured my third cup of coffee yesterday morning when I heard the unmistakable hum of the FedEx truck ricochet off the trees on my street. "Could this be the day?" I wondered. I forced myself to stay seated at my desk, eyes focused on the computer screen in front of me. On more than one occasion, I've ran to the front window in eager anticipation only to see the FedEx man jaunt over to my neighbor's house (who, incidentally, receives an inordinate number of deliveries each week). This time, I would keep my cool.

A few seconds later, the dingbell rang (as my 2-year-old calls it) and I saw a shadow of a delivery man scurry off the porch. "Yes!" I exclaim with a mental fist pump and I bolted for the door. Finally, it had arrived. My new planner from Erin Condren designs. Yes, I know it's April, but the 2010 editions just went on sale (50% off!) so I was suddenly motivated to get my schedule in order. I was so impressed with this company before I even opened the box. The BOX itself was a piece of art:

I spent five minutes devising a plan to wallpaper our next house with the quirky blue and pink design on the back of the box, and then dove in. My planner is adorable. The sweet little butterflies make me smile and the best part is that my name is on the bottom of the (laminated!) cover. Growing up, I never found a "Tiernan" bike license plate or book mark so I really appreciate the opportunity to customize:

They even throw in a bevy of organization-inspiring stickers and a pocket full of customized gift tags! Love.

I spent the afternoon transferring my scraps of paper appointments and commitments to my nifty new planner and I feel so much lighter now. So, I say with conviction that I am officially organized and I look forward to actually attending meetings I have planned this year.

Erin Condren is coming out with new 2011 planners in a few months and I cannot wait to see them. Who else is willing to join the organizational revolution (what? don't tell me you are ALREADY organized?!?!)?

The not-so-nurturing mother...

2010-04-22T16:37:00.000-07:00

Cody and I always have fun watching new parents navigate the treacherous waters of infant/baby/toddler sleeping habits. The most common complaint we hear from friends with new babies (well, sometimes not-so-new babies too) is that little cutie just won't sleep when they want him/her to.

More often than not, the story goes like this: Mom and dad want to go to bed and want baby to go to bed too. Baby resists. Screeching cries ensue. Parents debate the pros and cons of rescuing baby from the torture chamber otherwise known as a crib. Protest escalates to violent screams. Images of baby's sweet face flash through mom and dad's mind. Baby monitor on the verge of exploding. The parental debate continues. Precious angel somehow senses that mom and dad are about to cave and subsequently finds one more dramatic outburst. Mom and dad can't take it one more second. Abandoning any prospect of sleep, one or both bursts into baby's room and saves the bundle of joy from eminent death by excessive tears.

The end result? Nobody gets sleep, except baby during odd hours of the day. Baby learns that the louder he/she cries, the faster mom and dad arrive at the door...and if they don't come quickly, they will come eventually.

We have experienced this challenge three times with each of our kids. Fortunately, we rarely lost sleep. Not because our children were perfect, but because we were able to turn the monitor OFF and let them cry. I know plenty of people will disagree with this method, but it worked for us and our children are well adjusted, healthy and excellent sleepers today. We've analyzed this issue over and over again, as more and more friends share their nighttime woes with us.

Recently, we've come to the conclusion that neither of us is particularly innately nurturing. This is not to say we do not nurture our children, but neither Cody and nor I are overly nurturing by nature. For the most part, we've ignored manipulative cries and our kids learned that crying would get them nowhere (unless of course they were hurt, in pain or injured in some way). Yes, we'd check on them if the tears did not subside, but if all was well, back to bed we went. Some would argue that this is a parental weakness, but we argue that this characteristic has saved us from countless sleepless nights and endless hours of retraining our kids to sleep. Where do you stand on the issue?

My Patriotic Prodigy

2010-04-21T10:53:00.000-07:00

Here is Gioia's Pledge of Allegiance at 2 years-old (almost 3). Love her. :-)

Obvious holes in my mothering abilities...

2010-04-21T07:42:00.000-07:00

We have a tradition in our family while we're driving in the car. Every time we see an American Flag, someone breaks out with the Pledge of Allegiance. Whoever starts saying it is allowed to finish it without any interruptions (my kids don't like doing things in unison, they would much rather bask in individual spotlight, so, for example, if Rocco starts "I pledge allegiance..." Eden has to hold her tongue until she spots Old Glory herself).

So far, only Eden and Rocco have participated in this patriotic driving distraction, but yesterday Gioia joined in. She is two, almost three, and has clearly been absorbing our nationalistic banter. By the end of the day, she was reciting the Pledge with minimal cues from me. Of course, the "indivisible" challenge is particularly difficult at her age, but she does her best to tackle it.

While Gioia's early civics lesson is a positive example of the power of educational osmosis, there are plenty of darker examples that speak to the obvious holes in my mothering abilities. As I was making dinner last night, the kids were all in their playroom coloring and enjoying a tea party. All was well for about ten minutes. When I walked downstairs to go to the laundry room, I see Eden grab Rocco's face between her hands and tell him sternly, "Rocco, you're behavior is not acceptable. You've got to be kidding me right now."

It wasn't so much the words but the tone that freaked me out a bit. She was extremely serious and I may have detected a touch of "the eye." Frozen in my tracks, I watched to see how this stare down played out. She proceeded to take a deep, drawn out breath with her eyes closed. Then she shook her head, walked away and said, "I really hope you change your attitude soon." Then, she snapped back into Eden. Rocco just stood her perplexed, probably wondering how mom stealthily invaded his sister's body and momentarily captured her tongue.

Technically, she accurately represented a typical conversation I have with my kids. At least she wasn't smacking him or screaming obscenities. Still, I was struck by how easily and thoroughly my words pervade my daughter's world. Of course, I am aware that they are greatly impacted my words and actions, but that brief glimpse of a mini-mirror image of myself is sobering.

Mothering is really a journey of self-discovery. You can't hide your true self from your kids and they are all too eager to show you exactly who you are...like it or not.

What does it take to make mom happy?

2010-04-19T08:19:00.000-07:00

Last week, my husband surprised me with an incredible gift. He's not much for surprises, which works out because I'm not much for being surprised, but he's had a few deliciously unexpected moments over the years. There was a box full of my favorite kettle corn sent from the Sacramento River Cats ballpark, a last minute trip to a bed and breakfast in Sedona for our anniversary and a beautiful Catherine Malandrino dress (that I had been eyeing for weeks) that magically appeared in my closet.
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Yes, all of these were nice, but last week I walked in the house from picking up Eden from school to find...wait for it...no, not diamonds...not a horse with a big red bow around his neck...not a plane ticket to Greece...but, a vacuum cleaner.
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For some, this would be a major let down (I can almost feel your collective shoulders collapse in disappointment), but I was seriously thrilled! Our last vacuum cleaner has been on its last leg for a month now. Only the hose works, so I was pretty much stabbing every speck of dirt I could find, hoping it would be sucked up. As if I don't have enough to do.

Maybe if I'm more specific, you'll appreciate this gift with me. This isn't just ANY vacuum...it's a Dyson Animal...and it's PURPLE! Could life get any better? In the interest of frugality, I should tell you that he got a fantastic deal on this vacuum from Craigslist. Apparently, a newlywed couple received it as wedding gift (even though they already had a vacuum...an inferior vacuum, but still). Clearly they realized that they could cash in pretty well by selling it...TO ME. Obviously, as a rookie wife, the original owner was not aware of the true value of this treasure. I almost felt bad...but then I got over it.

This is THE best vacuum cleaner EVER. Nothing can defeat it and I feel incredibly domestically empowered as I pilot it around my floors. So, my excitement quickly gave way to a reality check. As I was cleaning my living room carpet for the 6th time in 24 hours, I thought, "Am I REALLY this excited about a vacuum cleaner? And, if so, what has happened to me?"

The answer is YES, and I'm ok with it. These days, the prospect of my household chores becoming a little less burdensome is enough to make me leap for joy! I'm not ashamed to admit it. This was a win/win situation for my husband. He is a hero for taking the Dyson plunge (forget that he was probably motivated by utter annoyance because of my stabbing technique) and I am happy because my day just got a little easier. Maybe I do like surprises after all.

Confessions of an unorganized mom.

2010-04-15T21:52:00.000-07:00

Back in 2007, I decided I was going to be organized. I bought a lovely customized yearly planner and a huge assortment color coordinated stickers that cheerfully reminded me of a birthday, anniversary, party, play date, doctor visit or hair appointment. My stickers were orange. Cody's were green. Eden's were pink. Rocco's were blue and Gioia's were purple.

I wasn't expecting to enjoy organizing so much, having never been much for official organization, but there was a certain satisfaction that came with peeling off a pink sticker and forever committing it to a date in the distant future. I felt structured, diligent and purposeful. I found myself flipping through the pages as my curiosity bubbled, wondering what adventures I had planned in the months ahead. Whipping out my trusty planner at the briefest mention of a casual get together became a sort of drug for me.

By the time September rolled around, I felt pretty comfortable claiming the rank of organized mom. But, December came and went. In spite of the re-order reminder from Erin Condren Designs, the adorable company that personalized my 2007 planner, I didn't re-order. You see, I was riding a high fueled by excessive organization and an addiction to colorful dot stickers. I overestimated my ability to juggle the schedules and commitments of a 5-person family and decided to brave 2008 sans planner.

Since then, my schedule organization consists of tiny scraps of paper with commitments scribbled on them, a dry erase board that is always half-erased at the hands of a two-year-old and whatever I manage to file away in my memory. I've been talking myself into believing that this system is good enough. It's not....anymore. As the kids get older and the activities pile up, I realize I just can't keep it all together on my own. My brain can only hold so much...and "so much" is a lot less than it used to be.

Today, the sprinkler man woke us up instead of the alarm because I forgot he was coming at 7am, I failed to send Eden to school with snack for the class (I only have snack day twice a semester! You'd think I could handle that!), I completely spaced on a meeting with her summer tutor and I barely squeaked an article in by deadline at the last minute. I've come to the conclusion that trying to remember everything is sooooo much harder than just admitting I have a problem. I need help and help comes in the form of a planner. Simple really, so why do I resist?

As a mom, I figure I can do it all...or I should at least try to do it all. Somehow giving in to the need for a planner sucks away a little bit of my imaginary mom power (which reminds me, I need to buy straws). But, I suppose that mom power will multiply if I actually get my kids to their commitments on time, show up for meetings and remember birthdays on the actual day and not a week later. Why did it take me so long to figure this out? Bottom line...tomorrow I'm off to buy a planner.

Non-toxic Toys for My Daughter's Birthday

2010-04-09T09:50:00.000-07:00

I do not consider myself a "granola-type" of mother. Nor am I completely oblivious to the possible dangers of mass-produced toys and products for children. Like many of you, I find myself nestled comfortably in the middle. I try to avoid unnecessary exposure to chemicals, provide the best possible nutrition and keep them as happy and healthy as possible. Even though I don't believe in "global warming", I do believe it a valiant cause to find well-made toys that will keep my children entertained and SAFE.

