Friday's little things: Dancing in the rain.

So the world is no stranger than it has been. Crude Oil dipped under $100/barrel, but it still costs me $78.00 to fill up my car in the suburbs. Lehman Bros needs some brotherly love our some strategic buyouts to stay a float. Matt Damon is cracking me up with his words on Palin like, "Do the actuariy tables..." (on the likelihood of a presidential expiration) or "I need to know, I do, does she really believe that dinasours were here 4000 years ago...I need to know....'Cause she's gonna have the nuclear codes." To see it, click Here. It is Absurd. What else? Ike is going to try an swallow Galveston. Governmental Oil agencies were riding the snow-train with hookers and other Sheik-like behaviors. Sheeeesh.

Today is gray and cloudy and damp. It was like many days. Make breakfast for the mini, dress for class, return all emails...etc. But this morning was peculiar and sideways. We had a lovely poop accident where my three year old grabbed a nugget off the floor with her bare hands. She then slide in the number 4-style, directly into a corner in our kitchen due to newly oiled wood floors and brand new ballet tights, and somehow we spent twenty minutes looking for my keys. Needless to say, I was a mother-beast of fury and rushing words like: "move it, love we're late!" and "walkah walkah walkah." (also can double for a 70's porn music imitation) and "Gooooooo!"

Yet, just as we stepped outside into the rain she stopped me and said: "Mama. Don't be mad. We can dance." Truer words have never been spoken at a more prudent time. Dance we did. I am now frizzy haired and much calmer. The wisdom and resilience of a three year old is priceless. So is this picture.

If nothing else today find your little thing. Dance in the rain. Kiss in the sun. Laugh until you spit-take. Hold hands. Dive roll into the living room. Call that girl/guy you want to see. Thank the people you love. Just take a minute to be fully aware of the beauty in things that make you feel good, free and without care. You deserve it. We all need it. The rest can wait for a single minute to make you crazy.

Happy Friday....I hope you dance.

Princess yawns, smuggles lemons into bed.

This is not going to turn into a site about my child, but this first day of July started so sweetly...I would normally be annoyed that my 3-yr old woke up at 5:30am, but because she lit up the monitor with a gusty and relieved: "AAAAAAAhhhhhhh" with perfect princess tone and inflection, I was tickled.

I went to get her and she did it again, this time with arm-stretching, fake yawn movements. I threw the window shade open to let the sunlight beam through and sparkle off of her pink and green walls. "White Rabbits! White Rabbits! White Rabbits!" I said. (This is a superstition that I keep. They must be the first words from your mouth, on the first day of the month, to ensure great luck.)

"NO! Lemons!" she screams with a smile. "What? I said white rabbits." I say with a hand on my hip (conversations we have could fill a loony bin)

"Lemons! Lemons! Lemons!" she reiterates while pulling back her bed covers. And there they were. This little girl had 3 plastic decorative lemons in her bed. I have no idea how, I have no idea why, but in the land of toddlers and my child...it makes sense.

"Obviously, what was I thinking?" I say.

"You thought white rabbits silly mommy, its just me and lemons." she clarifies.

Other hilarious things my mini is saying:

"Bizzerk" = Dessert. ie: "Can I have some bizzerk?"

"Prackissing" = Practicing. ie: "You can't clap now! I'm just prackissing!"

"Barak Omama" = You get it. Anytime his name is on the news...she stops what she is doing and yells "BARAK OMAMA!" then tucks her chin, tilts her head and waits with a wry smile for someone to laugh.

And July begins.

I made this.....Just saying.

There is a lot going on this week. McClellan and Bush are full trough into a pissing contest. NY is considering gay marriage as early as next month. Crude prices are falling. The market had a good run for a day(or two). United and US airways will dance a little today. The new iPHONE is coming. SATC is OUT tomorrow. Ashley Simpson is pregnant. Sydney Pollack died.


And I care, about all of it really. More than any of you actually know. I am a vat of useless news from Brazilian IPO's to who was running around Chateau Martmont without undies..its perplexing really. Yet, here in my own little world, I am amused and bewildered by "my mini." I have done many cool things in my life. None even come close in comparison. This little monster says the funniest things. This week, my favorites are:



"Musegick" instead of Music. - At any given time in my house someone will break into a reiterated version of the Rihanna song. We sing: "Please don't stop the MUSE-GICK, Please don't stop the MUSE-GICK....MUSE-GICK....MUSE-GICK"


"Bisney" instead of Disney.

