What are you looking at?

Progress report, a revelation and a very important question

Tonight, after blowing proverbial dust from TypePad's login page and wiggling my fingers to unclog almost four months of supressed wisdom, I scanned unfinished drafts, hoping against hope that I could channel that wisdom into a spectaular finish and avoid a paralyzing start.

That's how I found this longish note on my taxing First World Problems in 2013.

On one hand, for a year that I pledged to focus on simplicity, I sure did complicate things. One of my biggest undertakings was launching a freelance writing business! In this case, "launched" means adding a section on LinkedIn, playing with fonts in Word and signing proposals as Dunscombe Creative instead of Bree or Frema or other such options.

Since I was already working on projects, it seemed the logical thing to do. In June, I was contacted about a website writing series for employees at a local university, with three presentations to give between early August and mid September. In July, an old friend from my tox lab days asked me to write a corporate website for his new employer. They were great projects to take on, but I knew from the beginning it would be too much. My kids saw me hunched over a computer screen more often than I would've liked - pajama clad, bleary eyed, coffee dependent and snappy.

There were many times where I hit and then crawled over my breaking point, not because I'm especially noble or virtuous, but because people were counting on me for a deliverable and come hell or high water, I was going to deliver. To put it mildly, I was not my best self.

Why I didn't publish this, I'll never know. So bright and cheery and totally leading to a point!

Anyway, since I really don't want to start a post from scratch, it seems fitting to give a progress report on 2014. Here's a short list of wins so far, in no particular order:

Reading

To date I've completed 19 books for #Read26Indy. Reclaiming my identity as a reader has done wonders for my soul. It feels great to lose myself in other people's ideas and use them as jumping points for my own; to prowl the Twitter hastag and my Goodreads feed for hidden gems; to engage in lively discussions about Wild (loved it) and The Fault in Our Stars (fought it, then loved it) and Eat Pray Love (tackled the audio book this year and re-loved it) and on and on and on.

Giving

The Bible warns against making a show of charitable giving, but just today the very bald and very wise Seth Godin discussed the importance of normalizing charitable behavior. I can cover both bases by saying that Luke and I elevated our giving this year to a new level, which has challenged our budget in new and exciting ways. Yes, exciting - to know that our money more closely aligns with our priorities than ever before.

Working

The job stress I've experienced in 2014 is different from last year's in many ways, but it still reeks of FWP. On the plus side, I've done a lot of things to put myself in a better place - shortening my commute with the new job, backing off aggressive freelance projects and resetting boundaries so I can do my job well without overshadowing my roles as a wife, mother, Jesus lover, writer, friend, etc. I lost my balance this summer but regained my footing, and I'm eager to see how my new strategy plays out.

Parenting

How can it be that a first grader and kindergartener live in my house? That my last baby is actually THREE YEARS OLD, uses the word "butt" at every opportunity and has no use for strollers, bibs or sippy cups? As Gretchen Rubin likes to say, "The days are long, but the years are short." This year I've been working on saying yes more to my kids - yes, we can play the Game of Life for the eighty-millionth time, yes, we can botch make Rapunzel biscuit braids from your library Disney cookbook, yes, I can sit with you for a few minutes while you fall asleep. It's not been as easy to stop raising my voice at the first sign of wrong doing, but still, there's progress.

Focusing

This is a tough one to capture in a neat little paragraph, but the gist is this: I've spent a lot of time this year thinking on how to funnel my energy and interests into a singular mission. Chris Brogan talks about focus a lot in his weekly newsletter, and my beloved Liz Gilbert tackles it on her Facebook page. Here's a screen shot of one of my very favorite posts from her:

The this she's referring to is:

 

The way I see it, my biggest FWP has been not knowing my yes. In this great big life, we have a ton of options, and without focus, everything worthy seems viable. Should I take this freelance job? Go out on my own completely? Nurture that friendship? Move now or later? Write my book or let the damn thing go?

Having a core yes isn't the same as having priorities. I have priorities. Spending time with my children is a priority and a huge focus in my life, but my role as a mother is one part of who I am, and I'm more than any one role. What is it that ties my roles together? What measures am I using to know if I'm following my right path or veering off course?

An answer did come to me last month, an answer that I'm still working through. I've written about it privately already, so instead of finding new words, I'll just share the ones that worked for me at the time.

I kept waiting for an answer to appear and also waiting to find the right amount of time to dedicate myself to the task of answering it myself, studying as if I were preparing for a test. I was making it too hard, but I didn't realize it until last week after hearing Pastor Charlie's second sermon about taking the long way around to appreciate the riches of a life with God. That's when I realized that the answer was easy - what is my mission? Jesus. That's it. That's all it has to be. If I keep my path aligned with Jesus, everything else will be as it should.

I was looking for a sophisticated answer like creativity or service or something that felt more in line with my newsletter subscriptions. Maybe sophisticated is the wrong word. Maybe just complicated. Or worldy - a mission based on things/acts that are based in the world, even if they are noble and important. But once I answered the question with Jesus, it felt like a light bulb went off in my head. YES. This is the answer I've wanted - and had - all along. I just never put the two together. Studying the question intellectually in some ways, praying at times for an answer that I assumed would be "other" - an answer that I assumed would help bring me closer to God, instead of realizing that God is the answer. I was so short-sighted. But now I feel much lighter.

This is a hard topic to work through on a blog. Talking about God is an easy way to alienate people, and that's the last thing I want to do. I'm not abandoning any of the roles I mentioned before, or quitting my day job, or trying to convert anyone to my church, or making outwardly radical changes to my life. I can't even tell you if I'll have more to say in my next blog post. But I am asking myself a lot of questions, and it feels right to explore those questions here when I feel like I have something meaningful to say. Plus, if I may quote the bald and wise Seth Godin again, great work makes us uncomfortable. If figuring out your yes isn't great work, I don't know what is.

How are you doing this year? What's taking up space in your brain? And perhaps most importantly: What's been your favorite read so far? My Goodreads list wants to know.

Shockingly, no bacon was harmed in the making of this blog entry

Back in January, I saw a great little video from Lean In on rethinking time and the power of multipliers. The speaker explains that multipliers aren't the same as multitasking; instead of doing lots of activities at one time and not being fully present for any of them, a multiplier is one activity that has your complete attention and achieves - wait for it - multiple goals.

Since then, I've been thinking about multipliers in my own life. Here's what I've got so far:

Exercising/girlfriend bonding

I've mentioned a couple of times that I hit the gym twice a week with a friend before work. I met Jen last spring at my previous job, shortly after her move from Kentucky to the same little town I live in on Indy's west side. This was a miracle in and of itself because you never hear of people moving to my neck of the woods. It's the north side where we worked that gets all the props, to the point of being named the Best Place to Live in America by CNN Money magazine in 2012. Once we realized we both belonged to the rec center, the habit was born. We started going once a week at six and have evolved to twice a week at 5:45, with the workout sneakily getting longer over time.

Before you give me too many props, I fully realize this victory isn't so much a testament to my motivation but the power of accountability. Because if Jen texts me to cancel, I bow out and vice versa. In other words, we're now vital to each other's health. I am okay with this.

Workouts with Jen are highlights in my week, and not just for the wellness factor. It's so nice to start the day with a friend, to talk about books and kids and God and work sporting yoga pants and a serious case of bed head. The Lean In speaker would call this a double.

Commuting/audio booking

Until very recently, I proudly identified myself as a book purist - someone who wrinkled her nose at audio books and e-readers in favor of reading the old-fashioned way, with actual pieces of bound paper in your hand, just like the good old days when we walked 20 miles to school uphill and washed our clothes by hand in the river. Which was great except that I wasn't actually reading anything. I worked hard to change this last year and rang in the New Year with 16 books under my belt, but even that was a struggle. I would make extra time for reading and then promptly eat it up with something else - sleep in the morning, work during lunch and more sleep after a few pages at night. But still, no audio books.

My north side job would have been a great time to give them a whirl. On a good day with zero traffic, I could get to work in 40 minutes. On a normal day, though, ongoing construction raised the commute to more than an hour one way. I wasn't happy about spending so much time in the car - just one of the reasons I decided to look for a job closer to home. But alas, it wasn't until a week or two into my new job that I braved the audio section of the library and found something that grabbed my interest - "Help Thanks Wow" by the dear Anne Lamott.

And I was hooked.

I breezed through HTW in a couple of days and moved quickly to "Grace Eventually: Thoughts on Faith." I already loved Ms. Lamott, but listening to her books was even more wonderful, first because of the subject matter, which was thoughtful and funny and inspiring, and second because there are few things as personal as having an author read their book to you. Plus, being forced to pay attention to a steady train of thought instead of bouncing around the jungle of half-baked epiphanies in my head helped me feel less scattered at the beginning and end of my work day.

So I kept going with Randy Pausch's "The Last Lecture," which I had to turn off at least three times over two weeks because I didn't want to leave my car with red eyes and a blotchy nose.

I've listened to a couple more recordings since then, and I'm officially a convert. I still have physical books to pour through, but I've stopped feeling guilty over taking three months to read them because I'm still getting my fix. At six books for the year, I may not hit my #Read26Indy goal - it's too early too tell - but I'm having a blast, and my drive to and from work is a million times more fun.

Volunteering/mother-son bonding

I haven't made any drastic changes in the "giving back to the community" check box, but I do still volunteer in my church's nursery once or twice a month. Reliable childcare during worship was really important to Luke and me when we first started going to church with the kids, and it feels good to help other parents in the same boat. Plus, church is already built into my Sunday, so it's easy to commit to, and the nursery takes kids through two years old, so it's a nice way to spend extra time with Liam.

Before church, fully embracing snuggles and caffeine.