My oldest daughter, Eden, just turned 6 last week. There were a lot of people asking me what she wanted for her birthday. I always laugh at that question. What does she want? A pony. Literally. Is she going to get it? No. What does she need? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Regardless, I know gift giving is a way of showing love, so I just asked people to get her toys that are non toxic, preferably not made in China, and do not have a million parts.

There are actually quite a few options when it comes to finding toys that do not have lead paint, are not made of plastic and were not shipped in from China. It does, however, take a little extra effort to find them. While it's much easier to walk into Toys-R-Us or Target and grab the most popular item off the shelf, with a little digging, you could discover a more unique, non-toxic, creative option that will actually survive more than a month. Here are some good picks:

Planet Happy Kids offers a wide range of toys that fall into one or more of these categories: "all natural, organic, fairly traded, green (environmental awareness), responsible (labor), and multi-use."

Check out this "green" dollhouse that includes a wind turbine and its own recycling bins.

The Green Toy Company was started by a mom who wanted to provide children with safe, organic, eco-responsible toys. She has sourced some really creative and well-made toys that are just beautiful.

This elephant alphabet wooden toy is one of my favorites. It's challenging, imaginative and educational.

EcoToyTown is a one-stop-shop for all things eco-friendly. You can find organic cotton bedding, board games (like "Earth-opoly"), soy crayon rocks, even art pads made of banana stalks.

My daughter would love this leaf press...and so would I!

No, the grave couldn't hold Him!

2010-04-04T11:44:00.000-07:00

This morning, the t.v. in our house remains black and silent. The newspaper sits folded in its protective blue wrapper. I don't care about politics or the teetering real estate market or our bank account. Today, I'm putting myself in the shoes of those faithful Apostles who found an empty tomb.

I've thought about the pain they experienced as they watched Jesus suffer on that Cross. They knew it was coming, but how could they prepare? As they pulled His bloody body off the Cross, I imagine they were full of questions, confusion and possibly even doubt. "This wasn't the way it was suppose to happen."

As they rolled the massive stone in front of the tomb, surely they felt raw and vulnerable. They dedicated their life to Jesus...and now, He lies entombed and lifeless.

But, of course, the story does not end there.

On the 3rd day, as they returned to the tomb, all they found were strips of linen and a folded burial cloth....and their hearts leaped with joy! Probably not right away, but when their eyes were opened to the miracle, their world changed, and so did mine. No, the grave couldn't hold Him. The world couldn't define His destiny. The devil couldn't win.

An empty tomb breathed new life into the words of the Prophet Isaiah, spoken hundreds and hundreds of years before Jesus walked the Earth: But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed. We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all.

The blessings that He deserved as the Son of God are now mine. He gladly took my place and I am forever humbled. Like Jesus, the power of the Easter message can't be contained. It's a message of love, acceptance and grace. After all, He died with His arms wide open....

Guam on the verge of capsizing!!!!

2010-04-01T08:58:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure if I have any friends in Georgia's 4th Congressional District, but if I do, I'm BEGGING them to run for a seat...specifically, Rep. Hank Johnson's seat. His recent performance during a House Armed Services Committee

hearing is...well, embarrassing, laughable and alarming all at the same time.

As Johnson sat in front of Admiral Robert Willard, the leader of the U.S. Pacific fleet, he spent an uncomfortable amount of time questioning him about the exact size of Guam. He then expressed his concerns that the island could "tip over and capsize" with the addition of 8,000 Marines to the island (with no hint of sarcasm). Seriously. This is a U.S. Congressman. This is a man who is trusted with the responsibility of representing his constituents in the government. This is man who votes on our laws. This is a man who makes $174,000 a year to fulfill these duties.

I'm SHOCKED that Admiral Willard maintained his composure, responding, "We don't anticipate that happening." Can you imagine what was going through his head?

On one hand, I feel bad for the guy. It seems he honestly believes that islands float. To be fair, I'm sure his voters did not ask him whether or not he believed this to be true. But, if I am one of them, I'm wondering what other crazy beliefs are lurking beneath the surface. On the other hand, I'm offended that he is taking up a seat in Congress. This isn't the PTA or even the School Board...this is the United States CONGRESS. Let's hope Georgia's 4th Congressional has some better options when Rep. Johnson comes up for re-election.

Watch the video here (preferably on an empty stomach):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zNZczIgVXjg

Could you handle politics?

2010-03-28T16:15:00.000-07:00

I've seriously had it this week. My back is killing me from a ridiculous yoga sculpt class (instructed by a way-too-perky-8-months-pregnant-yogi who literally kicked my butt), our real estate ADD is kicking in (subsequently, our housing situation is up in the air once again), my newly 6 year old daughter wants a cell phone for her birthday (aging me by 15 years in 5.3 seconds) and I am about to tear my hair out over this insane health care debate. If I could just manage to ignore politics, somehow bury my head in the sand and just go with the flow...I'd be so much happier.

But, I can't.

The most frustrating aspect of this entire process is that I honestly feel that I am not being represented in Washington D.C. As a citizen of a Democratic Republic, this is my right. But, these fools on the Hill are so wrapped up in their political circus that they've lost all connection to their constituents. I am being neglected, ignored, abused and belittled...and so are you. It would be infinitely more genuine if my Congressional representatives would come to my house and slap me in the face without saying a word. Representatives Markey and Salazar, are you listening? (of course not.) Seriously. Come slap me in the face.

While it may seem like a fabulous idea to pass out health care to everyone in this country, we should all prepare for the crash and burn that is inevitable with big picture politics. The rhetoric is intoxicating. The promises are vast. The reality is bleak. While our elected officials casually play with monopoly money, the actual burden falls on you and me. We deserve better and our government CANNOT deliver (and shouldn't be expected to).

Perhaps all this talk about universal health care is just a distraction so that we don't actually realize that our freedoms are being stripped away and our beloved country is becoming a sterile, bland version of its once great self. As our government continues to swell to an unrecognizable size, prepare to be swallowed up by its shadow...unless there is a significant shift in the political climate.

I honestly would love to serve in Congress. I am just as qualified as most of the clowns on the Hill right now (and so are you). My platform has been tested, tried and perfected over the last 230+ years. It's called...the Constitution. Our Founding Fathers created this country as a promising and prosperous alternative to the oppressive societies found in the rest of the world. And yet, we are stubbornly chipping away at our foundation, inadvertently begging to return to the reality they left. Doesn't make much sense to me (and, what an insult to my grandparents and great-grandparents who came here so that I could have the opportunities they didn't).

What if securing a seat in our government didn't involve out of control fund-raising efforts, mud-slinging, perfectly polished suits, impeccably delivered speeches and required pandering to special interest groups? Would you run? What if this up-coming election featured some of the best and brightest minds in the carpool line, at the grocery store or from your recreational softball league? I am confident that our elected representation would be infinitely more in touch, and much more reflective of the intent of our original government. Why have we veered so far off course?

As our representatives continue to spew Utopian promises that will never materialize, I am stubbornly holding on the the freedoms I have and imagine what it would be like to actually have a voice on the Floor.

Review: Pieces of Happily Ever After

2010-03-16T18:06:00.000-07:00

I have to say, I've been on quite the literary roll lately. Recently, every book I've had the pleasure of reading has been stellar (with the exception of 2, which isn't bad). Well, stellar is a pretty lofty word, so let's just say I've been thoroughly entertained and just plain...happy. Sometimes, that's exactly what you need from a book.

My latest conquest, Pieces of Happily Ever After, by Irene Zutell, is the inspiring first pick of the SheKnows.com Book Club. Not that I aspire to be a divorced mother of a sassy 5-year-old watching my ex-husband cavort with a gorgeous movie star, but I do aspire to write with the depth and honesty modeled by Zutell. This is not a terribly complex story, but she managed to weave beautiful arcs through the plot that allowed me to momentarily become Alice Hirsh.

As the pages turned, I ached for her mother, I laughed at her daughter, I loathed her husband and I cringed at her neighbors. Zutell's writing is simple, yet captivating. She speaks plainly but eloquently, even through Alice's pain and the blurry haze of teary eyes. Even those of us in happy marriages can relate to this story...perhaps from the perspective of one of her coffee shop friends or one of her aggressive neighbors, or even as a reader of a tabloid magazine.

She touches on the concept of aging, both with her elderly mother and as an-approaching-middle-aged mom. Looking back on younger days, we sometimes want to scream, "BUT, I am still that person!" But, the fact is, we aren't anymore and there are some muddled emotions in that reality.

I definitely recommend this book to all my girlfriends. It's a satisfying, complex yet relatable read.

Stay tuned for the next SheKnows.com Book Club selection...

My Philanthropic Venture: Scholarships for Adults

2010-03-15T13:05:00.000-07:00

The summer before my senior year of high school, a friend of the family gave me a phone-book sized edition of The Scholarship Book. I spent hours in a pre-Internet daze pouring through the pages of this massive book, trying to identify organizations that would be willing to give me money for my education (or at least welcome a letter from me desperately pleading my case).

At first, I thought there was no way any of these scholarships would work for me. I was a decent student involved in a fair amount of extra-curricular activities, but was far from top in my class or exceptionally gifted. What I found shocked me.

I could potentially qualify for a number of obscure scholarships, such as those for daughters of left-handed first generation Italian-Americans, granddaughters of Italian military men, students from Catholic high schools pursuing a degree in veterinary science (at the time it was true), horse lovers who never worked in retail, hazel eyed girls with an interest in literature and scholarships from the Knights of Columbus. Had I been so inclined, I could have easily spent an entire month applying for these scholarships. Most of them were small (somewhere between $250-500) but every little bit counted...and still counts.

The thing is, nobody is giving away scholarships to adults who are probably infinitely more motivated that the high school/college student to pursue a dream. Not only that, but these adults can actually define their dream. The passing of time has a funny way of shoving you against the ropes. From that vantage point, dreams become clear and passions become tangible. That just figures, doesn't it? Is this true for you? Does the adult version of you have a better understanding of your purpose and interests than the high school version of you?

When you are young, entire volumes of books are published to accommodate the endless list of organizations willing to help you. At that point, you appreciate the gesture but are neither highly motivated nor sure about your path. Funny how life works.

If I am ever in a position to do any sort of philanthropic venture, I'd like to offer scholarships for motivated adults who can define success with pin-point accuracy...who can balance the responsibilities of family/career/personal growth...who are role models for their children, proof that life does not end when you become a parent. At the very least, I'm confident they won't spend the money on beer, unless that's part of their dream.

Can you ever really clear your mind?