"Mama? You kiss too big. Yuck."

All in the same breath (this is a great example of apple falling/tree analogy):
"I DO IT! Help me mama. Don't touch me! Plllllease? You do it k? NO. I'm a big girl! It's too hard, I can't dooooo it. Watch me. I did it! Now what?"


"Sweeeeet... that's awe-some!" I got this one from merely skipping back from the park with her on my back.


I know I'm arguably a little sideways, and maybe even over-sexed at times. One thing that is never up for question, is my love for this little person who changes the way I see our twisted, scary world. I may have made mistakes, maybe I over-analyze, over-share, over compensate, but I am overwhelmed with love and pride in her.


Say what you will, but I have one well-adjusted, funny and happy child. I don't know what that says (I really, actually, do) but it says something.

Please don't. My inability to receive: A mother's confession and gratitude.

I am the first to admit that accepting ANYTHING is an elusive feat for me. I don't ask for help, I am firm believer of the "I will get to you on my own" instead of the "pick me up at the airport" mode of visits and travel. Worst of all: I LOVE to give gifts, compliments and help, but I cannot receive any of them well.

I don't really wear jewelry. I wear a wedding band,the same stud earrings, and a sport watch. That's it. I think accessories are beautiful, and can make an outfit, I just don't care enough to plan it all out.... on a daily basis. Don't get me wrong, I love beautiful (and even expensive things) but my fashion tastes change by the minute, so who's tellin' what I would like by 3:00. Let alone, tomorrow.

I cringe at the anticipation from the GIVER as I open or accept a gift. I am always worrying that their feelings might get hurt if I don't seem overly pleased. I don't fake anything well. All too many times I have seen a giver wince at the site of my face upon discovering the latest necklace attempt or sweater purchase.

The kicker is that I really DO NOT have any expectations. I have so much, and there are so many who don't. I have a genuine appreciation for a hand-written card, or a "thank you" or the fact that the people in my life haven't run away screaming with the chaos that is Lulu, is enough. More than enough.

I am the farthest thing from ungrateful, it isn't that at all. I am just painfully aware of how impossible I am, therefore it's better to just avoid it. In fact, I feel like it must be some kind of a burden released for all people in my life.

Right now, I can tell you ( and mean it) I don't need a birthday present, I don't want a mother's day gift, I will most likely buy my own Christmas presents, and I appreciate thoughtfulness that is spontaneous and without guilt or some societal need to present something to someone because everyone else is. Humph.

My sister and I were laughing hysterically today considering where the hell it came from. Is it learned? Is it due to an extreme and excessive amount of disappoints that we would rather negate that emotion by hoping no one ever really tries? Or are we deep-down keeping the hope alive because someone, somewhere will nail it on the head?

My closest friends and family have given up completely(with the exception of my mother), and without fail I get the spa-card that says: "Its you, who knows, here goes." or they keep it simple (chocolate,books, cheap cheesy gag gifts..etc). I love the little things. It works. This is me, I am a-typical. I still don't have a wedding album, I didn't have a baby shower,I don't enjoy shopping, and people have made my week with the right words, or something as small as chocolate chip cookie...

I don't have the answers. I admire those women and men who can accept a gift graciously. I truly do. There is something so beautiful in a person who possesses the art of receipt. I am not one of them. I am imperfect...but you already knew that.


Happy Mother's day to my friends, my mother, and to the women in the world that sacrifice, balance, and are profoundly purposeful every day, through example, survival and most importantly; love. It is a sometimes impossible, thankless job that never ends. Thank you....collectively all of you, for being and doing the best you can, today and everyday.


To my mother: I thank you for watching my countless (and horrible) impromptu dance shows, or act-outs. I thank you for always telling me how the world works in the precocious stages. I thank you for the sleepless nights, the lonely years, and most importantly, the gift of life.

Now, go out there and receive with the best of them!!! I will stay here and watch thinking: "phew....Thank God that wasn't me. I hate emeralds."

The "Burden" of Choice.

....Cross-posted from Chicago Moms Blog.

A month ago, I was in a third interview with a reputable firm. I had made my way to the EVP and the Director of marketing. We started the negotiation of flex-time -at least 1 day from home.I didn't get the job. The consolation phrase was: "We'd hire you today if you could do 5 days a week." Fair enough. I get it. But then the man said(empathetically): "Funny? You never hear about men having to argue a case explaining their devotion to their career AND family.That is the burden of choice, I guess." I will reiterate that sentiment for emphasis; those were his words, not mine.