Sunday dinner/family time

I reached the one-month mark on Sunday dinner last weekend, and it might be the best part of the week. I didn't realize how relaxing cooking can be - chopping onions and browning meat feels almost cathartic. Plus, the kids get a kick out of helping me choose a recipe and wandering in and out of the kitchen to see how it's coming and if there's anything they can do. Last week I made brinner, and we had a great time preparing fruit and yogurt parfaits and whipping up some other low-maintenance sides. Luke pitched in with French toast, and the end result was a fun dinner we mostly made together.

Maybe next year I'll work on my presentation skills.

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Between my day job, freelancing, family time and chores around the house, it's easy to feel guilty when I spend time on something that pulls me away from what feels like a more important to-do. I've been having lots of come-to-Jesus moments about the choices I make and the motivations behind them. Over the last year, more times than I'd like to admit, I felt like a victim instead of the willing participant I actually was. I've worn stress like a blanket instead of grace.

I'm still keeping hands in a lot of things, and adapting to a new job to boot, but finally the dust is settling, and it's easier to see things as they really are. It's okay to embrace the pattern of my life as it is right now, and hustle sometimes but not all the time, and not tackle every item on my bucket list in every spare minute I have. That's why I love the idea of spending time in a way that's meeting more than one need at a time.

Would you look at that, only three weeks since my last entry. We're onto something, kids!

Seriously, 'The Hunger Games' changed me for life

How many times do you have to repeat something before it becomes a tradition? If the answer is three, I can tell you with confidence that Sunday dinner and I are officially besties.

It started the day before St. Patrick's Day, give or take six years, which is when I first started thinking that a married woman on the cusp of motherhood should perhaps know how to create dishes that did not feature toast, reindeer food or spinach dip as the main course.

Anyway, this year, this month, this day before St. Patrick's Day, just felt right. I was two months into a new job at this point (more on that later) and finally had the mental energy to tackle a new skill. I wanted to give Luke a break from the stove at least one day a week, and I needed to show my kids that I could do more in the kitchen than pour milk and wash dishes.

So on March 16, I made chicken, pesto and pasta. It was pretty good, though even with a whole jar of pesto the flavor was still relatively mild. Nathan was my helper, and everyone gobbled it up. Julia Child, right here.

Last Sunday, I was still living on the high of my previous culinary success and decided to shake things up a bit: ratatouille with black beans.

This was Luke's favorite dish, hands down, but Kara and Nathan both complained about the eggplant. At their age I couldn't stomach eggs, so the fact they even tried it earns them an A in my book.

Which brings us to tonight's extravaganza: mushroom and broccoli stir fry, which actually had lots of other veggies in it, so I'm not sure why they were left out, and chicken because I'm adventurous like that.

I was pretty happy with this one, even though my "who needs measuring spoons when I can just shake stuff directly into the skillet" approach led me to overdo it a bit with the red pepper. At one point Kara exclaimed, "My lips are burning!" and proceeded to drink four glasses of milk. It was too hot for the older two to finish, but as always, they were very encouraging and said I should totally make it again, without the red flakes.

"Are you feeling more comfortable in the kitchen now, Momma?" Kara asked at the end of the meal. It was a thoughtful question for a six-year-old, I think, and a smart observation - her understanding that I was on new territory.

"I do, honey," I said. "I love cooking for you all."

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Sunday dinner isn't the only thing I've been cooking up this year.

After almost a year and a half into my return to education, I took a new job that smashed my comfort zone into a million pieces. New industry (financial services), narrowed focus (HR communications), completely foreign corporate structure (bigger, more administrative layers and overall more conservative). I spent the first few weeks practicing deep Lamaze breathing, but I've settled into a nice rhythm now and it's all good. Whether it lasts six years or six months, this job is great for me today, right now. Shorter commute, excellent downtown location, and a chance to build and carry out my own strategic plan. I'm proud of myself for getting up to speed so quickly and putting the small stuff into perspective.

Luke and the kids had lunch with me at my work cafeteria for the first time last week.

Oh you guys, it's been too long! So much to say - let's see how much ground we can cover with bullet points.

• Reading: I clocked in at 16 books last year and joined a local reading...movement...? here in Indy called #Ready26Indy. I've got five books under my belt so far, but that's only because I've finally embraced audio books. Why didn't I hop on this train earlier? Also, "The Hunger Games." OH MY GOSH YOU GUYS.
• Phoning: Last month I rejoined the smartphone community after almost a year off the grid. I'm swearing off Twitter and Facebook apps for now, and my favorite part has been using all the cool emoticons for texting with sisters.
• Exercising: Since last fall, I've been working out a couple of times at week at the local rec center with a fellow townie I met at my last job. Two days isn't enough, but it's better than zero days!
• Freelancing: Last summer I opened myself up to freelance work and finished a couple of big projects by the end of the year. I've got an ongoing side project in the works right now, and I could be even busier if I wanted, to the point that going out on my own in a couple of years doesn't seem as far-fetched as it once did, but I'm not completely sold on it, either. Expect many blog posts regarding my indecision in the near future.
• Word of the year: I hemmed and hawwed over this forever, but sometime in February I landed on steady. I've been pretty good at shaking things up the last two years, but now I hope to make quieter changes that encourage better habits. (Aka, please don't ask me about my book.) I like where I'm headed these days, but the path, it is long, and there are many more miles to go.

My new company is the title sponsor for the Mini-Marathon (yes, that Mini). Here I am volunteering at the 10k training race.

So much to say, so little time. I won't make any promises about my next entry, but maybe if I tell you three months, it'll actually be three days. Reverse psychology, work your magic!

Wearing the floor through the boards again

This summer has been the opposite of simple.

For starters, all three kids have taken turns being horribly sick and missing all the fun classes we carefully chose for them. Nathan threw up at W*lmart twice, and last week Kara stayed overnight at the hospital for IV fluids and antibiotics.Yesterday was her first fever-free day in a week and a half, which means she's cleared to start kindergarten in a few hours (and will likely have started by the time you read this because apparently I can't not write blog posts at 2 am).

My day job continues to keep me on my toes, and I'm taking on freelance work to build our savings because God as my witness, our next Christmas will be the last one in this house. Luke is training for a marathon and climbing into double-digit mileage. I'm working on my book every now and then, two notebook pages in the morning here, scribbles on an index card there. I'm brainstorming a Lean In Circle for my area despite missing Sheryl Sandberg's keynote at BlogHer to be with Kara. In my head I see meetings, a blog and a podcast. I'm crazy to even consider it, except that I'm too inspired to sit back.

I volunteered for an extra shift of Sunday School at church this fall since Liam transitions from the nursey where I spend every third Sunday to the Twos room across the hall. They don't have enough teachers and I'll miss playing trucks with him, so every first Sunday I'll dole out Bible stories and fishie crackers to a handful of half-babies. Because of course Liam is still my baby.

Did I mention Kara starts kindergarten today?!

There was an open house at the start of the week and to say she was overwhelmed would be an understatement. My own heart was in my throat the entire time and I could barely make eye contact with other parents because I'm still not ready for this and please God let's save the ugly cry for the car. The scarf around my neck felt more like a noose as we walked through the halls of her school, hunting for the library, music room, cafeteria, gym.

She was still upset yesterday but in better spirits when I came home from work. She even drew a picture.

"I'm walking from the house to the bus!"

But how can she be walking when to me she looks like this?

Many of my hardships these last few months I brought upon myself: poor management of stress, ignoring limits and the like. But kindergarten has been a monumental weight on my shoulders that I haven't been able to shake because it just feels so final. A symbolic entrusting of Kara to the universe with the expectation that her gentle spirit will stay intact. That she won't be grabbed from a bus, tortured by a bully or shot in a classroom.

It also means some shaping up on my part, like managing my schedule more efficiently so that I'm present for things like homework checks and PTO meetings. Plus, I'm tired of burning the candle at both ends all the time. If I don't want my kids to buy into a culture of busyness, I can't, either.

The feelings I have about Kara going to school aren't unlike what I experienced when I returned to work after maternity leave, and that turned out okay, so I do know we'll be fine. I just can't believe we're here.

* Yes, another Brandi Carlile lyric. Thanks for playing!

Reflecting on the (degree) path not taken

First of all, I want to give myself a huge pat on the back for reclaiming my "reader" label this year. We're halfway through 2013 and I've logged nine books so far. That's more than my number for the last few years COMBINED. I've read a writer's manual, spiritual books, memoirs, business manifestos and children's lit (with Kara and Nathan, making them even more fun), and I've had an on-again, off-again relationship with the Bible. My commitment to read more has officially become a habit. Welcome back, words on paper, I missed you.

Second, one book I've been thinking about buying is Ctrl Alt Delete by Mitch Joel, who's part of the elite group of thin, bald men in glasses who wax poetic on marketing and business. Last night I spent almost 40 minutes watching a video where he and Seth Godin, another brilliant baldie, talked about ideas in the book, including re-imagining how companies conduct business, how working folks manage their careers and finding your place in the idea business. 

The link to this video sat in my inbox for two weeks, so if you're pressed for time, here are a few quotes from the beginning that really spoke to me.

"You as individuals are solely reliant on yourself for your financial success."

"We've never lived in a more interesting time for people to be more than their job titles."

"I'm somewhat frustrated with people who don't love what they do for a living."

That last one is the most interesting to me, because it reminds me that we are in the driver's seat of our own lives. Not every person has the perks and flexibility of a mid-level, white collar job, so it's also a tad naive, but I get it, Mitch. It's up to me.

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The bit about doing what you love reminded me of my senior year in college when I was choosing a grad school. I had been accepted into two very different writing programs in Chicago: an MFA degree at a fine arts college where I would learn alongside budding novelists, painters, dancers and fim directors, and a more academic degree from a prestigious university whose name would look great on a resume.

