Category: life lessons

Waiting: Do You Think I Have All Day?

Posted on May 27, 2009 in life lessons, mind and body

I used to hate waiting. Waiting rooms. Waiting on line. Waiting for the freight train to pass. It’s my impatient, Jersey, I-have-somewhere-to-be mentality.

Yesterday, I had an appointment at a doctor’s office that is notorious for making me wait. I mean, really wait. Long, torturous hours. It makes my blood boil. The audacity! This appointment had the power to ruin my entire afternoon.

But yesterday was different. I entered the waiting room childless (childless may be the operative word here), with my reading materials, ready to wait. Bring it. I’ve got all day. Well, as long as I’m outta here by 3:30.

I relaxed into one of the cushiony, leather chairs and perused the latest Real Simple magazine, which usually accumulates dust on my nightstand for months before I have the opportunity to open it. By then, I’m reading about summer skin care in January. What good is that?

I’ll have you know that yesterday, I actually read entire articles without transforming into a human jungle gym, without a little person crawling on me or tugging at my pants. It was liberating just to sit and wait, to read something that made me laugh out loud (embarrassing at times) or wonder Is this blogging material? I never once glanced at the clock, annoyed.

Heck, if waiting is the closest I can get to time alone, I’ll take it.

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What’s the Hurry?

Posted on May 15, 2009 in life lessons, mind and body

In college, I had a roommate from Wyoming. I loved her to pieces, but when it came to walking, she was Slow with a capital S. I was a “city” girl, destination-bound, with a quickness in my step. I walked with purpose, to get there fast. She, on the other hand, bounced her way down the sidewalk, in part I think, to irritate me. It worked.

My daughter is just at the age where she loves stepping out for a walk down our quiet little street. Together, we shuffle across the uneven pavement and explore nature’s toy box. Yesterday we watched the birds darting from tree to tree. We listened to water gurgling through the sewer. We pointed to big, fluffy clouds and cars passing by. We picked a few flowers (Don’t tell the neighbors.) and fingered the veins on leaves. We stomped across a patch of rocks and giggled as they crunched under our toes.

It was a grand buffet for the senses.

Maybe the tortoise is onto something. For years, I’d thought that slow was synonymous with purposeless. These days, I’d argue that the opposite is true. Because when you hurry about, you miss stuff. Stuff that stirs your blood and awakens your soul. You know, if we walked at the pace of a child, we’d see so much more of the world.

Okay, Miss Wyoming, you were right. Want to go for a walk? You lead.

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Make Your Bed.

Posted on May 13, 2009 in life lessons, parenting

I’m not a domestic goddess. There are usually piles of laundry on the floor and dirty dishes in the sink. But one thing is certain: The bed is always made. Well, almost always.

A few months before my daughter was born, I sat down with my husband for the talk. Sorry to disappoint, but it had nothing to do with money, sex, or in-laws. “We need to start making the bed,” I insisted. If I was going to demand that my child make her bed one day, then I needed to do it too.

So we tested the widely held belief that it takes 21 days to make a habit. Now (Drumroll, please), almost two years later, I’m still climbing into a nice, neat bed every night. And every morning I take one minute to pull the sheets taut and to straighten the comforter. One minute. That’s all it takes.

You’re probably wondering: Why the big stink over the bed? Because it’s never just about making the bed. Even Michelle Obama, who has a 95-person residence staff, demands that her two daughters make their beds. In an interview with Oprah, the First Lady spoke of her daughters’ chores: “It can’t be foreign to them to be part of a working household.” I couldn’t agree more.

I spent a couple of years teaching first and second grade. During conference time, parents inevitably asked what they could do at home to help their children succeed. Without fail, I always answered, “Read. Read. Read.” If I had to do it all over again, I’d add, “And have little Suzie make her bed.”

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If You Build It, They Will Come

Posted on May 6, 2009 in life lessons

I think we all have the desire to be known, to share our truth with the world. I’ve always wanted to be a writer, a real one. In hard print, on a newsstand. Someone who writes for Parenting Magazine or Real Simple, or (dare I say it) Oprah. I want someone to see my name in print and say, “Damn, she’s good.”