I smiled, shook hands, and walked out....pissed. After further consideration I wondered if there might be some marginal truth in that statement? Women before me worked tirelessly, and often without accolades to reserve the right of title to modern day's "Supermom". I don't want to deep dive into the social and highly debatable issues of it all. Today...it's just a personal story of choice, fear, and the great unknown.

Monday, I officially announced my departure from my current day-job, where I am able to work a flex schedule.I was lucky as the client's request for my return after having my daughter gave me leverage to do so. It's a strange thing, endings. I was once coined: "The Velvet Hammer" by co-workers. I feel a little loss of that identity. My job required a graceful balance between being accommodating and hard-to-break. I was good at it. I am good at it. I just feel a changing wind, and decided to listen to my instincts and seek something different. I have been constantly twisting and bending my hopes both professional and maternal, to find a fit. I didn't sleep so well thinking about everything. Rationally, I know that raising children is one of the single most important things I can ever do, especially in today's world. I also know(cringe/squint) that I am not one of those women innately born to be a stay-at-home mother.

I feel like I am standing at the bottom of a set of diving board stairs. A huge staked sign says: "Caution, no lifeguard." Each board represents a climb to something: staying home full-time (which, if I'm being honest, scares me; it was HARD the first 8 months. I tried it), full-time career, and the diminished and hard-to-find part-time options in my industry. Each diving board is a leap into the unknown. There is a inverse correlation to all the things I find important, no matter which one I scale and stand on.

More than anything, I struggle with the blessings I was afforded by my late father. I feel wasteful. He was a self-made man, born in Tanzania. He started out wearing a hard-hat in oil fields, and paid his way through university in England.He then worked his way to a very comfortable life for our family. I didn't really want for anything; he provided. I didn't pay for my college; he did. Somehow, he managed to instill a work ethic in me, not always seen in my prep-school friends and other privileged peers. He was a bit of a hero in my eyes. His goal was always to allow for opportunity, yet he was a callous business man, too. His words to me were, "Never depend on a man or his bank account, you never know when either one will run out of what you need." It was a harsh mantra for a young girl, but the things we hear in formidable years are hard to unlearn. Not shockingly, I am perhaps a little callous and a little independent, sometimes to a fault.

So here I am, racked with guilt. Wanting to "do more" with my life. Hoping to stay an intensive part of my daughter's upbringing, yet also hoping to set an example for her, and forthcoming options she may have. I really do try to balance all these conflicting wants and needs while smiling and keeping the family satisfied, okay, alive and fed. Eeek.

Which brings me back to that word "burden": There is no clear path for me. We can afford for me NOT to work.(boo-hoo, I know). So finding another similar job isn't necessary, but it's an option. My husband actually appreciates and pushes me to explore my own business ideas and is open to "Whatever makes sense for me." That's an option. Staying home...it's an option. Like I said before, I sound frivolous and ungrateful. I am not. I am very aware of my circumstances and surprisingly, like all things worth having...it is hard.

In my case, I recognize it's a great problem to have. I am stuck in over-analysis paralysis right now faced with the conundrum of not squandering the choices, yet somehow figuring out how to let that very concept of choice work for me, instead of against me. Here's hoping!

Hormonal imbalance leads to kiss attack.

Boundaries have always been a debatable issue with me. I blog. (hint #1). My two year old and I were showering at the gym and she commanded: "Wiggle mommy, you're naked!" and I obeyed (hint #2)....only to have her say: "Ok-ay. Don't wiggle. It's not nice, momma." Ouch. So it goes with the moment-to-moment commentary of a toddler's honesty.

I will give it up. I am hormonal today. ( perhaps why I sniffled at the sneak-ads for Idol Gives back show). Maybe I am needing some affection, maybe it's a mother's instinct, maybe I'm emotional because Anderson Cooper got voted 3rd on Out.com's "power 50", but today as my daughter was waking up from her nap...I couldn't help myself. I wanted to make out with her. Yep. That's what I said. Guffaw, go ahead.

"Make out" is a term I'm using loosely. It just happens to be the only way to describe what grandmas all over the world mean when they say: "I could just eat you up." Seriously. She was so cozy, so cute, so bright-eyed and pure-hearted. She smells like strawberries, Ritz crackers and a tinge of outside-sweaty-boy. I inhaled deeply and filled with smother-mother love. I wanted to grab the back of her neck and kiss her silly. I did (appropriately, I may add) and she squirmed and giggled every minute of it. How could you not?!