Guess which path I chose?

It's not that I regret making the choice that I did. The more structured program gave me the best of both worlds. Yes, there were practical classes like composition theory, magazine writing and copyediting, but I also took autobiography, fiction and scriptwriting. Autobiography is where I first discovered blogging! How could I possibly regret that?

It's how I made my choice that tugs on my heartstrings a little.

I spent my entire childhood writing and illustrating short stories. I gave them to my teachers with pride, and they wrote comments in the margins and branded the covers with As because they wanted to encourage me. One of my teachers, my beloved Mrs. Erber, set aside 10 minutes after lunch one afternoon so I could read my stories out loud to my classmates. Public speaking is on my LinkedIn profile for a reason, people!

In seventh grade I tied for first place in the Chicago Young Authors Contest. In eighth grade, my homeroom teacher signed my memory book with, "One day I know I'll pick up a book and you will be the author!"

I have accordion folders filled with poems and song lyrics I wrote in junior high and high school. As a teenager I spent hours at a time on the floor in my bedroom, boom box blaring, writing furiously in my notebooks.

My whole life, I wanted to be a writer. I wanted to write powerful, beautiful words I would unleash on the world. I majored in English as an undergrad with no plans to teach. I was going to write and publish books.

And then I actually went through college, and I accrued a hella amount of debt, and once I graduated I wanted to be on my own. I didn't want to live with my parents. I didn't want to be a starving artist who waited tables by day and labored over book proposals in a studio hole at night. I was ambitious, and I already had a job with my alma mater where I would be writing feature stories and editing the campus magazine. I felt pretty lucky to get such an amazing job straight out of school and wanted more jobs like that in the future. I thought the academic route was the way to go.

I didn't want to suffer for my art. So I set my lofty creative ambitions aside and played it safe. I went full-force into a publications, marketing and communications career that allowed me to spend my days writing and oh, yeah, pay my bills.

Looking back, I feel like I betrayed lil' Frema a bit. Now I see that the best time to suffer for your art is at the beginning, where you have little to no responsibilites: no car payments, no mortagage, no family to support. No material wealth to speak of, just a love for what you do and willingness to do the work.

Just like I don't regret my degree path, I do not regret my career. The last eleven years have been so good to me. I've learned so much, and met so many people who are now part of my life forever. And I may not have written a book, but I've produced many things I'm extremely proud of.

On the other hand, I want my kids to take more chances than I did. I want them to see the starving artist and think of her as brave, not foolish or scary. I want them to find what they love - what they TRULY love, not a second cousin twice removed - and go after it with all they have.

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On a somewhat related note: Before I watched Mitch and Seth's video, I read Mitch's latest blog post on the end of writer's block. It very much reminds me of my dear writing mentor, Anne Lamott, and her encouragement of shitty first drafts. 

"Not every word is gold. The words don't always flow easily, on a consistent basis on every day. Sometimes it seems so easy. Sometimes nothing could be harder. But a blockage? Nothing? I don't believe it." 

"Force yourself to write anywhere and everywhere. It's going to be hard. It's not going to feel right. Keep at it. You will get there."

I'm terrible at this, agonizing over this word and that to the point that it's no longer beneficial, and meticulous editing become a means to avoid starting something I may not be brave enough to finish.

But on Saturday night I tweeted this:

At 33, I'm finally getting braver.

What would you do if you weren't afraid?

Last summer, at the height of my job search, I applied for a communications job at a community services non-profit with a focus on childhood advocacy. Like most of the jobs I went after, the online application included a field for salary requirements.

That's a tricky question, yes? Your price as an employee is more than a dollar figure. You have to measure out-of-pocket costs like insurance premiums and commuting against softer ticket items like retirement contributions, vacation time, job flexibility, corporate culture and growth opportunities. But generally you have an idea of where you'd like to be.

At that point in time, Luke and I were doing okay, but as a one-income family with three children and no short-term plans to change our situation, I had to make my next career move count financially. We had dreams of building an emergency fund, replacing the family car and switching our starter home with something more permanent. We couldn't accomplish all those things without my getting a huge raise in salary.

On the other hand, my career is more to me than money. I want work that means something, too. So even though non-profits aren't hot spots for accumulating material wealth, I threw my hat in the ring.

Three weeks later, I received the follow-up email I was hoping for, but with a twist. There was another open communications role, one that focused raising awareness around childhood education to parents, donors and legislators. Because of my writing gig for Parents.com, the hiring manager thought I might be a good fit and asked if I would interview. He was also very honest about the salary range falling beneath what I listed on my application.

We arranged for a quick call (not an actual interview) the next day.

And it was a good conversation. We talked about the job description, key initiatives, work schedules. I think I would have loved it.

Then came the issue of pay. By this time I'd been actively job searching for more than four months and was steadier on my feet when it came to talking money. So I asked for the range. Roughly the same I was making, maybe a little less. 

I asked for 24 hours to think it over. The hiring manager was gracious. 

You can figure out the rest of the story.

Of course, there's a happy ending. I found a great job doing interesting work in the salary range I wanted. Luke and I still aren't millionaires, but we're much stronger financially than we were last year. It was a smart career move for my family.

But I wish I'd taken the interview.

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I have another story like this: a company reaching out with an amazing opportunity, me stepping out of the process. Once again, my reasoning sounded logical. Not the right time to make a career switch; the money might not be there; the drive would be long; I would have to learn Skype for the interview.

(Seriously, that was one of my reasons.)

I need to stop thinking this way.

I need to stop getting in my own way and assuming I have all the answers. I need to be open to surprises, even if the balance sheet doesn't add up or the odds aren't in my favor. I should have given the non-profit a chance to court me for the job. So what if I got to the end and the pay was too low? Would I have lost anything in the process? What could I have gained instead?

Similarly, I should have panicked for a couple days about learning Skype and working in BuFu Egypt and agreed to that second interview. I'd been foaming at the mouth over that job all summer. So what if it came at the wrong time? Does change ever come at the right time?

Before you drop out of the race, at least put on your shoes. 

This post inspired by the "What would you do if you weren't afraid?" Tumblr by LeanIn.org. My thoughts on the actual book are still forthcoming.

Normal-day milestones

Last month, for the first time in three years, I boarded a plane for work. For the first time ever, I landed in Las Vegas. It was never my dream to play three-dollar Black Jack or pose with celebrity wax figures, but when opportunity knocks, you have to answer.

He said he wanted to show me a few things.

Tomorrow marks seven months at my new job - can I still call it a new job? - and I am grateful. I work with smart people. I have incredible flexibility. There's still a lot I have to learn, and the growth is usually uncomfortable, but it took me a long time to get here. I am good.

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Last week, I registered Kara for kindergarten.

Being newbies at the formal school system thing, Luke and I weren't sure if you were supposed to bring your kid to registration, so I went to kindergarten round-up after work, alone. I turned in a bus form, vaccinations list and demographic sheets to the main office. I stopped by stations for the PTO and the nurse and food services and snapped a picture of a sample lunch tray with my smartphone. Oh, and I collected a zillion coloring sheets because guess what, dummy, you are supposed to bring your kid, it was like a pint-sized World's Fair up in there.

I blinked back tears as the secretary answered my questions about the school tour and teacher assessment and do the kids need to know how to use a computer? Will she be tested right away? I must have looked like a complete yuppie dufus, taking notes like I was on a job interview, but don't you see, they are taking away my baby. The same little girl who wants to live next door to me and work where I work and wear fancy clothes and have mommy-daughter dates when she grows up.

Back at my car, I sat in the driver's seat fully prepared for an ugly cry of Angela Chase proportions, only my initial weepiness caused my left contact lens to FALL OUT OF MY EYE. The reinserting of the lens put a damper on my plans, so I just drove home.

To prevent robbing Kara of preshus childhood memories, Luke took her to the round-up the following day with the boys in tow. She wasn't terribly impressed, but she does like her Girl Scouts pencil.

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My reading progress has been respectable. I devoured three Anne Lamott books over the winter and picked up The Year of Living Biblically, which is moving more slowly. The book I turn to most these days is the Bible. This is fascinating to me because I never wanted to have a relationship with it until very recently, for which I credit the amazing pastor at my church. At the beginning of the year I decided to tackle the New Testament beginning with Matthew, but during Lent I started going back to the Sunday gospel readings, which brought me to John, and now I've got a bookmark in Acts. I'm finding wisdom and relevance and a new interest in my relationship with Jesus.

I look at my faith life now and I'm in awe. Ten years ago, I couldn't have predicted that I would look forward to going to church, keep the Bible within arm's reach on my nightstand or pray in my car. I'm not a model Christian by any means, but I finally feel like I'm going in the right direction. That I'm wanting the right things and that God is moving from the fringes of my life to the center. 

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My book progress isn't as evolved, but it is there. I have a notebook for writing pages, and there are entries, but forming the habit has been hard. I'm not beating myself up about this, but I don't want to sit in limbo forever, either.

This article from Anne Lamott on making the time to write is a great kick in the pants.

"Time is not free—that’s why it’s so precious and worth fighting for."

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Simplicity is still my aim for the year. I resigned from my alma mater's volunteer board for this very reason. I still don't get work email on my cell phone. Luke and I are holding on major asthetic changes to the house and a new car.

The hardest part is fighting my natural tendencies. I like to be involved and go after new challenges. It's hard to step back when I want to raise my hand. But I don't regret any of it.

Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.

- Mary Jean Iron 

 

Ground rules for 2013

Last year was all about taking risks. And that was good. I needed to stop operating on autopilot and shake up certain parts of my life. But I have a different goal for 2013.

This year, my word is simple.

"Everything should be made as simple as possible, but not simpler." - Albert Einstein

I love this quote because it speaks to the bigger picture. Identify where you find meaning and commit yourself to those things. On the flip side, realize what keeps you away from those things and cut them out as much as you can.