A few months ago, my fabulous sister (an amazing cook who blogs about it) challenged me to enter the blogosphere. I was hesitant. That meant putting it all out there. That meant opening up the door to criticism. I was scared of the big R- rejection. As a self-proclaimed academic and perfectionist, I’ve always been haunted by the “good enough” syndrome: When is it ever enough? When am I ever good enough? After some kicking and screaming, I surrendered.

Alas, here I am!

Now that I’ve entered the blogosphere, I can’t flip the switch. I want more. I’m impatient. I want to be found. Lately, I’m immersed in a whole new language: Technorati, RSS feeds, widgets, Feedburner. Who knew that Kirtsy wasn’t just a lovely little bow from ballet? It’s all so much; I had no idea what I was getting myself into!

This blogging community is chock-full of promotions, giveaways, and back-scratching, which has its place. But I just want people to stop by for a visit, and leave a comment, not because it gives them another chance to win my giveaway, but because they want to. Because here, on my blog is something that resonates, some feeling or question or belief that unites us as moms and remarkable women.

As one of my favorite poems states: “The greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing. Only a person who risks is free.” On the other side of fear is trust. So I’ve taken the plunge with the belief that . . .

If you build it, they will come.

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50 Days of Affirmations

Posted on April 30, 2009 in life lessons, mind and body, relationships

We know our truth, but sometimes we need someone else to exclaim, “Girl, you’re amazing!” A couple of years ago, I was inspired by the dynamic life coach and best-selling author, Debbie Ford, who challenged me to join in the Summer Self-Esteem Game.

Here’s how it worked: First, I needed to choose a buddy, someone with whom I felt comfortable sharing my insecurities and fears. Next, I invited her to join me in a 50-day challenge, where we would text, email, or phone messages that empowered each other to, as Debbie says, “blast through our limitations.” Thus, it was important to choose a buddy with whom I could honestly share those negative thoughts and beliefs that were keeping me from radiating my light.

My youngest sister said YES to this challenge, and for 50 consecutive days we “blasted” each other with love. Girl, you can’t beat that! Here are some affirmations that we exchanged:

*God doesn’t make junk. I am good enough, just as I am.

*I deserve to live with vast amounts of self-love and joy, beginning today.

*I am a genius, and the challenge is to uncover the genius within my soul.

*My ideas and opinions matter, and they reflect the kind and gentle person that I am.

*I am a Goddess of Possibility. I inspire others and help them to see that anything is possible.

This was a powerful process for me. It confirmed my belief that when we open ourselves up to vulnerability, we open ourselves up to deeper relationships and enduring self-love. This summer, I challenge you to take the plunge and invite someone to be a part of your world. Play the game. You can’t lose. I promise. But please . . .come back and tell us about it!

P.S. Click HERE for Debbie Ford’s free affirmations.

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The Lonely Chalker

Posted on April 23, 2009 in life lessons, small moments

As many of you know from my Staycation Report, my family recently spent a memorable afternoon on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. I failed to mention, however, that right before heading home, I saw something etched onto the blacktop of a school playground, something glaring, scribbled in stark white chalk:

“I am the most sadust won of all.”

My heart sank. What causes a child to write that? Does she have a mommy? Does someone tuck her in at night and scare the monsters away? Or has someone punctured her optimism and hope? I wanted to show this child a glorious afternoon (in part to alleviate my own guilt). To explore shapes and colors in the museum. To point to pigeons in the park. To hold her and tell her that there is no one else in the world just like her, that God doesn’t make carbon copies.

Things are not always as they seem. The Upper West Side is known as a wealthy section of Manhattan. People have money. Nanny money. Memberships to the museum money. Bugaboo stroller money. It’s not my place to assume or judge what this child does or does not have; that’s irrelevant. She is sad. Clearly, something is missing.