I'm not complaining, this kind of hormonal influx could mean tears, tantrums, or even (and believe it or not-I have been known to do it) fight-baiting. An involuntary kiss-attack on a little girl I made, and spend every day of my life loving, ain't a bad outlet.

Love, kisses, toddler cheeks and happiness. Its days like this that make me so grateful I have her, and at peace that she has no questions, not even a lilliputain doubt about the multitude of love and value she has.

**cue the AIDS babies and African orphans on tonight's American IDOL show...hugging stars, and swatting at flies**

I'm bracing for a weepy (and quite possibly expensive) evening. Go spread some love!

AUTISM: The Musical on HBO. Don't miss it!

AUTISM: The Musical is a profoundly engaging documentary following families with children on the Autism spectrum as they prepare for a musical. (They are actually part of the conceptualizing and writing process).As a mother, it both breaks my heart and puffs it up to watch and learn how incredible these children and their parents are. The lens with which the movie shows you the intimate lives of several of the families allows for an honest look at what has too often been a taboo.

I am no expert, I have no psychology degree, I don't even have a school-aged child yet. (she is two) I am absolutely certain someone, somewhere else could describe it all more clinically, from a broader perspective and a deeper general knowledge of the subject matter; but this is how I saw it, this is how it made me feel...

Each of the kids have their own personal challenges, for some it is groups, or articulating original thought in verbal words. In one of the more emotional scenes for me, a young boy self-assess by saying: "Why do I go into my own world? I, I sometimes need friends, friends that can't be mean..." There is an inner conflict of rational self-awareness where he seems to question himself as an outsider and a human kindness that encourages him to be accepting. It was stunning.

Another point in the movie one of the mothers goes into a rightful rant about how she can't make people VALUE her daughter. She says:

"Until these humans are valued, nobody's going to find a cure, nobody's going to take the chemicals out of the vaccines, nobody's gonna make the school system follow the law, nobody's going to make the doctor's follow the law, nobodys going to give us insurance....I can't make them value her."

( um...this was one of the heartbreak moments..)

I felt so compelled to watch the entire thing. Hell, I have watched it three times since it premiered on HBO. I can't NOT watch it when I pass it on the guide. I suggest you don't either. Unfortunately, I think Autism is one of those things people don't really pay attention to unless it falls within a decent degree of separation. That is a shame.

I have a healthy, fully functioning child (I'm sure I didn't say that properly) and I feel nothing but compassion and genuine interest in this. If you have a child, plan on having a child, have a heart beat or breathe air, see the movie, fall in love with these kids and learn that each have an incredibly unique take at it all. It's as if they each absorb the world through different mediums, in different languages and each has his or her own beauty generator. The outcome is an interpretation that they understand and we need to learn, if we would take the time.

It is human, it is real, and it is affecting people ( 1:150). Again, I am no expert. I have no ties to either the movie or the organization. As a mother, as a friend to other mothers, as a human moved beyond description by a 2 hour documentary about kids I will never know, I think in the very least, I can help spread awareness.

Click here to learn more about Autism at Autism Speaks
To learn more about the movie AUTISM:The Musical:
Click Here

(This post is cross-posted at Chicago Moms Blog )

Per usual...I just threw a curve ball. Especially if you got here by recent searches of "Neon nut-thong" or "Anderson mounts Erica". A blog about sex, music, mistakes and all kinds of TV triviality brings you this. I may be a bit nutty, but my heart has to send this sentimental ping of love and help out in the only way I know how. Least we forget, I am infamous for poor timing, irony and ill-matched topics. It is what brings you back.

You never know what you're gonna get. Tonight you get love and Autism. Who knows what tomorrow will bring!

Her she comes! Spring sprouts some double entendres.

Today had a high of 55 degrees. Here in Chicago, that means the teenage girls bust out there sleeveless shirts and mini skirts, people in throws come out to run in their spandex and under armour, and all us child-rearing suburbanites rush out to the parks. My little one broke the new season in with a bloody lip when she body-checked a nine year old while racing up a park ramp to the "bumpy" slide.


Whatever, it's my life. I don't judge that you sit around eating cereal on your couch with no responsibilities complaining about the lack of good TV and your singledom. I want your life. You can sleep all day, or drive to the beach on a whim. Although on a sunny warm day like today, I love mine. But I digress.