2010-03-11T13:25:00.001-08:00

I've been practicing yoga for about 5 years now. I started with Bikram/Hot yoga, then moved to Ashtanga yoga and finally found a home in more of a Vinyasa-style power yoga. If you are not a yogi, I just said a whole lot of nothing. No problem, just follow me.

While each style of yoga has its own unique flavor, if you will, there is one constant that flows throughout each of them: the power of the breath. Regardless of the poses, or asanas, the yoga instructor constantly reminds us to clear our minds and focus on the breath. Some often talk about the fact that yoga is not so much a physical practice, but more of a mental and/or emotional practice. Well, I've yet to reach that understanding. Perhaps I am an anomaly, but yoga, for me, is purely physical.

When I discover a new pose, I don't ponder how it will help me reach a new level of zen. On the contrary, I work my butt off to master a seemingly impossible arm balance or inversion, just because I can (or can't, in some cases). In fact, I don't think my mind has EVER been clear during my practice...not even once. Is that even possible? If I'm not trying to figure out how to grab my right toe with my left hand while balancing on my right arm, I'm thinking about my grocery list, my writing deadlines or my kids' schedule. Even when I try to clear my mind, all I think about is clearing my mind, which would mean it's not REALLY clear.

A purest would say that I will never truly reach yogi status unless I am able to master pondering...well...nothing. Maybe there will be a day when the most pressing matter on my mind is my steady breath. I can't imagine that reality. Who has time? I will continue my (faux) practice as a form of intense exercise because I love the challenge but I will not chant, I will not imagine myself floating above myself (whatever that means) and I will not "bow to the light within you" (aka, Namaste). All I want to do is sweat and click through my constant mental checklist in peace. Shalom.

Surviving yours 30s: Part I

2010-03-09T13:57:00.001-08:00

As I mentioned in a previous blog post, I am currently grappling with challenge of surviving my 30s, that odd decade bridging the seemingly endless possibilities of my 20s and the seemingly unavoidable drab fate of my 40s. For the record, I am not entirely on board with the concept that life ends at 40, but it sure seems that way if you listen to the "world." My first tip, Apply the Fashion Rules, is beginning to serve me well. I've recently discovered some more tips:

2. Pursue something you love.
When kids are underfoot and the schedule is jammed with a million different action items (none of them for you), it's easy to feel like your slowly disappearing. Not physically, of course, but the person you once were begins to fade into the background, taking on the shape and color of the next appointment in the date planner. Pretty soon, you look in the mirror and wonder where you went. It's easy to lose sight of your passions...unless you make a conscious effort to hold on to them. You may not have as much time, money or freedom as you did in your 20s, but it's important to cultivate an interest you have. I also want my kids to see me excel in some sort of endeavor outside of cleaning their sticky fingers. For me, this passion is horses.

3. Avoid dancing in public.
Back in the day, I was able to hold my own on the dance floor (I had the circa 1990 MC Hammer pants to prove it). I was even a professional dancer/cheerleader for the Arizona Cardinals (gasp!). One day, my kids will be mystified and horrified by these facts because sometime between the end of my 20s and the pinnacle of my 30s, the dancing gene disintegrated. Now, dancing just reminds me of the wide chasm between me and the people who actually know how to dance. I am well aware that all public dancing should be limited to the casual steering wheel tap while driving in the car. I don't rule out a spin with my kids in the kitchen, as long as the blinds are securely closed.

4. Don't live in L.A.
Having just returned from an L.A. visit, I can honestly say that the pressure to appear soooo much younger than you are is palpable. Of course, my youth provided protection against this pressure while growing up in Southern California, but today, it's just too much. For my friends who do live there, at least KNOW that you are living in a microcosm of artificially-generated, perpetual youth. The rest of the country is not like this (well, Scottsdale is getting there). This is not to say everyone else should just let themselves go, but seriously, how can you age gracefully when everyone around you is frantically scrambling to turn back the clock faster than the second hand tick, tick, ticks forward? My hat's off to those who can handle it and not lose sight of reality. I don't think I can.

Surviving your 30s...the introduction

2010-03-03T19:33:00.000-08:00

Someone played a cruel trick on me. Well, maybe not someone, but a group of someones...society, perhaps. When my mom turned 40, her friends gathered on the lawn holding a banner that said, “Lordy, Lordy, Marie is 40!” Why does a celebration of 40 have to include a ruddy rendition of Happy Birthday and funeral-themed decorations? Since then, I believed 40 was the beginning of the end. My mom didn’t look like she had one foot in the grave, but clearly that must be the case given the collective reaction of her inner circle towards this milestone.

There are those who say everything goes south at 40. For some, this is in references to their physical attributes. For others, emotional. For still others, it’s both. There are those who believe the cosmic hand you were dealt at birth is fully revealed by this age. You can still decide how to play, but forget about changing out your cards or expecting a shuffle. Want to start a new career? You can’t, your’re 40. Want to start a family? You can’t, you’re 40. Want to wear a backless dress to dinner and dance on the table after dessert? You can’t, you’re 40. Goodbye fun, freedom and the promise of possibility. Hello monotony, obligation and the promise of sagging skin. Forty may as well be a death sentence.

While I’m not there yet, the mere acknowledgement that I will indeed have to endure that day has loomed in my mind like an ominous, smirking troll preparing to pounce and ruin my life. In the midst of my 3rd decade, I’ve realized just how much my ill-conceived concept of 40 has shaped my opinion of 30. I once considered it a last hurrah for all things vibrant, exciting and beautiful. While 40 was the tomb, 30 was that final, deep gasp for air, where everything seems more colorful, clear and purposeful. Now, I’m a bit angry that everyone was so busy blasting warnings of 40 that the 30s were completely overlooked. Someone, or some group of someones, should have warned me. American Idol tried. They say life is pretty much over at 28!

This decade comes with so many changes, challenges and forked roads that we really do need some survival tips. Although I’m not quite half-way through my 30s, I have a pretty good idea of what I’m in for, based on the fact that I’m chin-deep in realizations right now. And ‘they’ say your life changes at 18. Ha! Another cruel joke.

Stay tuned for my tips for surviving your 30s....the first of which is: Apply the fashion rules.

Is college a big waste of time?

2010-03-02T16:45:00.000-08:00

Let me start by saying that I love school. I love sitting in a classroom absorbing information, heated debates between students of varying ideologies, writing essays and taking tests. I even love homework. Seriously. This affinity for all things academic motivated me to pursue a Bachelor's degree from Arizona State and a Master's from Northern Arizona. I say this with a complete lack of ego, simply for the fact that these pieces of paper represent the least of my education. I truly believe that I am not in a better professional position because of these accomplishments.

For some, I admit, higher education is completely necessary. I wouldn't want an uneducated doctor performing surgery or a self-taught lawyer representing me in court. But, I've learned that practical, real-world experience provides much more valuable depth of knowledge that any classroom setting. I did meet my husband at college, so I wouldn't want to change that. But I believe our paths were destined to cross regardless.

When I graduated from high school, NOT attending college really wasn't an option. I never even considered taking some time to evaluate my interests or explore different industries. Like many, I believed that college was a time to explore a variety of subjects until you fell in love with one and decided to make it your career. In hindsight, this makes no sense. When I was 18, I wanted to ride horses and seriously considered an apprenticeship with either a trainer or a breeder. But, I questioned whether I could really turn a passion/hobby into a career. So, off to college I went. Oddly enough, the wisdom of Roxette resonates with me now: Listen to your heart. It's as simple as that.

College was certainly...fun. I enjoyed every minute of self-discovery. But, I believe my time would have been better served actually DOING what I wanted to do, rather than trying to figure out what I wanted to do. I understand that some people need that time to explore, but I don't think I was one of them. Perhaps today I would be running a successful horse breeding operation on my secluded little farm (like my friends Michelle and Monica Sakurai at Sakura Hill Farm....an INCREDIBLE operation). Instead, I can't shake the feeling that I'm chasing a dream. I know I'm not alone.

Maybe that's the point...is success defined by what we do or how we handle what we aren't able to do? That question constantly hovers. I do know this: when my kids are of college-age, I will definitely encourage them to consider diving in and following their heart, even if seems risky, unpopular or against the grain. If all the ifs and buts were candy and nuts...

The Bachelor: NEVER AGAIN!

2010-03-01T20:59:00.000-08:00

Once again, I vow never to watch the Bachelor again. Tonight's "most shocking finale ever" pushed me past the point of annoyance. I just had a feeling that Jake would choose Vienna, mainly because the editing made the opposite seem so blatantly obvious. I.don't.get.it.

At the start of the season, I think I was Jake's only fan. He seemed pretty level-headed and down to earth. Surely he would at least make a decent decision. Wrong. Turns out, these "contestants" are attracted to the crazy train like a moth to a flame.

My husband must have paused the finale at least a half dozen times to explain to my why Jake is going to choose Vienna. I have to say, he totally nailed this one. He explained that Vienna is always lurching for Jake while Tenley waits for Jake to come to her. I think this has to do with the fact that she was previously married and very hurt. Vienna, on the other hand, seems on a perpetual spring break, always ready to throw herself at her latest prospect (in this case, Jake). Turns out, Jake reacted positively to this forward approach (shocker!).

The only person not unbelievably annoyed by this season is Jeffrey Osborne. A entire generation has been introduced to "On the Wings of Love," perhaps resurrecting his career. I'm happy for him, actually...and disappointed in myself (once again). I.am.done.

Dressing for your age. The fashion rules.

2010-02-26T20:39:00.000-08:00

A few years ago ('few' is used very loosely here), I was sitting under the dryer at a salon waiting for my golden brown highlights to process. To pass the time, I mindlessly flipped through a magazine half-heartily absorbing information on the latest make-up trends, celebrity news and a suggestions for traveling through Europe on a budget. Towards the end of the small-town-telephone-book-sized publication, there is a story about dressing for your age:

Outfits specifically designed for women in their 20s ooze youth and vitality. Outfits designed for women in their 30s are practical with hints of color. Outfits for women in their 40s feature monochromatic pieces that emphasize quality over trends. Outfits for women in their 50s...well, I guess women that age resign to recycling decades worth of fashion mishaps because there are no suggestions for this demographic.

My 20-something mind giggled at the thought of women actually using age as a factor when choosing clothes. "Who does that?" I thought. Fashion rules seemed so...suffocating. I continued to think that way until very recently. It wasn't a conscious transformation but at some point over the last few years, I've become someone who really should pay attention to what is age appropriate clothing. In your 20s, you can pretty much pull off fashion for any age. It's just a matter of personal preference. But, I've discovered that your 30s are a time of transition....like it or not. Those cheesy magazine articles suddenly become valuable tools. "OK...so I should NOT wear leggings as pants? Got it." Finding a body part to emphasize through clothing has become both crucial and more difficult. Perhaps it's because it's so easy to pick myself apart, or attempt comparisons with the 20-something version of myself. Big mistake!