Own that you are not powerless over your life, that the busy trap is not inevitable. Fight for your inner calm. No excuses. 

(There is a small chance I have hijacked Albie's quote.)

This year, I'm aiming to drown out the noise. More often than not, I'm going to trade easy distractions for long-term joy.

Here's what I want simple to look like in 2013. Warning: you will not be impressed. It isn't rocket science, you know?

MAKE FEWER COMMITMENTS. Free time is precious and not something I'll offer up on a silver platter. I need to stay active in networking, but I don't have to go to every event in town just because "it's good for my career." I'll give myself permission to skip a family birthday party because it's on a school night or I have a big meeting the next day. I will NOT pick up a new TV show even though the Fringe finale freed up a time slot and The Following looks really, really good.

WRITE. I'll do more head-banging against the keyboard, pushing through creative paralysis because I love getting words on a page. Being published would be great, and it's still a goal, but right now it's secondary.

READ. I want to devour more books this year. I'll pick ones that speak to where I am as a working mother of small children with a short attention span and ignore the inner voice that says to go for something more enlightened. If I'm not feeling it, I'll put it down and move on.

HELP OTHERS. Leave people and places in better condition than I find them. Luke and I have credit card debt, but the monthly check we write to our church is money well spent. Volunteering in the nursery every third Sunday isn't the same as taking a mission trip to Africa, but it means something to parents who want to hear a sermon baby-free. Send care packages to the soldiers in my life. Hold my tongue rather than put someone in their place. Not every gesture has to be big. At the same time, there will be times I need to play hard or go home, even when it's inconvenient. I'll know them when I see them.

PRAY. I want prayer to be more intuitive. I'm good at thanking God, but not daily. I've mastered the ugly cry, but I don't know always know what kind of help to ask for. I want to read the Bible and not be intimidated by it.

WANT LESS. "You don't need to go to Harvard to get into Heaven," my pastor once said. Swap out "Harvard" with "401k" or "529" or "property retail value" - same thing. These things are important, but just like publication takes a back seat to writing, so do material things have a proper place. My house doesn't have to be bigger (though I still want a different one). I don't need to be a VP of anything. I don't have to kill myself to avoid college debt for my kids.

Along those same lines, I won't go after something just because I can, whether it's a door buster, committee seat or promotion. Understand the price I'll pay to have X and ask myself if it's worth it.

LET GO MORE. Avoid power struggles. I can do my best, but I can't control someone else's opinion of me. I can regret a mistake, but I can own it and shrug it off instead of wearing it like a rock in my backpack. Not everyone will like me or agree with my choices, even if they're the right choices. People will get the wrong impression of me. That's okay. Only a few precious things are really worth fighting over.  

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When I'm at a crossroads this year on how to spend money, time or energy, I will come back to this list and realize there is no spoon crossroads. Life isn't supposed to be easy, but it can be easier, yes?

Everything should be made as simple as possible, but not simpler.

Here's to simple.

For anyone stuck in a terrible place between zero and one

There are 24 days left in the year, and I haven't started writing my book yet.

When I made my literary declaration on Facebook in August, I was still with my previous employer and doing pretty well in the work/life balance department - leaving the office at a respectable time, knowing when to clock more hours and when to manage expectations, keeping up with industry news, making time for Luke and the kids - all without wanting to pull my hair out. My 40-minute commute was longer than I wanted, but nothing's perfect, right?

I also had a clear idea for my book. A memoir in the vein of Haven Kimmel or David Sedaris with hints of Elizabeth Gilbert; stories about family, growing up, my relationship history and the lessons I've learned along the way. This is the book I cried over on my drive home this summer. This is the book I wanted to bring to life.

So what happened?

For one thing, I took a new job.

I was with my last company for seven years; I forgot how stressful it can be to start over. To adjust to a new environment, new people, new expectations - and a 50-minute commute. My coworkers are wonderful, and I enjoy all of the freedom of my last position, and this was absolutely the right decision for me and my family, and I AM SO, SO GRATEFUL. But still. There's no fast-forwarding through the newborn stages of major life transitions.

For another, I'm wavering on my book topic.

At first, the memoir was a no-brainer within reach; then, one night in October during a phone call with my mother, I had a change of heart.

My (pregnant) (!) sister Ryan was wrapping up a weeks-long stint in Chicago at the time, and her plan was to drive home to North Carolina just outside of Fort Bragg by herself with her two dogs. My mom didn't want Ryan making the trip alone, so she offered to ride along and fly solo back to Chi-town. For someone with a chronic aversion to travel, this was huge, but she was that worried about Ryan getting home safely. She also wanted to explore North Carolina, especially Cherry Point, where she lived with my father, Samantha and me for a few years while my dad was in the Marines. She wanted to see our old apartment building, walk through town and revisit some happy memories.

Listening to my mother reminisce about Cherry Point, picturing her as a young woman alone with two little girls while my dad was away, reminded me there's still a lot I don't know about my parents. Maybe I should be telling their story instead of mine.

So I started crying (I know, always with the crying) about a new book idea - interviewing my mom, dad and other members of my family to preserve pivotal moments in their lives. No pressure.

This morphed into:

Wow, that's a pretty tall order for just getting started. Maybe I should put the emotional stuff on hold and warm up the writing muscles with something fun. Tragic Love Friday part three, anyone?

And then:

Why start from scratch? Maybe I should take my best blog entries and repurpose them for a book, just like Carrie Bradshaw! If Carrie Bradshaw were a sporadic blogger in the Midwest instead of a high-profile sex columnist in NYC.

What if I choose the wrong book? What if it's bad? What if it's good and I don't know what to do with it when I'm done?

It would be so much easier not to want this.

Luckily, Ze Frank is here to help a sister out.

LET'S START THIS SHIT UP.

Why we stayed in Indy: part three

Read part one and part two.

As I was getting my career ducks in a row, Luke and I were also figuring out what to do with the house. We met with our real estate agent in February and shared our goal of listing by April.

Pam gave us her thoughts on an initial list price, target sales price and sample closing estimate. We were competitive with other houses in our subdivision on price per square foot, and we have one of the largest backyards, so we were in a good position to sell. So what if the closing fees ate up our (anticipated) net profit? We weren't trying to make money, we just wanted to get back home.

We also walked through the house to identify repairs, touch ups and staging that needed to take place before we went to market.

At the end of the meeting, our to-do list looked like this:

- Restretch carpet on both floors
- Professionally clean first-floor carpet to remove unsightly mud stains
- Replace laminate flooring in the dining room or at least buy a rug to cover the scratched-up boards
- Buy new (matching, non-wobbly) chairs for dining room table
- Purchase new dining room curtains
- Consider new tile in the kitchen (current tile is dented and outdated)
- Replace broken garbage disposal
- Replace broken water softener
- Replace broken accordion-style doors in the laundry room and pantry
- Patch ceiling
- Repaint walls and cabinets in the kitchen and adjoining half bath
- Touch up paint in the living room and dining room
- Repaint all trim throughout the house
- Mount a mirror over the living room couch to make the room look larger
- Update bedding and install curtains in the master bedroom; purchase larger, matching lamps; consider buying nightstands that are not TV trays (hey, at least those match)
- Caulk and replace fixtures in the master bath
- Clean out master closet; move majority of items into offsite storage unit
- Repaint kids' bathroom
- Update lighting and fixtures in upstairs bathroom
- Clean out the garage
- Investigate personal loan options to fund renovations and/or cover closing costs for the buyer

Our best-guess total to complete these "touch ups" came to four thousand dollars.

Seeing as our tax refund went almost entirely to paying off our credit card AND seeing as we had no savings to speak of, the possibility of needing a loan was fast becoming a reality.

Hasta la vista, new family car. Don't let the door hit you on the way out, money for retirement.

"It's all worth it," I told Luke, even as my stomach dropped at the thought of taking on debt AGAIN and my husband's eyes bulged out of their frugal sockets. "If that's what it takes to get back home, then that's what we'll do. You can't put a price on family, right?"

Although DAMN if our dream of family togetherness wasn't going to land us in the poor house.

You'd throw a few bucks at these guys if you saw them on the interstate, yes?

So we got to work.

I pulled out my "House" notebook, and as is my way when I'm feeling overwhelmed, I started making lists. The projects most critical to selling the house, the order in which we would tackle them, the minimal amount of money we would spend (hint: NOT four grand), and a timeline for getting it all done. How much we could pay in cash and what we were willing to charge. Welcome back, V*sa bill, we missed you.

While Luke and I didn't have a hard date for leaving Indianapolis, Pam told us the best time to sell was spring, since couples with children would want to be settled in by time school started. Plus, we wanted to be rid of the house as soon as possible so I could entertain job offers up north.

Also, Kara was going to start kindergarten in fall 2013 (I KNOW, PLEASE DO NOT EVEN GET ME STARTED), and I desperately wanted this selling mess behind us by then so she wouldn't have to deal with changing schools.

I took a week of PTO in March to get the ball rolling, tearing through closets while Luke and his dad replaced lights, towel bars and toilet paper holders in our three bathrooms.

Not replaced: nausea, emotional fatigue, feelings of dread.

Meanwhile, I was talking to friends in Chicago about the going salary for jobs that were comparable to my current position and realizing I would need a huge raise just to maintain our very modest living expenses. To raise our standard of living, we would have to live in northwest Indiana and I would commute to the city. Or the kids would go to daycare so Luke could go back to work.

As I Dr. Philled our situation to anyone who would listen, I learned a lot of things. I realized we had a better support system in Indianapolis than we thought - people who cared about us and who were willing to help us out in a bind - and that maybe, just maybe, our problem was less about being removed from our "true" network and more about gathering the courage to ask for help. Plus, we were finally enjoying our quaint little town. And we loved our new church. And we most certainly were not ready for Luke to go back to work.