We spent an hour doing "outside things". Throwing the ball. (She has my gun) and playing soccer. (she does not have finesse yet, re: first paragraph). We decided to look around some of our tulip beds and low and behold! We saw a sprout. It looked a little like a candy corn, or a phallus. It inspired me to come up with some inappropriate ways to describe it to people...because, well, I love inappropriate. I swim in it. More stories on that later.

Here goes:

"Holy dirt, it is poking right out of that soiled mess."

"Just wait, that little bud will grow a few inches, change colors and have veins."

"Oh wow! I can feel the tip! Feel it!? "

"It happened so fast, I barely noticed. I got the hoe out, and I noticed it popped up."

"With a little sunshine and love, this little bulb will open right up and spread."

And so it goes. Spring is a time for good vibes, the return of pollination and exciting plant sex.

Get out there and enjoy the mood nature sets!

----Comments----
(I added this b/c it was too good to get lost in the inconvenience of having to open up a new window)
March 14, 2008 3:17 PM - Marcus wrote:

That about covers all the bases. I got nothing.Well...ok. I can never resist this game:
"I'm gobsmacked...you've been able to produce quite a large pistil for such a small stamen. I don't think my container can accommodate that big of a root."

You go ahead...I'll meet you up there...later.

Life has a peculiar way of lining your road of whatever it is, with signs of where you have have been and signals to where you might go. Most of the journey we have our heads down counting each step, measuring it against the next guy. There are little forks in the road we take alone, so we keep our heads up with blind belief in ourselves or risk-seeking destructive behavior. No matter which path we choose,there are little blinking lights, arrows and perhaps even huge detour signs reflecting at us: "Wrong way" or "Bucks Crossing" or "No passing". Usually I ignore them. Lately, I am highly attentive.

I have a feeling my road signs are saying all sorts of proclamations of caution or fear-based warning, but I moving slowly in order to react. I am really just enjoying where I am. Parenthood, for example is hard. Really hard, but it has a cyclical flow to it. There are points where you truly believe if you have to unhook your nursing bra one more time, your entire soul will be sucked out of you and you will roam the earth with those dark-tortured apparitions from Ghost. But then there are times like now, when my two-year old says incredibly funny things. Like: "Mommy, you look like a monkey. I love monkeys. They swing." She has thoughts of her own, and she puts her hands on her hips (mirroring me).

Don't get me wrong. I love children. I really think I greatly dislike babies. Even my own. They are merely little sacks of need. I saw a best friend leaving the hospital last night and I think: "Jesus, she wont sleep for more than three-consecutive hours for the next four or five months" and I shiver.

I get to hand mine a sippy-cup instead of my boob.

I can say: "What is your problem? I think you need to get a grip or no cookie." to mine. She will spend weeks trying to learn which cry means what. No negotiation.

Mine says: "Tickle the bottom of my back, NOT the top, mama." I giggle at her lack of need to read: "Miss Bossy".

My friend will break her own back trying to figure out how best to bounce the crying infant while saying "sh.sh.sh." and running tap water and simulating a swing movement standing up while trying to sleep. Eek.

I know somewhere along my road, I want to bring another mini-me into the world. There is something beautiful in growing a family, watching those little wrinkly whimpering time-suckers turn into enchanting better versions of ourselves, but man is it hard. That is a road you can't run through, it runs you through, and it is long and up hill.

For now, I will stand on her sidelines and throw Gatorade, cheers, and maybe give her a piggy-back for a few miles here and there.

As for me...I will adopt a one-year old, or wait until I forget some more. We can't all be brave.

Grammy no see.

First off, I am besides myself for not having seen the Grammy Awards. I truly have no idea how it played out, and in spite of my frustration with America's obession with rehab starlets, I was morbidly curious to see Amy Winehouse. Damnit.

That said, I wont be complaining too much as I had a love fest over the Pacific ocean. One might consider my journey to seem exhausting. My 2 year old, husband, 5 bags ( I cant pack light) and myself boarding a plane to Hawaii. Right at the climactic moment of take off, I heard an alarm go off in the cock pit. Did I panic with fear? No. I panicked at the thought that we would be grounded on the tarmack. I hate my intuition. We sat for three hours staring down an eight hour and eighteen minute flight.