There are rare moments when I actually have the occasion to present myself socially to people other than my kids (this used to be known as "going out"). In these rare occasions, I've often peaked in my full-length mirror and said, "Ok, I can pull this off." Then, a little voice in the back of my 30-something head says, "If you need to 'pull it off,' you probably shouldn't be wearing it.'" Duly noted, little voice.

So, the fashion rules officially apply to me. Resistance is futile. Even if I was the absolute most perfect physical version of myself, I am still 30-something and need to acknowledge the responsibility that comes with this third decade, both personally and fashionably. I'm not throwing in the towel, but I am recognizing that some things work and some things don't. And with that, I officially retire my mini-skirts and corset tops (just kidding....or am I?).

The Airport Without Kids...A New Experience

2010-02-24T14:08:00.000-08:00

I am sitting in the airport waiting for a flight to LA. Alone. I have one bag and the contents are mine. No sippy cups. No diapers. No DVD players or Max and Ruby movies. As walked to my gate this morning, I expected to see a trail of cheerios marking my footsteps, but there were none. I'm not trying to figure out way to hold three little hands, when I have only two. I'm not worried about untied shoelaces getting caught in the escalator or favorite toys being left behind in the shuttle/train/security bins/bathroom. I did have an initial urge to as the policeman at security for a sticker, but resisted.

The ease of it all is overwhelming.

When I travel with my kids, simply using the restroom is an adventure. No matter how full my bladder, I have to wait for two little ones to find the potty (after much convincing that the violent whoosh of the auto-flushing airport models will NOT suck them into the ground) and change a diaper before I can even consider using the potty myself. And then, I must trust that the familiarity of the activity will allow my subconscious to take over, since I am consciously trying to keep my children off the bathroom floor while dissuading them from peeking beneath every stall. Why is this fun to them? Neither their precious dimples nor their mischievous grins can convince their peeping Tom victims of the humor.

As I write this, I'm sitting in the middle of a sea of black seats. I have strangers on both sides and across from me and I have no reason to apologize to them profusely. I didn't seek out an isolated group of empties, preferably close to a snack bar and next to a window. I can't even see the planes right now, and I'm not melting down.

The hardest part of my trip so far has been the "quiet talker" directly across from me. Nice guy, I'm sure. But, when I sat down he proceeded to have a 15 minute conversation with me. All I caught was that he is from someplace in California, something about the beach and 4-wheelers, a cabin in Williams, a stopped up sink, a cat smart enough to avoid coyotes and Governor Schwarzenegger's lack of cojones. Sounds like a conversation I'd love to participate in, but I could only hear every 6th word coming from his mouth. Had I been with kids, a chat would never be initiated and I wouldn't be left wondering about the fate of his cat.

I miss my kids already, but I do not miss experiencing the chaos of airport travel. A small part of me says I should feel guilty about enjoying this freedom so much. Fortunately, I was able to dig out a lollipop out of the bottom of my purse. That small part of me is now contently sucking on a sweet treat. Ahhh...silence.

Sleep evades me.

2010-02-14T15:38:00.000-08:00

I just finished writing an article for SheKnows.com titled How to Look More Awake: Makeup to Wake up, which got me thinking...when was the last time I slept? I don't mean when was the last time I closed my eyes while lying prone in my bed for a short burst of time. I mean, real, snore-inducing, REM sleep. It's hard for me to nail down a date because I seriously cannot remember.

Each night, after PJs are donned and my face and teeth are scrubbed, I grab a hot mug of green tea with a drop of honey, the latest book I'm reading and settle into my insanely expensive Tempurpedic. An aside: promises of deep, rejuvenating sleep convinced us to plop down wayyy too much money for this mattress. And still, sleep evades me.

On a typical day, I can fall asleep standing up at any given moment, so actually finding sleep is not a problem. But, it usually slithers away just as quickly as it came. Around 1am the first barrage of tiny little feet ascends the stairs to our room and I brace myself within a dream. Soon after, I hear Eden's parched mouth dryly slapping in my ear. She begs for water as if on her death bed. Never mind the fact that she passed a full bottle of water (which I always place next to her bed), the bathroom sink downstairs, the kitchen sink and our bathroom sink in order to find our bed. Apparently, only the water in the bottle next to me can sufficiently quench her thirst. And off she goes.

Around 3am, it's Gioia's turn. "Maaaaama. Maaaaama," she whispers in my ear. The line between sleep and reality slowly fades as I open my eyes to see her millimeters away from my face. It used to freak me out, but now I know what's coming. "Is it good morning time?" she asks. I ask her to head back to bed and wait for the sun to come up. THEN, it's good morning time. She understands (just as she did the night before, and the night before that) and heads back down.

Somewhere between 4:30 and 5a, Rocco stomps upstairs, falling once or twice along the way. His approach is much less subtle. Getting right to the point, he slaps my face and I snap up. "Move over please," he says matter-of-factly. Usually, I'm too exhausted to protest and with the sun on the horizon, why bother. I spend the next 15 minutes trying to wiggle a little knee out of my back, at which point I just decide to wake up and work or go to yoga. No sleep for me.

I truly wrote this article from experience because if I even resemble a fully cognizant and awake person throughout the day, it's all smoke and mirrors. Truly.

Please, Mr. Banker. I'd like to borrow money to make payroll.

2010-02-09T15:12:00.001-08:00

Earlier today, President Obama made a special appearance at the White House press briefing. Included in the topics covered were, of course, the economy and jobs. As a small business owner, one statement in particular caught my attention:
,
Let me put it this way. Most small businesses right now, if they've got enough customers to make a profit and they can get the bank loans required to boost their payroll, boost their inventory and sell to those customers, they will do so.

I can imagine the conversation now. "Yes, Mr. Banker. I want a loan for my business. Can you make it quick, because I need to make payroll and my 20 employees are a bit impatient. Thanks."

Now, I was not a business major, but even I know that it doesn't make sense to borrow in order to make payroll. Having opened our doors almost 3 years ago, we've never had an "easy time" as small business owners. But, if it ever comes to needing a loan to pay our employees, I think that's a pretty good sign that the doors should just be closed.
.
I understand it's tough to see people fail. Nobody wants to do it. But, in a capitalist society, failure not only exists, it's a cornerstone. In fact, this would be the only time I'd say that Darwin had it right. The fit businesses survive. The rest die off. Trying to keep them alive by artificial means (ex: TARP) puts an unnecessary burden on our society and creates a false sense of security.
.
When a business provides a service that people want, it succeeds. When it doesn't, it fails. It's called consequences. Even my small children grasp this concept:

If you finish your work, you can play. If you don't, you can't.

Somewhere between diapers and the Hill, this message has transformed into:

If you work hard, do your best and still fail, you can get help to maintain the cycle.

Borrowing money to make payroll is an indication that something in the fabric of the model is flawed. A loan may be a temporary fix, but it won't get to the heart of the matter. As a small business owner, it would be more honest for me to fail, and I knew that from the start.

The beauty of the Facebook friend

2010-02-05T16:13:00.000-08:00

Since Facebook is taking over the world, I'm wondering if we'll all lose our ability to make friends the old-fashioned way. Socially speaking, knowing that a new BFF is but a click away is beyond convenient. There's no awkward getting-to-know-you-stage or weird introductions. Even better, the emotional investment is minimal. Click: "I want to be your friend." It's like that George Strait song, "Check Yes or No." The ultimate in simplicity.

There is something refreshing about the lack of banter. Nobody gets to ask me questions or see how I'll react in a specific situation before they decide if they'll be my friend or not (and vice versa, of course). You get a picture, a few vague facts and some nondescript background information. That's it. No negotiating. No lunch dates. Just a 'yes' or a 'no.' If my feelings are hurt, I can mourn in the privacy of my own home (although, it is just Facebook, so I see no need). If my shoot-for-the-moon friend request was accepted, I can do the happy dance in my living room, ensuring minimal embarrassment (but, again, not really necessary). It's really a win-win situation.

Facebook has done wonders for my pseudo-social life. In fact, as of today, I have 250 friends! 250! Even though I've lived in 12 different states throughout my life (PA, NJ, IL, TX, CA, AZ, OR, ID, IN, TN, MO, CO), I would never be able to amass that many friends on my own. The crazy thing is, these friends represent so many different aspects of my life: my early nomadic years, high school, college, my friends from television reporting adventures, the corporate world, my bar tending days, our baseball friends, church friends, horse friends, writer friends, friends of friends, etc etc.

I can't say I've worked too hard to acquire 250, but I'm glad they're there creating a little army of cyber-support, allowing me to bounce ideas around, ask strange questions and share pointless thoughts. Isn't that what friends are for? Still, I wonder if my kids are going to actually learn to make friends or if they'll just expect to 'click' away at a social life...

A New Book Club...Join Me!

2010-02-02T15:21:00.000-08:00

I am so excited to be asked to join the SheKnows.com Book Club movement as an official blogger! This is perfect for me because I have a true love affair with books! I love everything about them. The way they feel in my hand. The collective weight of paper and ink. The hushed "swoosh" of the pages turning. The smell of the library, bookstore or shelf that lingers in between the folds. I relish the moments just after the last page turns. When the characters lives meld with mine and I soak in the author's truth. Running a hand over the cover, I feel for a thumbprint left behind by the hand of the literary artist and realize it's on my heart, untouchable. So, yes, I love books.

Lately, I've been pouring over really great suggestions from many of my book-loving girlfriends. In the past, I've gravitated towards historical, war-era fiction (A Farewell to Arms, All Quiet on the Western Front) or historical non-fiction/biographies (Stephen Ambrose, Edmund Morris) with the occasional political non-fiction read. So, my experience with 'chick lit,' as the genre is affectionately known, has been limited. I have to say that I've been surprised by how much I've enjoyed these often light-hearted, yet genuine stories of women that I can truly relate to.

So, the first official pick of the SheKnows.com Book Club is...Pieces of Happily Ever After by Irene Zutell. Pick it up and join us...and then look for my Book Club blogs. Happy reading!

Read Five Things You Didn't Know About Irene Zutell at ChickLitIsNotDead.com.

How did this happen? Am I really an adult?

2010-02-02T15:20:00.002-08:00

I knew I shouldn't have blinked. But, I did and here I am. As cliché as it may sound, it truly seems as if the past 15 years have flipped by on a slide projector, which currently seems to be glitching. And, now, I'm in the middle. With one hand, I can reach back and touch the pain and drama of high school, with the other, I'm wiping a nose or changing a diaper or reaching for a stack of bills that won't get paid unless I pay them! That concept is still hard for me to grasp, which is ridiculous.

Sometimes I walk up to a sink full of dishes and the first that that pops into my head is, "Where the heck is my mom?" Sorry, mom, but it's true. It's not that we didn't have to help out around the house as kids, but it's just where my mind goes. As quickly as the thought comes, it leaves like a spool of steam off a tea kettle. Poof. I roll up my sleeves and dig in.