It was at the end of my week off, I think, that I posed a new thought to Luke.

"Maybe this move isn't the best use of our energy right now," I said.

And just like that, the weight was lifted.

Why we stayed in Indy: part two

Read part one here.

Once Luke and I agreed we were ready to head back north, it was hard to think of anything else. The biggest pieces of the puzzle were selling our house and landing me a new job, but the sequence wasn't clear. Ditch the house to act quickly on a job lead? Find a job and negotiate relocation?

In the end, it didn't matter. It's not like either goal could be achieved overnight. There was no reason I couldn't start my job search at the same time we were preparing the house to sell. If there was a development on either end, we could revisit things then.

Technically, though, according to the inaugural entries in my "House" and "Career Planning" notebooks, the job stuff came first.

Even before the Chicago revelation, I was thinking about a career change, shortly before the New Year, as a result of some major changes at my company. For years I took my job security for granted as Luke and I went through the financial ups and downs so familiar to young married couples with children. Now, though, it was doubly time to leave the nest and try something new.

This was not easy.

When you are with a company for seven years, when you enjoy your job and love your coworkers, and also when you are baby-stepping through major life transitions, it is very easy to avoid thinking about your next move. When I started this process in January, I had a dusty LinkedIn page and a resume from 2005, both of which were as sad as an empty bag of cookies. Plus, when I took my job in Indy, it was after a casual sit-down with the CEO, whom I knew well from my time at Saint Joe (Pumas stick together, yo). My resume came into play after I signed the offer letter, and only for HR purposes.

In other words, I was starting from scratch. And man, did it suck.

I had a terrible time summarizing the first ten years of my career in neat little bullet points. I sat for hours at the computer, typing and retyping while Luke and the kids slept, blanking on what I was good at and how to position myself to a potential employer. I struggled with the format of my resume and how to use LinkedIn. I was connected to people from my past I wouldn't have coffee with now, let alone vouch for in a professional setting. I didn't even know how to find jobs these days. Were the cool kids still using Monster, or was that site retired along with my hair straightener?

(Random aside: I combed through two years of blog entries to find that gem, and OMG. WAS FREMA ROUGH AROUND THE EDGES OR WHAT. Please to ignore all postings before 2006. Thank you.)

Based on those early attempts, I wouldn't have hired me.

But I was leaping, right? Better to start with amateur than nothing at all.

But it wasn't just my resume. I also had to reactivate my career network after spending the last few years head down, focusing on the minutia of my workload and all the moving parts at home. Maintaining relationships in my industry wasn't tied to my performance review and shockingly wasn't covered in my wedding vows. But as a mid-level professional and the main breadwinner for my family, I couldn't afford to put this development area on a shelf anymore.

That's where my notebook came in, writing down the names of people I wanted to reconnect with and those I wanted to meet, recording our meetings and any resulting action items. It was hard to reach out to people after years of no contact, and a handful of emails went ignored, but overall everyone was quite gracious and eager to help me.

Plus, it was FUN. So much fun. I'd almost forgotten how much I enjoyed talking to people, and that networking doesn't have to feel like work when you keep good company.

One of those "good company" folks was my boss. With a tentative game plan and an active resume, it was time to tell her.

Again, NOT EASY.

The entire time we worked together, Raquel and I maintained a very special relationship. We hit it off so well that you would have thought we hired each other instead of inherited each other. Which was good because we spent a lot of time together managing the company's brand, doing everything from late-night photo shoots to out-of-town press checks to growing our department with more staff. She gave me the freedom to do my job and welcomed my ideas, but she wasn't afraid to offer constructive criticism.

It can be tricky to make friends at work, especially with someone you report to, but because we had so much respect for each other, it was never an issue.

And work aside, Raquel was (is!) a wonderful friend. A friend who brought doughnuts to celebrate my birthday and flowers to welcome me back from maternity leave. A friend who shared my passion for All My Children and would send me episode updates from her iPhone so I could stay in the loop after Luke and I canceled satellite and broke our VCR. We watched the series finale together at her house over Italian beefs from Portillo's. We were in constant contact while I was in gallbladder hell, and she came with her husband and mom to Liam's first birthday party in June.

I could never in good conscience walk into her office one day and blindside her with two weeks' notice. So, I took another leap and told her, through tears, over lunch in Februrary. And I never once regretted it. It was hard for both of us, knowing there would come a point when we wouldn't see each other every day, but I couldn't have balanced work and a job search as well as I did without her friendship and support. 

Next up: the house.

Why we stayed in Indy: part one of who knows

At the turn of the New Year, after the hell that was my recovery from gallbladder surgery, I was convinced we needed to move back home.

At that point I had been an Indy-area resident for more than six years, and never did I feel more aware of the physical distance between us and our families. Luke's parents were wonderful and came several times throughout December from northwest Indiana, for days at a time, to help while I was in and out of the hospital, and it had to have taken a toll on them, all that driving, running after three kids under the age of four, and not being able to collapse in their own bed at the end of an exhausting day. 

How different that experience would have been, I thought afterwards, if we were in closer proximity to our close relatives and friends. More people could have been available to help if all they had to do was relieve Luke for a few hours instead of going out of town, away from their jobs and kids and other responsibilities.

I was also convinced we would never find our groove here. Six years in and we still behaved like newcomers to the area. There were no dates because there were no baby-sitters, and there were no baby-sitters because we didn't have the money or the inclination to hire a stranger. And even when we had the support of the other, Luke and I were terrible about granting ourselves "me time" because it meant someone was getting the short end of the stick. I tried a book club for a few months before pulling out; the meet-ups were usually about 40 minutes from my house, and always during the week, so when I did go, I left the house around breakfast and came home after bedtime - missing the kids completely, which I hated, and forcing Luke to fly solo longer than he had to, after what was usually a hard day. I resigned from the volunteer board for Saint Joe after five years of service because the quarterly meetings were on Saturday and I couldn't bring myself to be out of the house for what amounted to the length of a sixth work day, 

If we were near Chicago, I thought, Luke and I would have no shortage of free baby-sitters and longtime friends to hang out with, making it easier to prioritize the non-parenting aspect of our marriage. I wouldn't feel guilty about going to book club if I knew Luke's parents were coming over for dinner. Luke could go hiking and I could visit my sister with the kids, each of us recharging without feeling guilty.

I realize our struggles are prime candidates for a First World Problems hashtag, but they feel very real to parents raising families away from where they grew up. Building a support group from scratch is a tough job. You need confidence to put yourself out there and time to invest in new relationships - neither of which overfloweth when you have little kids. Not to mention I'm fiercely protective of my time outside of work and Luke has fewer opportunities during the day to connect with adults in a meaningful way.

Living in Indy felt a lot like forcing a round peg into a square hole. Weren't we going about this backwards? Why were we trying so hard to create the conditions we already had closer to home? Wouldn't it make more sense to just go back home?

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When I shared these issues with a friend a couple of years ago, she gave me an assignment frequently used in her training and development classes. She told me to make four lists about Indy and Chicago, only instead of measuring pros and cons, the focus was losses and gains.

What I Gain From Staying in Indy

What I Lose by Staying in Indy

What I Gain From Moving to Chicagoland

What I Lose by Moving to Chicagoland

"They tell different things," she said when I asked about the perceived redundancy of the categories. "Just give it a try."

On September 8, 2010, I took a legal-sized notepad and went to town. And while the lists were different, the key themes were clear: closeness to family and affordable cost of living.

The first time I made the list, cost of living won out. My company was doing very well, Luke and I thoroughly enjoyed having a parent at home, and we were both optimistic about our ability to travel more as Kara and Nathan got older. It's not like we were going to complicate things by having another baby or anything!

After my gallbladder fiasco, though, the tables quickly turned, and for the first time since Kara was a baby, Luke was willing to talk about moving.

Which essentially meant:

Chicagoland, here we come.

Just like the office days of yore

My new gig is quite accommodating when it comes to working remotely; as a result, my laptop and I have taken to monopolizing the table in our dining room about once a week. I was one month into the job when Luke took the following picture of Kara, who informed him matter-of-factly she was working at her office.

"Like Mommy does?" he asked.

"Yes."

She even gave him a tour of her shiny new digs. "This is my desk (train table), this is my computer (blocks), and this is my mouse (yet more blocks)."

Seeing as I work in a cubicle devoid of wooden toys and zero train accessories, I'd say her work space trumps mine, no contest.

I would be interested to review work produced in such creative conditions.

I didn't blog for two months, so why not try NaBloPoMo?

PEEPS. Where on Earth have I been?

Two words: Leaping accomplished.

I have a new job. 

It's the end of an era!

This was me seven years ago, just months into a communications job at one of Indiana's top life science companies. I resigned from Saint Joe to take this position, adding more unwanted distance between me and Chicago to start a new chapter with my battered Cobalt, coveted Prada frames (PRA.DA!) and a handful of subscriptions to girl-power magazines.

During those seven years, I added deeper, more adult layers to my life. Luke joined me in Indianapolis and we quickly became engaged; then we got married; then we had three children and oh, yeah, bought our first house. I swapped Glamour for Runner's World. I took up coffee and lost my gallbladder.

I wonder (naively) if I'll ever experience so much growth over such a short period of time.

It took me years to adjust to life in Indy. YEARS. I kept thinking about the family I was missing back home, the friends I was struggling to stay in touch with, the big-city atmosphere that was just as inspiring to me as the ocean. For almost as long as I've been here, and as recently as this spring, I've ugly cried talked to Luke about moving back.