Behind me was a couple who had been married for 59 years . MARRIED. I don't know anybody who has done anything other than BREATHE consecutively for 59 years. Let alone, be attached. It was amazing. The Lesbian couple to my side, and the stinky, overly drunk dude fuming of onions and taxi cab in my kitty corner. So it goes. About the love fest...

My daughter was a dream. Not the kind of well-behaved scale of she didnt throw anything or scream at the top of her lungs...I mean we snuggled. We talked, we laid together we watched Dora, we dined and drank. It was unbelievable. Almost as if she knew we were heading to something better ( the tempeture change including windchills was about an 80 degree difference). Maybe there is something about a voyage, maybe Bill Murray was right in "Lost in Translation" when he said: "One day..they learn to walk and talk and they become the most delightful people you will ever meet." She had been up since 6:am Chicago time, and didn't get a chance to sleep until 1:00am the next morning ( which was 9pm here). My little trooper.

I have no great review of an award show, I have nothing funny or insightful to say about today's commercialzed quota-filling for music, or Kanye's wins, Joni Mitchell's instrumental nod, or brag about the fact that I saw Herbie Hancock live in a small venue in Sydney....All I can say is:

Mahalo. The greatest journey, the stuff people write and sing songs that win awards about can be on going, but its fruiation will pop up (like on an airplane) and remind you how far you have come. Mine, was a little girl who happens to be an extension of myself returning my love-investments in spades!

Taylor Swift crosses over!

No, I don't mean she has Epsom salts and voodoo dolls. She was on the VH1 Top 20 today. I actually like country music ( pause for boo's). "Tear Drops on my guitar" (pop-single) has been tweaked to careen like a flat-bed ford into mainstream. It is about a sweetheart from what? Grade School? Its sweet. Drew. Good name. In any event the tempo is picked up, its less twangy and whiny, and definitely more breathy...PERFECT!

I can guarantee that my 2 year old daughter and I will be belting this song out on the radio on our commercialized drives to and from the gym, grocery, and other fun outings. It got me thinking, all the top songs, are songs that my toddler can sing (within reason). What does that say about pop standards? An easy hook, repetitive words, that's all you need. I don't know, but here are the songs I am talking about:

"Sweet Escape" - Gwen Stafani: "Wooo Hoooo, Yeeeeee Whoooooo!"

"Umbrella" - Rhiannon: Toddler-favorite: "El-la, El-la, Eh, Eh, Eh...."

"Big Girls Don't Cry" - Fergie : My kiddo actually sang this to me unprompted one morning when I dropped a can on my foot.

"Hey there Delilah" - Plain White T's: "Ohhhhh what you do to meeeeeeee"

"No One" - Alicia Keyes - She actually shakes her head and sways her index finger from side to side.

In fact, these songs work so well, that someone is cashing in on it: "KIDZBOP" converts any mature words or drops them completely. Same music. Less guilt. It's actually a great option for parents. Selling out as a music lover just got easier: http://www.kidzbop.com/music After all, who will judge you? You are doin' it for the kids! If you are parent or know a parent...this is a great gift idea. Trust me. It beats the alternatives!

What happened to good pop music that a grown adult couldn't sing? Let alone a toddler. Lyrics meant something. Songs were unpredictable. Like, lets say: We Didn't start the fire". Now, that was fun...I bet I spent hours pressing play and pause on a tape recorder to write down, and memorize those lyrics.

PS: I DON'T want a piece of Britney. I think she needs to find some peace in a padded room until she is 30.

Sunny Winter Day Nap

I used to believe that people who took naps in the middle of the day were boring, or old. This was before I had a child of my own. This was before I realized that the luxury of sleep would and could only be truly appreciated when it wasn't a choice. Even when my daughter was only months old, I tried not to sleep during the day, claiming it would leave me groggy, or that "I didn't need it." Pfft.

There is something about a good day-time nap that realigns the microcosm of your world. Let's your brain and heart rest from the daily grind of processing and feeling things. It allows for space to slide through the stress and judgement of what we could be doing and make room for what we will do and have done.

Today I took a good nap. Lying on my side, face lightly smooched into the back of the couch, with my knees stacked on one another. The wave of rest and the warmth of my body generates and recirculates under the throw blanket I am holding. It is tucked under my chin. The sun pierces through the cold air and freezing breeze to beam into the windows. It spills light all over me, casting shadows over the shape of everything. Shadows I choose not to look at, but rather imagine in my mind. They are there, and my not witnessing doesn't make them less so.