I've celebrated my 21st birthday 13 times now, but still I don't feel old enough to enjoy a glass of wine without hiding. Every time I uncork a bottle, I almost expect a lurking authority figure to pop out from behind my refrigerator and reprimand me. Perhaps, on some sub-conscious level, this is me trying to hold on to a life that has been officially filed away in the Rolodex of existence. Or, this is me continually resisting the weight of responsibility that sinks deeper and deeper into my shoulders as the days pass. Or, this is me unable to repress Strawberry Hill-induced guilt from long ago.

Don't worry. This isn't a breakdown. Just a reflection. I'm well aware of the fact that three little monkeys depend on me. I put my best mommy foot forward each day, but I'm still surprised that I arrived in 'the middle' so quickly. One poignant difference between the 'me' of then and the 'me' of now is that I at least know what I want to do with my life. That's something. Maybe that's what defines adulthood. ?

I don't know if you can ever actually prepare for adulthood, mainly because it sneaks up on you, transforming tiny pieces of your life, one little chip at a time. Then, one day, you realize that all the strings have been cut and you are, in fact, an adult. It doesn't happen when you turn 18. That's just a date on a calendar. Maybe I haven't officially recognized this transformation, and that's why it surprises me at times.

Surprised or not, here I am. Trying not to blink again, but you know I can't stop myself.

When you follow your bliss. The Aloha edition.

2010-01-31T10:03:00.001-08:00

My baby brother, Zachary, is affectionately known as Uncle Crush to my kids. This nickname came to be one day when my husband was impersonating voices from their favorite movies. He would say a popular line and they would guess the character. When he got to Finding Nemo, he chose the ever-popular sea turtle, Crush: "Dude, dude, focus. Dude?" Immediately, they yelled in unison, "Uncle Zak!" And so, Uncle Zak became Uncle Crush.

This nickname fits him perfectly. His laid back personality is both calming and endearing. While the rest of us are caught up in the maelstrom of life's chaos, Crush maintains an even demeanor, making roadblocks appear manageable and speed bumps insignificant. It is almost impossible to set him off, which is a bit of an anomaly in our family. You won't find him jumping into a conversation about religion or politics, although he does have strong opinions. He'd just rather keep them to himself.

Poor Crush has always had 4 mothers: his biological mom (and mine) and his 3 older sisters. We've been telling him how to live his life, in varying degrees of annoyance, since he was old enough to understand our rants. As the oldest, I've probably been on the 'extreme annoyance' end of the spectrum more times than not. Because his personality is the polar opposite of mine, it has been my mission to motivate him, inspire him and generally light a fire under his derriere. Turns out, he needs none of that.

After graduating from Arizona State, Crush held various jobs in Arizona and So Cal, but never found his bliss. Always the consummate beach-lover, we all knew he could not fight the gravitational pull to the ocean (and why would he want to?). So, this past summer, Crush up and moved...to Kauai, Hawaii. He originally went to work on some sort of organic farm. He'd work in exchange for room and board (I use those terms very loosely). He was only suppose to be gone for a few weeks, a few months at most. He has yet to return.

He now has a room in a house in Kilauea, a job and a new network of friends. He followed his bliss, not letting logic, a lack of money, or his opinionated sisters sway him. It makes no sense that this entire situation worked out for him. He had no connections, no money, no real plan. And yet, here he is, living the proverbial dream. Now, we all live vicariously through him, keeping up with his adventures, begging for more pictures, wondering if we'll ever join him (if only for a week) to explore Kalalau, Hanakapia Beach and other mystical places.

When I think about following my bliss, the first things that pops into my mind are all of the obstacles that prevent me from doing so. And then, I think of my baby brother enjoying mimosas on Kauai's North Shore and the possibilities seem a bit more tangible. How do you define your bliss? Are you following it?

When my 86-year-old grandmother is put on the wrong flight...

2010-01-29T11:18:00.000-08:00

My 86-year-old grandmother (affectionately known as YoYo) has the enviable ability to complete tune out the world...and I mean that in the absolute literal sense. Without her hearing aid, we're all better off saving our collective breath because she.can't.hear.anything. The thing is, she hardly ever wears it.

At first I thought it may be uncomfortable or make her feel old, but these days, I'm realizing that she just doesn't want to hear us. I can't blame her really, as each and every member of her family operates from a place of chaos. As the matriarch of this brood, I suppose she does have the right to tune us out if she so chooses. But, this elderly super power recently back-fired on her while traveling from Philadelphia to Phoenix. My dad just shared this brief but hilarious story on his blog, so check it out. It's one of the funniest things my family has experienced...and that's saying ALOT.

Bottom line, if you're 86 and heading to Phoenix, turn on your hearing aid or you'll end up in Tampa. On a side note, we are now HUGE fans of Southwest Airlines...not just because they let you cancel your flight without losing your money (unlike CONTINENTAL, which I will never fly again) but they now take small dogs, check bags for free....and drive deaf old ladies to WalMart when the occasion calls. Luv.

Can a vegetarian work at In-in-Out?

2010-01-27T17:38:00.000-08:00

I've become a vegetarian twice in my life. The first was a 6-month stint in 8th grade. I was embracing my new-found liberal/nouveau hippie persona and felt like being a vegetarian was the next logical step behind resurrecting Janice Joplin, bell-bottoms and tie-dye. Growing up in an Italian family, it was pretty hard to avoid meat altogether, so I defined 'vegetarian' as a RED meat eater. It made the whole process a bit easier and still allowed me to devour my mom's chicken Parmesan and my dad's stuffed squid.

Although I wasn't very diligent in the practice of true vegetarian eating, I relished the opportunity to point out the socially irresponsible and repulsive behavior in which my sisters and parents choose to partake (my brother was off the hook because he was too young to know better). I even had a brief stint as a PETA supporter. Of course, all of the bloody propaganda in the world wouldn't keep me away from my need for leather products (being an avid equestrian) or my new-found adoration of lip gloss.

During my junior year in high school, I hopped on the vegetarian bandwagon for a second time. Ironically, I was working at In-n-Out Burger in Arcadia, CA at the time. By day, I was a budding feminist grappling with my inherited love of Osso Bucco, by night I was flipping the very burgers I swore off. It was an impossible situation.

I vividly remember my decision to throw in the towel and permanently embrace my carnivorous ways. It was 8pm and my shift was just ending. I worked the "walk up window" that night, which meant I was inches away from a big bucket of 'rejected burgers' for about 4 hours. The unmistakable aroma circled like sweet, smokey tendrils around my head throughout my shift.

About 15 minutes before it was time to remove the giant safety pin from my red apron, I realized that if I were a true vegetarian, I would not be so powerfully drawn to this bucket of burger rejects. Right then and there, I decided that my love of braised veal shank and double-triples with extra grilled onions would forever rule my palette. Faster than you can say 'animal style,' I snapped up a burger from a co-worker and ran to the back to devour my treasure. Ahhhh...home again.

No matter how many times I flirt with the idea of living off of barley and broccoli, I just can't seem to follow through....and so, my love affair continues.

The bigger parenting challenge? My girls or my boy?

2010-01-26T07:17:00.000-08:00

A recent article about the differences in raising boys and girls on Parenting.com shed some interesting light on the topic. As a mom of two girls (5 and 2) and a boy (4), I am simultaneously travelling down two distinct parenting highways, proving you can, in fact, be in two places at one time. This discrepancy in parenting techniques can cause a bit of child-induced schizophrenia, but, overall, I would say that my girls are much more difficult than my son. I've heard that boys are harder when they're young (2-10) and girls are harder when they're older (10-forever). So far, I have not found that to be true.

The aforementioned article touches on 5 main points: Discipline, Physical Safety, Communication, Self-Esteem and School. Read my blog at RealMomsGuide.com to find out which of my kids present the biggest challenge in each of these areas. Then, tell me what you think.

When you follow your bliss...

2010-01-23T11:28:00.000-08:00

I have a dear friend who is genuine, fearless and determined. Her name is Lindsay and, like many of us, she has a heart for children. Unlike many of us, she does something about it. Not long ago, she started a non-profit organization called Blankets for Babies. This organization "exists to give babies living in poverty and distress the opportunity to be filled with hope, warmth, love, joy and peace through the gifts of blankets." I quote directly from her web site here because I could not say it better myself.

You may wonder if a blanket can really make a difference in a child's life. Let me assure you, the answer is YES! The children touched by her efforts have very little. Little food. Little shelter. Little security. Little love. I've seen it first hand. When these children receive their very own Boh-Boh blankets (as they are affectionately nicknamed), they aren't sure what to think at first. Many of them are a bit shocked by the fact that someone is giving them anything, much less a beautiful, plush blanket that they can call their own. But, they walk away knowing that someone cares, that they matter and that there is hope.

Lindsay gives blankets out all over the world and, of course, here in the United States. Blankets for Babies has touched children in Afghanistan, India, Argentina, South Africa, Rwanda and Vietnam just to name a few countries. Recently, one of her Boh-Boh blankets was spotted in a CNN story about Haitian orphans after the earthquake. You can see in this picture that these children have very little. Little clothing. Little comfort. Little warmth. Some are lying on bare mattresses. But, the one little girl with the frilly bottom is sleeping soundly atop of a blanket (the pretty one with the checkered border) that came from Lindsay.

Lindsay has been brave enough to follow her bliss. While some saw a blanket, she saw hope...and acted on her vision. If this one little girl was the only child touched by her efforts, I know that Lindsay would rejoice. But, there are soooo many more little girls and boys who are wrapping their Boh-Bohs around their tiny shoulders as you read this. What is your bliss? Imagine what would happen if you followed it?

I can't forget...one of best parts about Blankets for Babies is that when you buy a blanket, a blanket is given to a child in need. How cool is that? I am so honored to call Lindsay and friend and am inspired by her efforts every day.

Why I love religion and politics

2010-01-22T12:05:00.000-08:00

We've all been warned, at one time or another, to avoid discussions of religion and politics unless you want the conversation to end badly. I disagree. Sure, the conversations tend to get a little animated, but what's really wrong with that? Here are the top 6 reasons I love discussing religion (by that way, this is a word that I really dislike) and politics:

I admire when people can articulate their points of view. I have absolutely no problem with you supporting a complete government takeover of absolutely every privately-held industry in the country, as long as you can tell me why...and you're not making stuff up...and you're using accurate information to support your views...and you haven't been brainwashed by the media.

The amount of time it takes you to reach complete meltdown status usually correlates with your general patience level on matters outside of religion and politics. Armed with this information, I know whether I can trust you with my children or not.

If you are too easily offended by something I say that you do not agree with, I know to keep my mouth shut if you have a piece of salad stuck between your teeth or if you're wearing your shirt inside-out.