But only at the end of those seven years did it become clear to me (us) that I (we) needed closure with Chicago. I was locked in a Ross-and-Rachel love affair with the city, always with one foot in the door, constantly revisiting the "Will we or won't we?" issue. But no more. For the child-rearing period of our lives, at least, Indianapolis is home. Hoosiers, you're welcome.

And of course, as is the way of life, closing the door on Chicago opened a window in my career.

On my last day with my dear friends and former coworkers Raquel and Jen, two of the best things to come from my first stint in Indy.

My new job came about six weeks ago after almost a year of soul-searching, networking and buying lots of jackets (hashtag: CouponsFromTheLimited). The company is a higher education services provider that helps colleges build online versions of their nursing programs, and I am their first content manager. The fast pace and short learning curve have kept me on my toes, and my commute is a little longer, so I'm still struggling to find a rhythm in my new routine. I may have pulled a Steel Magnolias in a bathroom stall last week at church.

But I continue to be surrounded by wonderful people, and I'm training myself to turn more to God when I'm stressed, and I'm taking better care of myself. It's going to be okay.

And ... that's Day 1 of NaBloPoMo. BOO.YAH.

One for the "First World Problems" File

Game on! Today I begin the third of an 8-week training program to run the B&O Express 5K in September - my first race since fall 2010. Registration's done and everything! I'm following Hal Higdon like I did for the Mini a couple years ago, mainly because his novice program measures distance instead of time and the thought of switching my pace at the bark of a sports watch is about as appealing as watching paint dry.

I'm going after this thing, no excuses.

In an effort to strike that elusive balance of family, work and self, I'm attempting again to score the majority of my runs in the morning, even during the work week, which thankfully is much easier in July when the sun shines at 6 a.m. It also helps that Luke is running, too, and on the cusp of starting training for his first half. It's nice to swap notes and offer encouragement knowing your passion comes from a shared place.

It's also refreshing to rediscover something that brings me joy on such a grand scale. I read an article a few weeks ago on the importance of leisure and the dangers of the busy trap that made an impact on me. Some of my favorite lines:

"The present hysteria is not a necessary or inevitable condition of life; it’s something we’ve chosen, if only by our acquiescence to it." 

"More and more people in this country no longer make or do anything tangible; if your job wasn’t performed by a cat or a boa constrictor in a Richard Scarry book I’m not sure I believe it’s necessary."

(Luckily, businesswoman is considered an actual vocation in Sally, Huckle and Lowly's world, though I doubt a more detailed description would rank any higher on the legitimacy scale than those "What my mom thinks I do" memes on Facebook)

"I suppose it’s possible I’ll lie on my deathbed regretting that I didn’t work harder and say everything I had to say, but I think what I’ll really wish is that I could have one more beer with Chris, another long talk with Megan, one last good hard laugh with Boyd. Life is too short to be busy."

Amen, Tim Kreider.

For the most part, Luke and I do a good job of prioritizing our lives. We're selective with RSVPs and intentional about giving the kids plenty of unstructured time to play Legos, build block towers and narrate stories with their artwork (no lie). This is also true from a financial standpoint: low mortgage, zero car debt, no cable or landline. We certainly have room to grow (Emergency Fund, is it me you're looking for?), but we're on the right track.

When it comes to the "little moments," though, I personally am terrible with letting distractions get in the way of spending time on things that matter. I can waste an hour on Facebook while Liam has no baby book. I can click through my blogroll (still no reader, Jen!) but let my own site collect dust. I check work e-mail when I shouldn't. I watch TV instead of going to sleep.

I often let my long-term goals take a backseat to busyness that, in the end, doesn't amount to anything.

This week was somewhat of a new start. I followed my training schedule, gave a reference for a friend, assembled two care packages, caught up on some reading, and had lunch with Luke and the kids at work. That's what I want to do more of. Those are the moments that make a happy life. There are no prizes for Quickest Responder on Outlook or Most Scrubs Episodes Watched. 

I want to send more care packages. I want to finish a book in the same season I started it. I want to copy favorite quotes into a two-dollar notebook and scrapbook (GASP) and help others outside of just writing a check.

It's not that I never do any of these things (I even have a commonplace book for quotes, remember?); it's about rearranging my life so I can do them more.

I also want to make more time for God.

One of the reasons Luke and I love our church is that the pastors deliver amazing sermons. Today, Pastor Ted talked about communicating with God - how to know when He's speaking to you and how receptive you are to hearing what he has to say. This is something I struggle with. While I love talking out ideas and scenarios with family and friends, I'm very independent and usually pretty confident that I can figure out my own path. I'm good at thanking God for the blessings in my life, but I suck at welcoming guidance. 

On one of my early runs last week - it couldn't have been later than 6:15 - I passed the retention pond next to my trail that joins several of the nicer subdivisions in my neighborhood. By chance I noticed one of the teenagers who lives on my block sitting on a bench in front of the pond. Usually I see him after work riding his skateboard or walking with his friends, but that morning he was alone, quiet, just staring at the water.

That image came back to me at random points throughout the day and again after today's sermon. It reminded me that I need more stillness in my life so I can hear voices other than my own. I need to be open to guidance.

That's a life worth choosing.

We get by with a little help

While riding the gallbladder rollercoaster, I had a "come to Jesus" moment about how much people need each other during times of crisis and how difficult it can be to offer and accept help.

When I first saw the OB on the last Monday of November, it was after six hours of intense pain that had me crying harder than Sally Field after Shelby's funeral in Steel Magnolias. And yet? I drove myself to the appointment. Later that night, after five hours of lying on a gurney half-asleep from narcotic medication in the E.R., I proceeded to drive myself home. The painkillers were out of my system by then, so it's not like I was driving under the influence, but I was struggling to concentrate on the road. On the expressway. In the rain. The minute I reached my driveway, I sent fervent prayers of thanks to God that I made it home in one piece.

It did not have to be this way.

First of all, I was surrounded by coworkers who are kind and caring and would have been more than willing to take me to the hospital. Second, once I was at the E.R., I was in constant contact with Luke and my boss the whole time, and both of them would have dropped everything to be with me and make sure I was okay. But in typical oldest-child people-pleaser fashion, I didn't want to bother anyone. In the moment, I couldn't justify asking Luke to pack up three children under the age of four at two hours before midnight and subject them to a ninety-minute screamfest "just" to bring me home. I should've gone with Plan B - crashing at my boss's house the next town over, just fifteen minutes from the hospital - but I didn't want to impose or come off as a drama queen, even though I knew her offer was genuine. I could walk, yes? I wasn't seeing double? So long as I was able to do those two things, I figured I should take care of myself.

I can see now this was wrong of me, especially since it wasn't true. I didn't have to take care of myself. When someone reaches out to lighten your burden, let them. Don't make the decision for them or overshadow their kindness with your own trivial hang-ups. Isabel wrote a great post about this last year that has stayed with me ever since. Even Jesus had help carrying the Cross.

As it turned out, there would be another opportunity to accept help graciously, sooner than I expected. Not twenty-four hours later, I could barely sit up in bed, let alone drive a car. Luke and I had to admit that our family couldn't handle this alone.

The grandest gesture came from Luke's parents, who stayed at our house three to four days at a time two weeks in a row to lend a hand with the kids. Words cannot express how grateful we are for their willingness to put their own lives on hold and place our needs first, without any advance notice, and for spinning it in such a way that you could almost trick yourself into thinking they had the better end of the deal. ("We enjoy spending so much time with our grandchildren!") We received an outpouring of love and concern from other friends and family through phone calls, texts, e-mails, and Facebook, but it was Grandma and Grandpa D who proactively came to the rescue in the area we needed it most, even when it couldn't have been convenient for them.

Their act of selflessness has reminded me that I've not been nearly as generous with my own time. It's easy to make abstract statements when life is all sunshine and rainbows; it's much harder to follow through when hard times present themselves and a loved one calls your bluff. When you learn on a random Monday that your mother's favorite aunt, your late grandmother's sister, has passed away and the viewing is on Thursday, for example.

My mother didn't ask me to attend the service; I think she told me NOT to come, actually, since I was in my second trimester with Liam, and sick all the time, and Luke had a cold himself, and the funeral home was four hours away, and we didn't have the money for gas. She knew all that and didn't want us over extending ourselves. But I felt drawn to be there for her just the same and told her on Tuesday we would make every effort to come.

After a lot - A LOT - of discussion, though, and proposing a million different scenarios, Luke and I decided that we just couldn't do it. We were too sick. We were too broke.

I remember calling my mom to tell her about the change in plans and feeling like an absolute tool for letting her down, even though she couldn't have been more understanding. I felt terrible for not making her pain more of a priority. I asked myself again and again if my short-term issues trumped the long-term gravity of the situation, and what I would think of my response five years down the road.

I don't hold this up as an example of a time where I should have made a different choice - right now I don't regret the decision we made - but it paints a very real picture of the factors people take into account when responding to requests for support (direct or perceived), and how easy it can be to fall short. I acknowledge this was a perfect storm of circumstances where I happened to be physically,mentally, and financially tapped out, and that in the last few years I have busted ass to be present for some life-changing events for family and friends. Births. Deaths. Miscarriages. Missing siblings. Weddings. Baptisms. Birthdays. 

But there are also plenty of instances where I wish I would've stopped fretting over some perceived obstacle that seemed monumental at the time but in reality was more of a discomfort and just been there.

I hope to be there a lot more in 2012.

I'm so glad we had this time together

Indianapolis started school almost a month ago, but for the Frema-Useless Clutter household, we are just now closing our chapter on the season that is summer.

Nathan started his parents' day out program yesterday. He was so excited about it that he ran into the classroom ("Terrific Twos!") before Luke and I could hug him good-bye. As it should be, even if it did stab my heart a little.