That day, I was overcome with a range of emotions: joy, discomfort, awe, serenity, confusion. But when I passed that playground, I felt a sense of loss, the same loss that I felt when I noticed many children accompanied by nannies in the museum. I felt for all those children who are missing a connection with someone, anyone. And I felt for all of those parents who aren’t present to witness their child’s curiosity, amazement, and imaginative play at work.

Me? I felt lucky. Damn lucky. As I pushed my sensible stroller down the block, my cup runneth over with gratitude, for the opportunity to be a mom and the opportunity to witness the boundless joy and wonder radiating from my child.

This experience didn’t ruin my day; it was a reality check and a call to acknowledge the millions of children around the world who are craving love and affection. And so, that night, as I tucked my daughter into bed, I hugged her just a little bit tighter, an extra squeeze for the “sadust won.”

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The Staycation Report: 3 Things I Learned

Posted on April 11, 2009 in family fun, life lessons, relationships

1. Planning is Key. Spontaneity is the spice of life… in an ideal world. When you take a vacation, there’s a lot of prep involved- packing, stopping the mail, taking out the trash, yada yada yada. In some ways, it’s no different when you go on a staycation, even if it’s only for the weekend.

Meal planning allowed us to stock the fridge and steer clear of last minute trips to the supermarket for one last thing (I’m famous for that!). Rachel Ray’s “Make Your Own Burrito Bar” recipe was a big hit. Yes . . .we ate out too (ahh…no dishes), and left room for spontaneity; my sweet tooth couldn’t resist stopping at Ben & Jerry’s for some mint chocolate chunk ice cream. Twice. But the second time- totally planned.

Often, the weather dictates how you’ll spend the day, take it or leave it. Thursday turned out to be a beautiful afternoon, one Tim fondly referred to as a Ferris Bueller day. After visiting the Children’s Museum of Manhattan, we strolled through Central Park and people-watched over a packed lunch. Plan B involved sleeping bags, popcorn, and Mary Poppins. While that would have been fine, nothing compares to breathing in some fresh, spring air!

2. Get Unplugged! We live in a fast-paced, impatient, dot-mom world. Phone calls, text messages, emails, downloads. They’re all nice, in moderation. The problem is that we don’t moderate. I wanted to eliminate these distractions and be more attentive to what matters most in my life . . .spending time with the people I love. Besides, someday I’ll never wish that I’d spent more time on my computer. Eat more ice cream? Maybe. (Hence the two trips to Ben & Jerry’s.)

I did tell friends and family about our staycation, just as I would if we were vacationing. Yes, in case of an emergency, I could still be reached via cell phone. Yes, people still called. No, it wasn’t an emergency. At one point, we did check messages. Big mistake. The bottom line: it’s uncomfortable being disconnected, especially when you’re lying on your own couch. I think it actually takes practice, something I’m more than willing to work on. You know, the “stuff” was all still here when I got back. I didn’t miss much, if anything at all.

3. Make it a Habit of Smelling the Roses. For me, the whole point of a staycation is to practice slowing down and to live well (which doesn’t require $$$) right in your own backyard. Every now and then, I think it’s important to break up the monotony and do something fun or different, inspiring or creative, whatever that means for you. My husband felt that this was definitely easier to do once we hopped in the car, destination bound. It was much more challenging to ignore the to-do list at home and to relax, or god-forbid, do nothing. We’re so accomplish-oriented; it’s a tough habit to break.

Every adult speaks of how quickly children grow, and heck, I’m not about to miss these awesome years. My personality necessitates that I have to consciously put on blinders, carve out time, and create a space that offers enrichment of the soul. The flowers are on the table. At least that’s a start.

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Fight or Flight: Dealing with Negative Feelings

Posted on April 4, 2009 in life lessons, parenting, small moments

For the past couple of months, I have been taking a memoir writing class, instructed by award-winning author of Writing Motherhood, Lisa Garrigues. For our final class meeting, we were invited to select a few pages from our writer’s notebook to read aloud in class. No editing permitted. I debated whether or not to show up. As a self-proclaimed perfectionist, the very thought of sharing something unedited made me uneasy. Okay, that’s a lie. It freaked me out.