The conversation helps me narrow down gift selections for birthdays and holidays. If you get red-faced and agitated over my support the 2nd Amendment, I know not to buy you an NRA T-shirt for Christmas. How convenient, right?

If your arguments walk a stern partisan line, I know to casually bow out of the conversation because you aren't thinking for yourself. I'm not condemning you. It's too easy to do these days. Original thought takes much more effort than most of us can give.

I almost always walk away more sure of my convictions. I appreciate the unintentional confirmation.

The battle with my curls.

2010-01-21T15:40:00.000-08:00

I've been denying an undeniable fact for quite a while now. I've been avoiding reality, trying to alter nature and running from the truth. It's time I come clean and embrace the hand I've been dealt.

I. Have. Curly. Hair.

There. It's out in the universe and I can't bring it back. This may not come as a shock to some of you, but I've been not quite ready to fully admit this to myself since I was about 12. It was around that time that I realized how difficult it was to find someone to cut my curly hair without turning it into an afro...ok, more of an afro than it already was. My mom will attest to the fact that every haircut was a bad haircut between the years of 1987 and 1994. And I'm not referring to the insanity of popular hair styles during that time. It was just my hair.

Looking back, I realize that some of the fault is mine. I browsed magazines like any other teenager looking for a new 'do but all of the pictures smiled back with their perfectly straight, shiny, smooth hair. Lacking options, I'd cut one out and pray for a miracle. I can only imagine what the poor stylist thought when I handed her the picture, and she proceeded to look at the mop of curls protruding in every direction. Clearly, I was a nightmare client.

Most stylist will go on and on about how great my curls are, how lucky I am to have them, how women pay a ton of money to get curls like mine...blah blah blah. The thing is, they cut my hair and then proceed to straighten it so that they can "check the cut for accuracy." Yeah right! While I appreciate the gesture and realize you were only trying to protect me, the craziness bounced right back as soon as I stepped outside or washed my hair for the first time. I get it though...by that time I was far enough away from the salon that I couldn't reach out and grab you. Touche'.

Then there's the stylist who insists that I will love my curls by the time she's done. "Great!" I think. "I would love to love my curls." After 45 minutes of washing and cutting, another 30 minutes blow drying my lovely curls flat, and yet another 30 minutes re-curling my hair with a curling iron...voila! "Perfect curls!" Yes, they are perfect, but they are definitely NOT mine. Nice try though.

Trying to straighten or otherwise mask my curls has been exhausting and fruitless. I'm throwing in the towel. I've always loved super short hair and chopped mine all off a few years ago in an effort to liberate myself from my curly persona. Well, that courageous move resulted in countless hours in front of the mirror blow drying and flat ironing until my tresses screamed for a truce. I loved my short hair but it was so incredibly high maintenance. I just can't do it.

While I do harbor a bit of envy towards women who can pull off the super short look with minimal effort (I'm working on it), I've had my day. It's time to move on. My name is Tiernan. I have curly hair. I will fight it no longer.

You love Chuck E. Cheese? You're Hired.

2010-01-19T16:35:00.001-08:00

My husband and I are in the process of interviewing for a receptionist position at our store. We've done everything we can to avoid this process, but I am working way too many hours and we need some reinforcements. After placing an ad on Craigslist, our inbox was immediately flooded with 100+ résumés. If only those 100+ applicants were all perfectly suited for the position, I could just pick one at random and be done with it! Unfortunately, nothing in the small business world is so simple.

Cody and I shared the banal responsibility of sorting through these résumés and immediately eliminating the applicants who are in no way going to work for us. Usually, these cast-offs fall into one of the following categories:

a) They live in Broomfield, Thornton or Boulder - Hello!? Please pull out a map and see where Highlands Ranch is compared to any of these places. Even if you are the most punctual, responsible and friendly human on the face of the planet, we're pretty sure we won't see you when the snow is falling (even if you do live in Colorado), when we have to open early/close late or when we need you in a pinch.

b) Their "objective" is a variation on the following: "to secure a decent job and hold onto it." Seriously? Shoot for the moon why don't you. Even if your employment history is checkered, maybe you should keep that to yourself, at least until the interview.

c) You just graduated from high school and have ten employers listed but all of your references are "personal." I can see it now: We're booked solid on a Saturday afternoon and you decide that you'd rather hang out with your boyfriend than show up for work. On top of that, you won't feel it necessary to call and let us know that you're flaking...you just won't show up. No thank you.

So, the flood of interested applicants was quickly whittled down to a manageable number of...six. I sat down at our desk eager to call these six people to set up interviews. The first call I made was to a woman named Darlene. Ring. Ring. Ring.

"Hello," a sweet voice says amidst the clamour of kids in the background. "Hi," I said. "My name is Tiernan McKay and I'm calling about a résumé you sent me for our recept..um, hello? Can you hear me?" I was sure she had no idea what I just said because I could barely hear myself over the commotion. At first, I was a little annoyed. If you are job-hunting and see a strange number call, and you're in the middle of a Mardi Gras-equivalent, why are you answering the phone? But, Darlene quickly pacified me by saying, "I'm so sorry. We're celebrating my three-year-old-grandson's birthday at Chuck E. Cheese and I can't hear anything over all of the giggles."

Just stop. You're hired. I didn't say it, but I thought it. I wanted so badly to avoid this hiring process that I felt immediately inclined to hire this Chuck E. Cheese-loving grandmother, simply because she was at Chuck E. Cheese. I thought, "She must be friendly. She likes to laugh and have a good time. I'm sure she's making friends and charming the entire crowd. She's probably the nicest person I'll ever hope to meet and if we don't hire her, for sure someone else will! Besides, grumpy irresponsible people don't hang out at C.E.C., do they?" This is how small business-ownership is driving me to think.

Always the voice of reason, Cody calmly explained that answering the phone while at Chuck E. Cheese is hardly grounds for employment (if only!). And, the search goes on.

Respect the Traffic Zipper

2010-01-16T13:32:00.000-08:00

I don't remember formally learning this technique in driver's training, but soon after I started driving, the 210 FWY in Pasadena introduced me to the zipper merge. You know what I'm talking about, don't you? When two lanes of traffic meet, one car from each lane takes turns entering whichever lane being formed. My little white convertible 1974 Bug relished the opportunity to ting-ting-ting its way into traffic as I graciously waved my thanks on countless occasions. Those were the days.

These days, it seems aggressive drivers are resisting the zipper at all costs. It's not uncommon to see one of these bitter pilots sneak up on the car in front of them until they are practically on top of its bumper. Perhaps if they eliminate all daylight between them and the car in front of them, the car to their right attempting the zipper will be discouraged and try another point of entry. Of course, this maneuver must be executed while casually gazing out of the left window, so the zippering driver thinks you don't see them.

Well, WE DO SEE YOU! I cannot count the number of times I've been blocked from the zipper just this week alone. Does nobody respect the unwritten traffic rules anymore? The zipper works perfectly. If every driver on the road would simply respect its effectiveness, 75% of all bottlenecks and traffic jams would be eliminated. No, this is not scientific, but I'm pretty sure of it.

My kids are getting an early driving education. Anticipating the upcoming bumper block, I have been known to chant "zipper, Zipper, ZIPPER!" Often to no avail. The inevitable, "Why are you shouting 'zipper'?" question has followed in the past. But now, they are well-versed and educated enough to join my effort. Again, to no avail. They have even been seen rolling down the window to politely express their disappointment in the lack of zippering ability. "You aren't zippering," Eden has explained on more than one occasion.

Yet, we continue to search for this elusive driving technique in hope that logic, respect and decency will be restored to the freeways. Dream on, right?

The poser liberal

2010-01-13T17:11:00.000-08:00

Back in 8th grade, my friends and I would chat about our plan to join the Peace Corps and save the world. Every text book I used was covered in plain brown paper but decorated with colorful peace signs and anti-George Bush symbols. I was listening to U2, supporting the end of apartheid, learning about Saddam Hussein and crying over the Exxon Valdez oil spill. In an effort to resurrect the Hippie movement, at least via fashion, I spent afternoons rummaging through racks of clothes at the Pasadena Salvation Army and on special occasions traveled to Aaardvark's on Melrose for that perfect pair of bell-bottoms. I could not be more proud of the fact that my parents were at Woodstock.

In high school, I was all about free speech and women's rights. My rudimentary understanding of the women's lib movement was breeding an underlying distrust of men and a slightly angry exterior that was quick to snap when provoked. I dabbled in vegetarianism (while working at In-n-Out Burger) and read Simone de Beauvoir.

During my freshman year of college at UC Santa Cruz, I was introduced to drum circles, solidarity marches, the secret meaning to the numbers 4/20, the power of the pamphlet and the science of dread locks. It was here that I began to feel as if I had been herded down this path of perceived social consciousness. One night, while walking through campus on my way home from class, I heard a faint clamour of marching students. Nothing odd, really. The uber-liberal student body was always gathering to protest one issue or another.

As the earth crunched under my feet, the ruckus was getting louder, and less friendly. I could see the College Eight dorm on the horizon and my pace quickened. Finally, I reached the front doors, flung them open and booked it up to my room. Glancing out the window, I see the source of the commotion: a group of topless women screaming about their right to conquer the world if they so choose, waving signs, bras and flashlights.

At the end of the semester, I put away the bell bottoms, removed the nose-ring (although I'm sort of wanting it back now) and transferred to Arizona State, where I developed an understanding of the power of the individual to create his/her circumstances and rise above them if needed. I realized the inability of government to solve pretty much any social dilemma and the danger in expecting them to do so. I decided that morality could not be dictated by elected officials, but rather taught by loving parents and a like-minded support system. I delved deeper into the intent of our wise Founding Fathers and was in awe at the mess we've created for ourselves. I rediscovered the beauty and perfection of the Constitution and the importance of protecting it.

And so goes my arch from poser liberal to Conservative. Of course, this is a simplified version, but ultimately, I decided that the power of the people lies in the unique talents and skills that we each bring to the table. Throwing government bureaucracy into the mix only brings social chaos, a sense of helplessness and a lack of self-confidence. The beauty of all this is that we are each free to subscribe to whichever school of thought we choose. But shouldn't we be equally prepared to reap the fruit of that belief system? More government? More legislation? Less Freedom? Fewer opportunities? That is not the country I want for my children.

Little Boys with Long Hair

2010-01-12T18:49:00.000-08:00

I just finished blogging about my son's long hair on RealMomsGuide.com (read my blog entry here) when I heard about this little boy in Texas (Taylor Pugh, left) who has been suspended because of his hair. I had to blog about that too, here.

I've heard people say that Conservatives don't like long hair on boys and so, the Texas School Board is simply reflecting the thoughts of the general population of the state. Ridiculous. I am a Conservative and I believe in the freedom of choice. He attends a public school, which should serve the educational needs of the people, not dictate fashion trends. A private school can require students to wear pink polka dots and dye their hair blue while riding a goat to school every Tuesday. Go ahead and make it mandatory. Parents can say, "no thank you" and be done with it. But, a public school? Come on people!