It was the kind of nap that leaves you feeling like the cover of Carol King's "Tapestry" album. The type of mood that reminds me of being young, and taken care of like the smell of warm chocolate chip cookies that are not quite circular because they were made with real flour, mixed in a bowl, shaped and dropped from a spoon. Real, authentic, inherintly deserved safety and calm. I think how lovely it is that my child feels this way, every day, napping in her big-girl bed upstairs.

Simple indulgence comes in many forms. Mine was a small space on a sunny strip of the couch during a blistery boring winters day.

Keep it Simple:

Yesterday was the kind of Chicago day where the sky hangs over your brow, the grey seeps into your skin, and before you can say: "gloom" you have morphed with the weather. In an attempt to heighten our spirits, I turned up the music in the car. Natasha Beddingfield and Sean Kingston and their sugar-pop, commercialized song did the trick. Judge me, go ahead....It's catchy.

My two year old screams from the back: "Turn it up mommy! This is fun!" and it was. In the time it takes to bop your head and sing off key to the radio, we were out of the dangers of bummy moods.It got me thinking....Remember when being happy and having fun was simple?

It didn't depend on external factors of who is going to call, or not call, or work troubles materializing and dissipating, it didn't hang largely in the balance of someone else, or worse, the perception other people had of us. It was pure. It was simple. It was very present in every moment. One by one.

Things I remember finding pure joy in:
- Eating ice cream and getting sticky filthy
- Playing "Marco, Pollo" and the smell of chlorine all over me.
- Handstands
- Skidding out on a BMX bike ( I was a tom-boy)
- Finding a note in your cubby that said: "I like you"
- Roller skating
- Waking up on a day with no school
- Walking barefoot in grass, sand, mud...etc
- Trampolines
- Conquering mini-fears

All too often it takes a near star-alignment, incredible happenstance, or tragic disaster for us to truly revel in the gifts we have. The innate right we hold to breathe, and choose our mind's state. Maybe, just for the sake of drilling down to basics, perhaps only for a few minutes....Let the idea resonate. Think of two or three "little" things your childhood self found pleasure in. Try and fit a variation of it in today. It can do wonders.

I double-dog super dare you!

Escalator Face Plant

If the word "personally productive" was used to describe my morning so far, it would be an understatement. I have managed to sleep in ( until 7am), wrangle a toddler into dressing, eating and going to the gym with me. My only concession- she got to wear ski-boots all day, everywhere. We then ran three errands, and drove to the mall. (ugh).

Once at the mall, I could feel my skin begin to tighten and slowly crawl back toward the entrance. We walked past the piano playing in the department store. The sounds of Christmas music serenading all the sleeping 73 yr old patrons hunched in chairs with smokey grey coats, furry hoods, and ortho-shoes on. (I'm sorry. Its an accurate description, and you know it!)My child actually pointed and said : "Look, mommy, he's sleeping" It was a woman. C'est la vie. I have to shop. No apologies.

We stopped by the school band playing "Drummer boy" and "Frosty the Snowman" on the upper level, right next to the coffee cart. Her attention stayed as long as my tolerance for children (who are not mine) poorly playing anything-let alone Christmas music. I quickly darted her into yet another over-priced children's boutique to look for holiday dresses. At this point, I am carrying the following things:

-her coat
-my coat
-my diaper bag/purse (gross)
-her new socks
-her new shoes
-HER.

Ladies and Gentleman- I am officially a middle America suburban cliche.

We leave ( with a dress) as quickly as we came. I am in full forced get-me-out-of-here-speed as we approach the escalator. I am trying to watch the mound of bags to ensure nothing falls over, or gets stuck in the "moving parts" that I didn't notice my sweet little girl's face looking up at the two-story tree, not to the sliding hand rail divider.

"BUMMMMMMMMFF!" Her nose smashes into the synthetic, germ ridden black acyclic railing. It keeps moving, taking her poor smooched face with it. Our hands unlock because I am still moving forward and up. I let go of the bags, jump down in the opposite direction and swoop up my child (and all her shock from the pain) in less than a second. The silent, breath-holding stare is always a preeminent warning of what is to come. And it does. She belts her best visceral yelp for all the mall to hear.

While calming her, and trying not to laugh at my mind's replay of the event, I look over her shoulder at the bags hanging and falling down the escalator. People are annoyed. I don't care. Poor thing. I realize in that moment, I am pret-ty hard to keep up with. For anyone, let alone a mini-person just trying to see a Christmas tree. In that moment, I wished I could be the one that got the face plant. Not her. She was just along for the ride. What choice does she have?