Kara would have started along with him in the Thriving Threes and Fours group as was planned earlier in the spring except that Luke and I decided to mix things up at the last minute in light of my recent pay increase and upgraded her registration to preschool. Compared to others, her classroom time seems relatively light at just two afternoons a week, but for us it is the perfect amount of exposure to new concepts and reinforcement of what she's already mastered at home. She's even completed her first homework assignment, doled out at last Thursday's open house, if you call cutting up magazines for an "All About Me" poster homework, which I totally do, because hello, the girl's only three. Her first session was today.

Meanwhile, the newest addition to our family turned 10 weeks old this morning. He continues to delight everyone in the house with his smiles, coos, and poops. He isn't sleeping through the night yet, but he does pull some seriously long stretches from mid-evening to early morning. Now if only his stupid parents would use this time to sleep instead of watching Friends reruns and loading the dishwasher.

As for me? Well, today was my last day of maternity leave.

What to say about these last ten weeks? It's been amazing, relishing in newbornhood one more time, and spending days upon days clocking hours of snuggle time in our glider, building robots out of Legos, playing catch up with Pixar, and overall just enjoying my babies. They are all such funny little people, so smart and charming, and Kara and Nathan were so patient with me during my pregnancy with Liam. They deserved this time to bond with me, too, to get caught in the rain with me at the zoo, to have me drive them to and from tumbling class, to share a blueberry muffin with me at Starbucks after a random trip to Target. I was introduced to Mater and Ladybug Girl and Yo Gabba Gabba!, and they were reminded that their mother is capable of doing more than visiting the doctor and sleeping on the couch. It's hard for them sometimes, watching me with Liam when they'd rather have me for themselves, but these growing pains will become easier to handle as he gets older, and they pale in comparison to how much fun we have when we're all together.

I think everything is ready for tomorrow: outfit ironed, lunch packed, professional shots of Liam ready to be added to my desk. I've got a fresh hair cut, new purse, and filed nails. I'll certainly look ready to be back at work, even if the pit in my stomach indicates otherwise. 

Having pushed through this hurdle twice now, I know in the end it'll be okay. I work with wonderful people who will help me transition back to office life, and the kids couldn't be in better hands with Luke. Good things are ahead of us. I just wish time could've stopped a little bit longer.

This is what four weeks postpartum looks like

Four weeks ago yesterday, at 9:48 a.m., the last child I will ever carry (that is, unless Luke is fatally injured, I meet Joshua Jackson, and he requires biological offspring in lieu of a marriage prenup) was strategically evicted from my uterus. Only it doesn't feel like four weeks ago, more like an eternity, because it's already that difficult to imagine what life was like without Liam.

Fortunately and unfortunately, the biggest hurdle to overcome thus far has been my own physical recovery. There's some persistent fluid build-up causing tenderness in my abdominal area, tenderness that until a few days ago inspired mild nausea whenever anyone came into contact with my stomach, and my tire gut contributed to bacterial and fungal infections around my incision that interfered with the normal healing process. Apparently, all that extra skin (sexy!) worked against me when it came to keeping the scar dry, turning the whole area into a red, blotchy mess. I've been to my ob/gyn's office twice since coming home from the hospital, with another follow-up slated for today. 

Luckily, an elaborate ritual involving cotton balls, hydrogen peroxide, MY FRIGGING BLOW DRYER, anti-fungal powder, and hospital-grade gauze applied twice a day for the last week has resulted in me finally feeling like myself again, my personal best, even, since before the onset of my first trimester morning sickness. I'm feeling so good, in fact, that I also have two full days of meds-free living under my belt, with not so much as an over-the-counter pill in my system. Hooray for me, and also, IT'S ABOUT DAMN TIME.

It's only because I'm doing so well I can admit that in those first few weeks, all that unresolved pain paired with the traditional complications from this type of surgery seriously impacted my ability to function. What I said about mornings being a cherished part of my routine in my last post was true, but it's also true that they were the hardest part of my day. I posted a lot of jokes on Facebook about my A.M. coffee intake, but truly, I was no good to anyone until half-way to lunch, even though Luke and I shared night duty for Liam, and even though Luke continued to get up with Kara and Nathan just as he does when I'm working so that I could go back to bed for another couple of hours while Liam dozed after his first morning bottle.

For so long I was embarrassed about this, would apologize to my husband for having to pick up my slack, and felt like less of a mother because I couldn't push through my own issues to be fully present for ALL the members of my family. It wasn't like I was completely detached from daily living, but oftentimes even simple tasks such as giving a bath or unloading the dishwasher put too much strain on my body, so that I couldn't do more than a couple of things like that in a 24-hour time span. Now that my infections are just about healed and my overall pain has been downgraded to annoying at best, all I can do is recognize that I'm not Wonder Woman, acknowledge that I needed help - a lot of help - to get back on my feet, and thank my lucky stars Luke was around to give it to me. His being the at-home parent in our relationship allowed Kara and Nathan to get the care and attention they needed and enabled me to focus on bonding with Liam and getting better. I'm not proud of how often I fell short, but I can forgive myself for it and move on.

And yet, even in those early weeks when I would cry over not being the wife and mother I wanted to be, I was still in much better shape mentally then I was after having Kara, as I learned how to integrate the role of mother into my life, and after Nathan, born not fourteen months after his sister, who was still just a baby herself. This time around, there was no veil of self-doubt, no wavering in making decisions that were best for my family. I was still able to embrace each day for the gift it was, laugh through the building of Lego towers with my toddlers, and appreciate every hour of snuggle time with my new baby.

I keep comparing this maternity leave to Kara's and Nathan's, and each time, I realize how far I've come since then. This is the first time I've been able to bring home a child and hold onto the best, most confident parts of myself. I am so grateful for that. This focus and sense of peace I've discovered since Liam was born, it's such a blessing.

Speaking of Liam, he continues to knock our socks off. He's finally "woken up," so to speak, and joined the world of the living in that he isn't sleeping twenty hours a day anymore; he has fussy periods in the morning and evening hours, but they are not unbearable or even a surprise, given his age. At last Friday's weight check, he clocked in at a whopping 10 pounds and 3 ounces. Two days later, he rolled over for the first time. He enchants us all with gassy smiles, wide eyes, and pursed lips. Poor thing still has traces of Kara's and Nathan's cold, and it appears that we are dealing with a clogged tear duct in his right eye, but again, nothing unbearable. I can't believe how lucky we are to have him, or that I owe his existence to a bottle of red from Walmart. Miracles, though, aren't picky.

As for me, I am good, so very, very good, if not a little stir-crazy from mostly hanging out indoors, partly due to the above-mentioned ailments and partly from the Midwest's record-breaking humidity. I've generated a few unexpected bills since my leave began (damn crown, breaking off two days after coming home from the hospital!), and since we had to deplete a lot of our savings before Liam's birth for a variety of reasons, I have decided to return to work two weeks early so we can avoid financial strain. This puts me back in the office the week of Labor Day instead of late September. 

In the past, the very thought of this scenario would have reduced me to a weepy puddle of WAAAH, but I'm okay with this decision, too. I'm not wishing my time away with my family by any means, but there is a piece of me that's eager to embrace our new normal, and that new normal includes me going back to work. Plus, there is so much for us to do now that Liam is here; prepare to put our house on the market, for one. Pay off our credit card debt (and new array of medical bills) once and for all. Start tending to my professional network again. In other words, make our dreams come true. 

I am so ready.

The big 3-0 and musings on the working mother balance

Folks, we have officially entered single-digit territory - no more than nine weeks until we bring Baby Brother home. My word.

 

I will shoot daggers at anyone who might dare utter this to me, but at 30 weeks, even I have to admit that I'm looking large and in charge (and also in need of a haircut; THAT I hope to remedy next week). Sitting both children on my lap for storytime is damn near impossible, and several items of maternity clothing are no longer fit for public display, especially button-up shirts, which mistakenly give the impression that this child is going to burst through my uterus Incredible Hulk style. Thankfully, I have some things to tide me over courtesy of my book club friends until my sister delivers an entire bin of looser-fitting summer clothes late next month, because the goal is still to spend as little money in this area as possible. (To Katy: I get compliments on this top everytime I wear it, and your patterned black skirt, too.)

Despite the iron supplement I'm taking to address my anemia, I wear out so easily these days, and if there is ever an opportunity to nap on the weekends, I jump on it immediately. Unfortunately, now that we're inching into the final weeks, those opportunities are few and far between. Last weekend was all about The Great Bedroom Merge, and the weekend before that I FINALLY started on Nathan's baby book. Our current goals are to focus on preparing Baby Brother's room and addressing minor touch-ups and eyesores throughout the rest of the house. I've also been busy at work, training my coworkers to handle various projects and to-dos while I'm on maternity leave for 12 weeks.

The closer we get to the big day, the more apprehensive I feel about making it through those early months with a new baby. As a mother of toddlers, I have no doubts about their attachment to me or their understanding of my love for them. This knowledge has allowed me to grant myself permission to strike a manageable balance between my roles as mother, wife, working professional, and individual who continues to exist alongside (and sometimes independently of) all of those identities. In my day-to-day, that balance looks something like this:

I do not bring work home. I will arrive at the office early, or I will stay late, but aside from regularly checking e-mail on my smartphone, work stuff stays at work. It is much easier to stay put until the job is done than it is to stop my train of thought, pack up my laptop, get through dinner, clean-up, and bedtime, and THEN try to pick up where I left off. Not only am I easily distracted at home and get little accomplished whether the kids are awake or not, I also feel cheated out of quality time with Luke. So if coming home late for dinner once in a while helps me to be a more attentive wife (and really, a better employee), than that is what I will do.