So, should I cut my son's hair?

Am I a Boat-Potato?

2010-01-10T15:18:00.000-08:00

I didn't want to hear what our Pastor told us today at church. I've been trying to put it out of my head since I walked out the door. But, the harder I try to ignore what he said, the hotter the branding iron gets. The sound of his message being singed upon my heart is painful and sweet at the same time.

He talked to us today about Peter getting out of the boat and walking towards Jesus on the water, but he didn't focus on Peter. Rather, he explored what it may have been like for the others who stayed in the boat. Sure, they were safe. Peter was the only idiot who dared leave the comfort and safety of their vessel...and right in the midst of a raging storm! What was he thinking? True, Peter's journey was cut short by doubt and he went sinking into the violent, black water (only to be saved by Jesus). But, the others never left their seats. "Boat-potatoes," he called them.

While the boat-potatoes surely had a great story to tell, only Peter walked on water (albeit briefly). He took the biggest risk and, therefore, reaped the greatest reward. Since the words leaped from our Pastor's mouth, I've been thinking about my inability to risk in my life. I say 'inability' rather than 'unwillingness' because, while I'm willing to take a leap, I'm not sure which way to jump. It's my fault, I know. Rarely do I take the time to listen. Life has a pesky habit of getting in the way.

So, am I a boat-potato? As of right now, I'd painfully have to answer 'yes.' I'm not proud of it, but I've surely learned to love the comfort of my boat. Yes, it's rocking violently and on the verge of falling apart, but it's my boat. Today's message forced me to step back and take an honest look at the rickety, old dinghy that I've been clinging to. When I'm sitting in it, it's the safest, most secure place I can think of. When I'm looking at it from the outside, it's just a boat, and an ugly one at that.

Armed with a new perspective on my pathetic little raft, I'm eager to leave my boat-potato days behind me so that I may know what it feels like to walk on water. Stay tuned.

World's Worst Teacher

2010-01-09T12:09:00.001-08:00

I have a confession to make. I am absolutely the most horrible teacher on the face of the planet. My oldest, Eden, is five and learning to read in Kindergarten. I had a meeting with her teacher yesterday to talk about whether or not she is prepared to move on to 1st grade. There are some concerns with her ability to grasp reading and math concepts. I knew this, but I wasn't sure how she compared to the rest of her class, until yesterday.

I immediately took her home, pulled out one of our 'emergent reader' books and started drilling her. She, of course, shut down explaining to me that she is trying but just can't remember. Do I comfort her? Slow down? Abandon my "world's most intense teacher" persona? No. I keep pushing her. When our hour-long session was over, she was frustrated with me and I was absolutely at the end of my rope, left in a literal heap of defeat. The whole "nun with a ruler" concept suddenly made sense to me. That's awful, right?

Clearly, I am not trained to teach reading skills and, although I read to my kids constantly, there is a necessary component of patience and understanding that I do not possess. I am so humbled by teachers of young children, especially K-5th grade. I just could not do it, even if my life depended on it.

We've decided a tutor is the best option for Eden because if left to our own devices, my husband and I would turn her completely off to education (because it obviously leads to obsessive, controlling, irrational behavior, as we so aptly demonstrate).

Kudos to all the saintly teachers out there. I do not know how you do it. But I do know that I cannot.

The Songbirds Need Our Help!?!?!?

2010-01-07T10:08:00.000-08:00

I was driving to yoga this morning just as a dull sun started oozing through the blackness. It was Fa-ra-EEZING last night (-10) and still really cold this morning. It snowed yesterday into the night, so the roads were icy and I was sliding a bit, even in my husband's Jeep. I almost didn't get up with the alarm, using the road conditions as an excuse, but then I thought how horrible I'd feel later in the day if I didn't get up and sweat for an hour. Off I went, intent on driving safely, largely in part because my husband doubted my ability to do so this morning. Two hands on the wheel, easing onto the brake as I approached the red light...I was focused, determined and cautious.

"The songbirds need our help this winter," says a voice on the radio. "As our winter storms approach, you can provide our local songbirds with some much-needed nutrition." Immediately, my eye-of-the-tiger resolve flees and I turn up the volume. "The songbirds?" I think to myself. "They need MY help!?!? How selfish of me to never consider the songbirds, especially when it's so cold outside. What will they eat? Where will they go? How will they survive?? WHAT CAN I DO?"

The commercial for a songbird birdseed blend continues to pull on the heartstrings of aviary lovers throughout the Rocky Mountain state (and really, who doesn't love a cute little bird?). Images of shivering and starving birds flash in my mind, their frozen windpipes unable to project the melodious songs for which they are so well known. I picture them flying over my home in search of scraps of food, only to be driven into delirium at the lack of edible forage. Their graceful flight pattern turns to crazy, random darts that pierce the sky...until they ultimately plunge to the ground. And to think, I could prevent this terrible fate!

Rather than navigate the Jeep towards my yoga studio, I thought, "Divert! I must do my part to save the songbirds...pronto!" I almost expected to see brake lights all around me set aglow by the panicked drivers hearing about the plight of these precious birds just as I was. Shouldn't the entire flow of traffic be brought to a sharp halt as we all try to figure out where to purchase this life-saving seed? But, no. The flow of cars on Lincoln St. continued, uninterrupted by anything other than ice patches.

Refusing to be desensitized by the ignorant masses, I quickly swerved into the nearest parking lot, turned the car around and spun off in the direction of my nearest seed retailer. As I was stopped at a red light, a little bird landed on the bus stop bench next to me and began chirping a tune. Well, I thought it was a tune, but then I realized it was a subtle, smug aviary giggle. Slapped back into reality by this surprisingly healthy looking songbird, I turned the Jeep back around and headed straight for yoga, where I spent the next hour mentally slapping myself for falling for the songbird hype.

REWIND <<<<<<
"The songbirds need our help this winter," the voice on the radio says. Seriously? I'm pretty sure the songbirds (along with the non-singing birds) can take care of themselves. And...off I went to yoga.
Note: This was an actual commerical. No kidding. :-)

On Marathons and Mimosas

2010-01-05T15:37:00.001-08:00

I am in the midst of training for my first half-marathon...well, two half-marathons really (which basically means I get credit for a full marathon, right?). The first will take place in Orange County on May 2 and the second in Denver on May 16. Am I a glutton for punishment? Perhaps. Running these two races so close together is either brilliant (I only have to train once) or idiotic (for obvious reasons).

I am running the OC 1/2 with two girlfriends, Candice and Lauren. This was planned during a recent "girls trip" to Arizona. I'm pretty sure the idea surfaced after a few cocktails in the parking lot at the ASU/USC football game. Why else would we think this is a good idea? Don't get me wrong. I love running. But, this is also "girls trip," which typically involves any combination of the following: mimosas, manicures, shopping, late breakfasts, poolside lounging, cupcake eating, people watching. I have a feeling, this upcoming trip is more likely to include a combination of: pacing, stretching, sweating, crying, begging, sleeping. Which would you prefer? This will definitely be more of a goal-oriented trip.

I'm running the second 1/2 with my friend Lisa here in Denver. Basically, we are running so we don't feel guilty indulging in a celebrated post-race champagne brunch. True, we could probably attend the brunch if we skip the race. Realistically, we could even wear our running clothes, run around the block and show up exhausted. It would have the same effect, but there is a bit of shame in that strategy, no? For now, Bellinis and eggs Benedict are indirectly fueling our training.

Speaking of training, I've developed a closer relationship with my knees in the past month than I have over my entire lifetime. Back in high school, a misguided attempt at playing soccer resulted in two things: entry into La Salle High School's Sports Hall of Fame (which isn't really as cool as it sounds because I was the ONLY senior on the team and, therefore, the only player eligible) and a surgery-scarred left knee.

I don't even remember what happened specifically but it probably involved me hurling myself towards an opposing player in an attempt to either distract them, trip them or make them laugh so hard they'd abandon the ball. Whatever my intent, it failed and I ended up a contorted mess on the ground. After surgery, I recovered well but my knee has never felt the same. It's not really painful, but more uncomfortable. During the process of figuring out "why?" I've discovered that my left leg is significantly shorter than my right. Nothing like stumbling upon a surprise physical deformity in your 25th year of life. So, now I wear a lift in my shoe, which really does help make my runs more comfortable.

I never know which knees are going to join me on my training runs. Some days, they are my best friends. Like, to the point of me talking to them: "Thank you so much for feeling so good today. You've made my run so much easier. Let's keep going." Other days, I hit a wall around the 4-mile mark and my body shuts down. Perhaps I will crack the code before my races so that my happy knees show up when I need them. If not, I will most definitely be limping across the finish line (or permanently stopping at a cantina along the way).

A Girl Named 'Tiernan' - What's in a name?

2010-01-04T09:54:00.000-08:00

Had my parents known I'd marry a McKay, they probaby would have named me Concetta, Lucia or Gianna. Tiernan McKay is pretty much the quintessential Irish name, though I don’t have a drop of Irish blood in me (or Welsh blood, which is really where my McKay originates).

On the contrary, my heritage is 100% Italian. My grandparents had a tough enough time pronouncing my name and my great-grandparents gave up altogether. 'Tiernan' is not an easy word for native Italian speakers to pronounce and so, I became 'Terry' to them (come to think of it, they could hardly pronounce Terry...it was more like "Telli."). I would pretty much respond to anything that remotely resembled a "T" sound.

My dad stumbled upon Tiernan in a Dublin phonebook while in Ireland. He thought it was unique, strong and memorable. My mom agreed and so it was. I've spent my entire life s-l-o-w-l-y spelling my name and coming up with witty memory triggers so that people don't have to ask me to repeat it again and again, even though I've met them 10 times before. I can't tell you how many times I've said the following words:

"Think of a tear, like you're crying, and a nun, like you're praying." Although this isn't an entirely accurate description of the phonetics of 'Tiernan,' it gets you close enough, especially if you say it fast. Perhaps my Catholic roots have something to do with this image of a person crying while praying in front of a nun (or maybe the tears came after praying with a nun?). Even though I no longer consider myself Catholic, this explanation has served me well, so I've stuck with it over the years.

The first day of school was always fun when the teachers didn't already know me. During the obligatory roll call, an uncomfortable silence would fall as the teacher's eyes settled on an unfamiliar odd name. Most of the time, I would interrupt their mental wrestling with a quick "Here. Tiernan. Carsia. Here." And then they'd move on.

On the phone, most people think I'm saying Shannon, or Karen or even Helen. I rarely correct them. Doing so would just prolong a conversation that I probably don't want to have in the first place.