I do.... Have a choice: to SLOW DOWN this holiday season. Jimanee(sp?) Christmas! I will.

Pride and compassion

As a parent, you "get" that you are going to feel pride. You learn it's an ever-evolving depth of scale with each new feat. I remember screaming out loud when my daughter first laughed at nine months old. I recall doing a triple fist-pump when she first walked to me the week before her first birthday. The day she said "mama" my heart tripled in size in two syllables.

What I didn't truly anticipate was the pride I would feel when I witnessed the capacity of her heart. Sure, she had cried with honest remorse after hurting "fatty" our cat. Sure, she had given numerous hugs on cue when I was there to lead her to it. But today....she owned her own compassion.

The gym I belong to has an elevated track that opens out onto the actual basketball courts. All the elliptical machines, and weight training devices are on this second floor. During certain hours the children from the on-site day care are released to play and run. Every few visits I actually walk over to the ledge to see if she is in there. More often than not, I recognize her high-pitched screech and laughter over the music and clanking weights.

Today I watched her. I always find it so inspiring to watch my child play when she can't see me. The joy, and innocence in her trying new things, or discovering new skills sets. She was chasing a gaggle of older children ( 3 and 4 yr olds) from one side of the court to the other with no aim or direction to the game, except to scream and stomp.

Off to the side a 4 year old boy broke into tears. She didn't notice at first, but then stopped and walked to him. She approached him concerned and fast. She even bent down to meet his eyes with hers. I only saw the back of her head, but it tilted as if to say: "whats wrong?". I was frozen in awe. She backed away, and I thought she was surely going to run away as fast as she came to him, join the girls again. But she didn't.

Instead, she spun around and sat her tiny bottom about six inches from his. He continued to cry, and I was disappointed for an instant that I thought she would lose interest. Her face stayed focused on him. I saw her lips moving, while he stared blankly out at the other children. I know her vocabulary is rather limited; so my brain raced trying to guess what she could be saying...that she would be saying anything? Using both hands on each side of her hips, she lifted herself and dropped again, closer to him this time, touching his side. My eyes teared almost as if in exchange for his tears.

Seconds later, he was fine. He stood up. She watched, then followed. The moment was gone, so easily missed if I weren't there to see it. I felt the strongest sensation of pride to date. Stronger than any feeling I had generated by my own accomplishments. She showed compassion, not when forced or taught to. No,I am overwhelmed with pride because...

She showed compassion when she thought no one was watching.

On Being grateful

Today was one of those day that make you rethink all the things you have as priority. Deadlines at work stomp you into a folded origami. Guilt about not being at home creeps up, the long list of things that you forgot to do this weekend: grilled cheese, wipes, toothpaste are bouncing off you like an atari game-ball and you are the sliding ledge bouncing off the walls of life. I think: "What am I doing? What for? Really?"

It took nothing more than a friendly email from a neighbor that said things with exclamation points and words like "outstanding" and funny jokes. I was starting to type my own words, and they weren't as cheery. Instead, they were actually more strained and forced. It made me stop and think: "Is it really that bad?" and it wasn't, so I restructured the sentences, and the words formed and became a little sunnier, and beamed a little bit brighter. I even thanked her for the mood boost. Its a choice. I could have sent a drab email back, and sat in my boo-hoo stink, or as I did...decide to be in a good place, and stay honest with my day, my disappointments, even had a few self-jabs for the sake of token laughs. It worked. It feels good to volley.

So, today ended much differently than it started. I was motivated to send a mass email with CML featured as the newly two-year old star. I got more and more proud by the responses, and things fell into a nice and comfortable place. Again, one spin on my mood set the day in orbit, and everyone benefits. Chloe got a perky mommie who took her to the park after work, husband got some free time at home this evening, and I feel better for not succumbing to the very easy path of self-pity.

Don't get me wrong, Self-pity is completely fair game in my world, sometimes even encouraged, but there is a fine line between sinking into something useless, and non-productive, and taking the due validation for a time of struggle in whatever gradient.All in all. its easier than it seems. Maybe today was a fluke. I managed to float above the horrendous stress of work, the let down of not getting pregnant, and the hormonal flush of PMS. So...let's see if I can choose it again tomorrow.

here's hoping.