I sat down with my notebook, flipped through pages of crap, and settled on a piece inspired by Hemingway in a letter he wrote to John dos Passos: “Remember to get the weather in your god damned book– weather is very important.” So I decided to pick the time it was too hot to sleep. Fine, it was something. I typed up my entry, made a few irresistible changes, and reluctantly headed off to class.

I took a seat amongst my peers, and thus commenced the readings- rich, deep, powerful, thought-provoking readings. One woman read about surviving a bombing in Cuba, another about the nanny who was her last lifeline in a failing marriage, another about how the birthing process is like riding a giant wave. These were readings about loss, love, and spiritual growth. And I had written about the god-damned weather.

Holy crap. Get me outta here.

I wanted to jump out the second floor window. A broken arm or leg wouldn’t be all that bad. At least I wouldn’t have to read. There must be a way I could gracefully bow out. I began praying for an emergency call on my cell phone.

I needed a lifeline. This was supposed to be a celebration of our writing, and yet, dread and anxiety roiled about in the pit of my stomach. Maybe what I really needed was to share these negative feelings with somebody, somebody who would look into my eyes, listen, and then admit, “me too.”

As a kid, I can remember the classic response to my fear of trying something new: “There’s no reason to be afraid.” Bullshit. Try telling that to a six-year-old’s nervous system, which is now flashing hazard lights. What I needed was someone to validate my fear, to help me understand that it’s okay to experience a range of emotions; it’s what makes us human, and real. The problem is that we often dismiss our feelings, judging them as silly. In turn, we never learn how to be with them and stare them down.

At some point, my daughter is going to tell me that she’s afraid. And when she does, I am going to stroke her head, hold her hand and whisper, “It’s okay to feel afraid. Let me tell you about a time when I wanted to jump out the window.”

P.S. I did survive the reading. Thanks a lot, Hemingway.

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Sh—Happens. The Cleanup Matters.

Posted on March 25, 2009 in life lessons, parenting, small moments

Last fall, my husband and I drove to a historic town about two hours from our home, hoping to spend the day strolling down quaint little streets, flanked by shops with perfect holiday finds for people who have everything. During our drive, I asked my husband, “So what’s your perfect afternoon look like?”

He replied, “First we do some shopping (He always knows what to say). Then we find this little gourmet deli, like the one in Nantucket, and order sandwiches with a dill or horseradish mayonnaise. And we find a nice little park bench to sit on and eat lunch. Just me and my girls. That’s all I want.” It seemed so simple.

Well, we never did find that deli, or the park bench. After scoping out a few empty restaurants (never a good sign), we decided to leave early and head towards our favorite ice cream shop, Thomas’s Sweets. If nothing else, we would end up eating some really yummy ice cream; I could live with that.

To make a long story short, a few u-turns later, we settled on a small town pizzeria in I-don’t-know-where. I guess the ice cream wasn’t meant to be. We were both tired and hungry, trying to remain upbeat for our one-year-old daughter, who hadn’t even made a fuss; bless her soul.

On our way out the door, I lifted my daughter for the ‘ol sniff test, and something wasn’t quite right. As strange as this may sound, you learn your child’s smells. In a room full of kids, I know if she’s the pooper. But this one was different. “Smell her,” I said, holding her bottom up to my husband.

That’s when I saw it. The leak. “Oh, God. Get her outside.”

In the middle of downtown who-knows-where, I needed to get my daughter out of those pants fast; it would have been nice to do it without creating an all-out scene. This is no exaggeration: it was a mudslide. Clearly, a two-man operation. In the middle of the sidewalk, my daughter arched her back and giggled as I, frazzled, tried to wiggle her pants down her legs, now entirely painted in poop. And all the while, she had the audacity to laugh!

We bid farewell to those brand-new pink pants, and my child went sans pants for the drive home. She was as happy as a pig in sh–.

I share this story, because as moms, we need to develop and nurture our sense of humor. It’s easy to get bogged down in the muck (not too far from the truth!) These days, I’m trying not to take myself too seriously. Sh– happens. How you clean it up matters- with empathy, understanding, and a little bit of humor. It’s that simple.

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