I've never considered my name a burden and have often considered how odd it would feel to have a common name like Jennifer or Katie. Not that there is anything wrong with common names. They are popular for a reason, right? In school, kids with more common names were members of a sort of name club, in which you were able to keep the first initial of your last name (Jenny R, Jenny H, Jenny L). It just would have felt strange to me to have a bunch of Tiernans around. I was never Tiernan C...just Tiernan (or "T" to my family).

Today, I know of a few other Tiernans. Mainly from friends of mine who chose the name for their children. I can't get used to seeing updates on their "Tiernans" in cards, on Facebook or even in conversation. I always do a double-take as if saying, "I don't recall attending my first ballet recital in 2009" or "How sweet of so-and-so to adore me so much when I haven't seen them in 15 years."

Alas, the name is not just mine. A pub in San Francisco, a comedian named Tommy, an Irish dancing troop in Idaho, even an international datacasting corporation (whatever that means) all share my moniker. I'm glad to share it, as long as I'll never have to be "Tiernan M." I think I'm safe.

The Middle Place - A Review

2010-01-03T15:12:00.000-08:00

I have a new best friend in Kelly Corrigan, even though I've never met her (and, from what I can deduce from the book, our politics are radically different). In her memoir, The Middle Place, Corrigan perfectly describes the awkward space in which adults exist, between the family they knew growing up and the family they are raising. Her witty and honest writing creates a portrait of home...a portrait so clear that I can almost smell the fresh-cut grass on Wooded Lane and feel the energy of the Corrigan household buzzing in the air.

Although I've never had to endure cancer personally, I expect that Corrigan and I would handle the experience similarly. This wasn't a story about bravely overcoming the disease. She invites us in to share her pain, her doubt and her anger with a pure and genuine candor. The way in which she intertwines her past as a Corrigan and her present as a wife and mother to two young girls helped me understand the complexity of her reality while identifying that same complexity in my own life.

How do we bridge the gap between the comfortable bosom of our childhood and the uncertain existence of adulthood? There's no question that time marches on, but sometimes we are reluctant to join it for fear of losing that connection with the past. Is it possible to merge the two worlds without ostracizing loved ones who did not share the journey? These are just some of the questions that percolated in my mind while I turned the pages.

What better way to proclaim victory over a debilitating disease like cancer than to harness the emotional spectrum it forces you to experience and shape the end product through words. Ultimately, Corrigan asserted her control over the situation simply by sharing her story. I'm on a literary roll because I would definitely recommend this memoir. Enjoy!

Remembering the Eve of the New Year

2009-12-31T16:08:00.000-08:00

My earliest recollection of a New Years Eve celebration includes me, my sister Allie and our cousins Kim and Michelle, walking through the streets of Drexel Hill, PA banging pots and pans and screaming, "Happy New Year!"

As I refresh this memory, I wonder why it was not bathed in the blackness of night but rather, illuminated by the fading light of the early evening. Then, I realize, I was probably six years old and this celebration probably occurred somewhere between 4:30 and 5:30, a good 8 hours before the actual New Year.

Like many of you, watching the Ball drop from Times Square was the highlight of the holiday for as long as I can remember. Most of the time, my mom would wake us up ten minutes before the big moment. We'd struggle to keep our eyes open determined to participate in the countdown and cheer with the revelers on the television, only to crash ten minutes after the ball settled into its final destination.

At some point, I outgrew the Times Square experience and moved on to the Rose Parade route. We lived about 3 minutes from the parade route, and considered New Years Eve our one and only camping trip of the year. It began with a small cluster of kids and their moms (amongst the larger cluster of thousands lining Colorado Blvd in Pasadena), huddled in sleeping bags, playing scrabble, tag or cards while sipping on hot chocolate.

As the years went by, the moms were seldom seen. Tag and cards turned into cruising the route (on foot or by car) or shaving cream fights. The hot chocolate remained but peppermint Schnapps was added (sorry mom and dad...I now realize the error of my ways!). The midnight pinnacle would come and go and sleep was seldom found. Ironically, this whole event was designed to secure the best seats for the parade, but most of us ended up sleeping through the festivities (damn those marching bands!!!).

Oh, to be so motivated!

For the past few years, I've celebrated the New Year on East Coast time (even though I've lived in either Pacific or Mountain time) only because I stubbornly refuse to give up an extra 2-3 hours of sleep. Pretty soon, I'll be celebrating with the Europeans. Although, this year I was especially ambitious...I spent .23 seconds planning a drive to Aspen to see Jane's Addiction this New Years. I quickly realized the utter, ridiculous impossibility of this plan when you throw overnight babysitters into the mix. Forgetaboutit.

Wherever you are, whatever you're doing, enjoy the celebration and hang on to the thoughts that, for most of us, 2010 can only be better....

Seeing Me Naked - A Review

2009-12-31T07:58:00.000-08:00

I realize how crazy the title of this post may seem, but much to the delight of my husband and parents, Seeing Me Naked is the latest novel I've consumed and I'm eager to share a review. I found out about author Liza Palmer from the brilliantly witty two-some of Liz Fenton and Lisa Steinke over at ChickLitIsNotDead.com. They have a Q&A with Palmer posted now. I went to the library to find her new release, A Field Guide to Burying Your Parents, but it wasn't available so I checked out her sophomore novel instead. I'm so glad I did.

First of all, the last three novels I've read have been based in New York City. While I'm sure New York is great, I am a California girl at heart and was excited to see that Palmer and I grew up in the same area, Pasadena, California. Seeing Me Naked sporadically takes place in Pasadena and I felt an odd solace in this. I connected with the main character, Elisabeth Page, and understood the nuances of the area, the lifestyle to which she refers and the geographic references. Of course this isn't necessary to enjoy the read, it just helped me connect to it on another level.

Given the title of the book (and the cover photo), you may think you know what it's about, but you don't. In Elisabeth Page, Palmer skillfully creates a lovable and talented character on a journey to define her own success independent of her famous (and pretentious) family. Just when she thinks she will never be good enough, her life takes an unexpected turn that enables her to explore options she never thought possible, both professionally and personally. Rather than striving to control every aspect of her life, Elisabeth now has an opportunity to let go of her critical ways and let down her guard. This new-found vulnerability takes her to a better place, where she values her own unique skills, lets go of her family's expectations and stripes down to reveal the real Elisabeth.

Palmer is funny, authentic and honest. She leaves the reader wondering if the walls and other protective mechanisms we've established in our lives are keeping us from experiencing true joy. I highly recommend this novel.

Goodbye, Mini-Van.

2009-12-29T17:20:00.001-08:00

We sold our mini-van today. I just watched it turn the corner with its new owners happily in the midst of at least seventeen cup holders. My audible sigh of relief surely reached to the far corners of the earth as the heavy label of suburban soccer-mom lifted from my shoulders, revealing minor indentations but no permanent damage.

How Did It Come to This?
We bought that mini-van about two years ago, in spite of my kicking and screaming. Eventually, I succumbed to reason, realizing that there are only a handful of automobiles capable of comfortably transporting three child car-seats, the parental units attached to those car-seats, and the occasional guest or two. The monstrous Suburban that preceded the mini-van proved to be logistically suitable, but my back began to wince at the thought of hurling the kids/infant carrier into the colossal seats, which seemed to get higher and higher with every journey.

When we went to test drive “mini,” my husband had to pry me out of the car. I couldn’t believe I was “going there.” I had already found myself smack dab in the middle of the suburbs and now this!? Growing up, my mom was the proud owner of a navy blue Dodge Caravan (it even had its own family theme song: “We’ve Got the Whole World in Our Van”). I think it was one of the first mini-van models on the road. Although we did have some fun journeys, I vowed to never drive a mini-van when I was around fourteen.

Like other reluctant van-drivers, I too decided that the automatic sliding doors, easily accessible seats, spacious interior, DVD player (with headsets so I don’t have to hear Dora a gazillion times a day!) and plethora of cup-holders were worth the shot to my ego. It just made sense, especially since our kids are so young and still need help buckling their seat belts (which means I need to scale whatever seats are in the back to make sure everyone is secure). Bottom line: I drove it and I liked it. There. I said it. And, I actually found the ridiculous number of cup holders quite useful.

Au Voir, Mini
In the seven years my husband and I have been married, we’ve owned TWELVE different cars, so maybe it was easy to say “yes” to mini in the first place because I always knew her stay would be short and sweet. A few weeks ago, I could see it in his eyes. Another vehicle was on the horizon. Click. Click. Click. Mini was now officially listed on autotrader.com and we were prepared to usher her onto her new owners with no remorse or regret.

Shockingly (or not), mini-vans are in high demand! Everyone interested in mini seemed to be living the exact life we were living when we first purchased her. We could see the prospective buyers coming from miles away. Lots of little kids trailing behind frazzled parents searching for a sensible and safe automobile that would survive the Colorado snow and ensure sanity on long trips. Of course, the mileage, condition and maintenance records are secondary to the DVD player, (wipe-able) leather seats and countless CUP HOLDERS!

Today, we cleaned out the remnants of fruit snacks, juice boxes and crayon pieces and handed the keys to those frazzled parents who loaded up a new batch of car seats and proceeded to populate the seats with their own brood. I could just imagine mini saying, “here we go again.” And off they went.

Now What?
So now the hunt begins. My husband loves this part. It gives him license to pour over tons and tons of web sites perusing the Internet for the next great deal. Now that two of our three children are in booster seats and can buckle their own safety belts, the sliding doors and accessible back row have lost their luster. I’ve paid my mommy-dues and now I’m ready to move on from the obligatory mini-van stage. Maybe #13 will stick around for a while (maybe not). Either way, I look forward to seeing what pulls up to our house. And the first thing I’ll do is count the cup holders.

Urban Meyer - The Mentor Lives On

2009-12-27T09:35:00.000-08:00

The majority of men in his position would toil on, regardless of health concerns or an impossible schedule that takes them away from their families. Dream jobs don't come easily. As a highly successful college football coach, most men would justify sticking it out even in the face of off-the-field adversity. Yesterday, Urban Meyer, coach for the University of Florida Gators, shocked the sports world by announcing that he would be stepping down from the helm of the fifth ranked team in the country.

Perhaps the best response I've seen to this decision came from Meyer's 18-year-old daughter who said, "I get my daddy back." I'm sure Meyer could not hope for sweeter words, which also serve to validate what must have been a very difficult decision. "I saw it as a sign from God that this was the right thing to do," Meyer told The Times of his daughter's reaction. "I was worried about letting people down. I was feeling so awful and concerned about my health. That was among several other signs that said it's time to back away."

He names health concerns (specifically a heart-valve defect) as his main reason for leaving his coaching position, but it is reported that his concerns are not life-threatening. Walking away at this point in his career clearly demonstrates his priorities: family and faith. His commitment is a rare example of striving for excellence in life, not just in the limelight. In an official statement, Meyer mentions the fact that he has been mentoring young men for 20+ years. What better way to continue his mentoring but through his courageous and selfless decision.