Dinner clean-up is done after dinner, not after bedtime. I fought this for such a long time in the beginning, because I felt like those precious minutes before the bedtime routine begins should be spent on the living room floor playing with my kids, not at the kitchen sink washing dishes. So I used to let everything sit until after they were asleep; however, Kara and Nathan were not made from the early-to-bed cloth, so often I wouldn't be arriving downstairs until well after nine o'clock, which meant it could get as late as ten before my "real" evening officially began. This made for a crabby Frema and, once again, a neglected husband, who by this point was in dire need of adult interaction. Finally, I realized that it wasn't the end of the world to listen to the kids laugh and rough around with their father while I puttered around in the kitchen. There are some exceptions to this; on those days where I do come home late, for example, Luke is usually quick to shoo me into the living room while he takes on kitchen detail, and lately he's been making things even easier by wiping out the pre-dinner dishes before he starts cooking. Especially because of this last thing, I am often able to do both.

(Have I told you lately how wonderful my husband is? Because truly, he is so wonderful.)

I do not miss bedtime. This isn't an absolute, of course; sometimes there are evening work functions (though none during this pregnancy so far), Luke and I have splurged on date nights if we are in the vicinity of grandparents or can afford to hire our sitter, and for a few months in the fall I attended a monthly book club gathering on the other side of the city, but overall my general rule is to be present for Kara and Nathan's bedtime. Sometimes it's frustrating if the kids are acting up, and sometimes it's inconvenient, like last summer when I was constantly late for my weekly run with Jenn, but overall it's worth it to consistently be there for bathtime, lights out, and everything in between. I revel in holding them close and sniffing their freshly shampooed heads while reading them stories. It means a lot to me to be able to kiss their cheeks and tuck them in. So I make it a priority.

I do not volunteer. This one I'm not proud of, and it's another reality I fought for a long time, but in the end, it is what it is. I was a member of my college's alumni association for about five years, and I loved doing it, but the distance between Indianapolis and Rensselaer made traveling for quarterly meetings and participating in campus events highly undesirable, especially when I already spend enough time away from home. So in 2009, I sadly turned in my resignation. My employer is great about allowing time off during the work week to participate in volunteer activities, and on and off for a couple of years I was involved in a grade-school reading program for an hour a week, but once I had kids, even that one hour away from my desk was enough to throw off my entire day, so at the end of the 2010 school year, I told the program director that I wouldn't be signing up again. Last fall, my desire to reach beyond myself grew again, and I looked into donating my time at a local women's and children's shelter, possibly on the weekends. Then I got pregnant again, and then I got sick, and now the recommendation letters I solicited are collecting dust in my mail basket, and I'm at the point where I have to admit that now is not the time to throw myself into extracurricular activities that take me away from my family, no matter how worthy the cause. That said, Luke and I recently began going to church again, a church right here in town, and we sometimes talk about looking into their soup kitchen or Bible study classes or something to that effect. So it's not like I'm swearing off do-gooding or charitable works completely, but I have realized my limits, and I have to respect them.

All of that to say - almost three and a half years into this parenthood thing, and I have finally figured out what works for me and my family. And we're about to turn all of that on its head.

Because for me, as a working mother, when I have a baby and then reach the point where I have to go back to work, I'm NOT as secure in our attachment like I am when they're older, so everything feels like it's up for grabs. You can talk to a toddler about things like having to miss dinner and they understand. That is not the case with a baby. So my big-picture focus changes from maintaining balance to simply being there as much as I can.

What this translates into on a micro level: It's hard enough being away for an average work day when they're so little that the last thing I want to do is sit at my desk even one minute after five, even if the alternative is nodding off at my laptop at ten. And when I'm dividing my attention among three children, why would I concern myself with dishes when I could be doling out hugs and kisses? On top of all that, Luke and I have not wavered on our plans to put the house on the market next year, and whether it takes a month or a year to sell, preparing for the next stage of our lives will require me to start using and building on my professional network, and part of that will entail opening myself up to extracurricular programs and events, whether it's the right time or not.

I think about all of this, toss in a few random worries about nursing (yes, I have decided to try again), and my brain threatens to explode.

Then I remind myself to breathe and not get so caught up in the future. I remember that fortunately, another reality is that Luke and I are not brand spanking new parents anymore, and we HAVE figured out a system that works for us; and while there will be an initial period of deviation from that, eventually the dust will settle, and we'll embrace a familiar version of normal once again, even if it's not identical to what we had before. Until then, I will have to grant myself permission to take it one day at a time.

So, to sum up: I am 30 weeks pregnant. I am a tad worried about managing life with a third baby. But I'm also more seasoned now than I was with the first two. Plus, my husband rocks. It will be okay.

Working on my business

Turns out we won't be able to pay off our credit card debt before Baby Brother 2.0's arrival.

I discovered this on Valentine's Day after Luke filed our taxes and I created budgets for every paycheck through June. We were so close, dammit--just a few hundred dollars away--but alas, Visa is not the only entity that needs our money. We are furiously pumping dollars into our HSA for my ob/gyn and hospital bills and into short-term savings to cover unexpected expenses during my maternity leave and transition back to work. Our goal to get out of credit card debt is going to take longer than we planned--probably into the beginning of the New Year, unfortunately--but at least the end is in sight.

All of this got me thinking about ways to bring in more money.

I've mentioned several times here my eagerness to explore launching a freelance business I could manage in my "spare time," but right now, it's not going to happen. For one thing, building a client base will be more difficult than I first thought. My original plan was to reach out to some of the advertising, design, and printing vendors I know through work, but I recently learned this type of relationship is regarded as a "conflict of interest" by my employer, so good-bye to that idea. Now, I could still go after like-minded companies to land similar types of projects, but when in my day am I supposed to network, set up introductions, attend client meetings, and just plain be available for questions or immediate needs? My work is flexible, but not THAT flexible, you know? Also, I doubt one lunch hour per week day would be enough to manage those things, and most people are not up for conducting business face-to-face after 5 p.m.

I'm sure some more efficient ways to iron out these details details would present themselves with a litle bit of pre-planning, but at this point in my life, I'm not willing to explore them. It would be easier to apply for a nights-and-weekends job at the Gap and be done with it, but right now the whole point is to increase our income while maximizing our time together as a family.

So I've got a different plan. As the great Monica Gellar once proclaimed in the second season of Friends when she invested her last few unemployment dollars into MGE stock, "I'm going to bet on me!"

In my particular scenario, "me" equals this blog.

Before I had kids, I was able to pay a lot more attention to this here little site, and the unintended (but very welcome) result was a two-year stint at Parents.com. What a wonderful opportunity as a writer to be paid for sharing my thoughts and experiences with pregnancy and motherhood. It's also how I came to know some pretty awesome people.

On the flip side, Mom-101 spends a lot of time talking about appreciating your value as a blogger and not underestimating your worth, and I think that was my biggest failure with Parents.com. Not in the sense that any additional efforts on my part would have kept the community from shutting down, but in hindsight I see that my fear of being labeled a "sell-out" for taking that gig kept me from publicizing my content and making it more accessible to long-time readers. I didn't Tweet links or start a Facebook page because Some People don't like that. But you know what? Some People do, and that includes me. I think it's helpful when the bloggers I follow on Twitter share their newest post, I'm among the first to "like" a Facebook fan page for a blog I love, and I don't think twice when somebody decides to implement advertising on their site. I have preferences on how those things are done, but I don't object to the acts themselves. So why have I always been so much harder on myself than the Internet trailblazers I so admire? Hell, I couldn't bring myself to keep a list of Parents entries in my own damn sidebar. God forbid I give the impression that I believe my writing is actually worth READING.

What it comes down to, I think, at least for me, is that for the longest time the majority of online content was published purely for recreation, without any thought given to financial gain or career opportunities. You blogged because it was fun and didn't assign any value to it beyond random shits and giggles. These days you can host ads, write sponsored posts, receive corporate sponsorship to attend a conference, freelance for other sites, and optimize your posts for keywords that apply to your "desired market." You can manage your personal brand just like the big wigs do over at Best Buy, Amazon, and Apple.

I work in marketing and communications, so I'm pretty familiar with the concept of branding. I've just never really done it for myself.

Thankfully, marketing can be done tastefully and with respect for the end user, but compared to established creative industries like music and book publishing, blogging is relatively new to the concept of for-profit strategy, and the community is still mulling over that proverbial line in the sand when it comes to deciding how far is too far. And opinions vary drastically. To some, blog links on Twitter are tacky. For others, partial feeds to increase site click-throughs are grounds for cancelling a newsfeed subscription. Then there are those who simply ignore any bells and whistles that don't appeal to them and keep on doing their blog-reading thang.

My problem is I've been operating all these years on two potentially faulty assumptions:

• That any reader in the history of the universe who encounters my blog is against any form of self-promotion, and
• That that those opinions should heavily influence how I manage my blog.

Obviously, neither has to be true.

As is the case with so many areas in my life, I need to stop worrying about what other people think and start trusting my own gut when it comes to making decisions, whether they pertain to my boobs or my blog or whatever.

A long time ago, Molly and I talked about trying to launch a mom-centric website of sorts, but neither of us had a concrete idea to pursue, and currently I don't have the mindset to commit to starting something brand-new from scratch. However, this blog has always been important to me, and I never regret the time I spend updating. I certainly don't need another reason to spend more time here, but if there is even a small chance I can take something so personally fulfilling and turn it into a financial opportunity, well, why not at least try?

I have no idea where this will go. I am open to incorporating ads, though I have no idea which network to use, and I could earn twenty bucks a month or nothing at all. I'd love to land another freelance gig but have no idea how to go after that, as Parents was handed to me on a silver platter. I don't feel comfortable writing sponsored posts at this time, and there aren't any resources available in the Frema-Useless Clutter household for blogging conferences or other networking events.

I can...start a Facebook fan page, though, right? That's easy. That's free.

So, all of THAT to say this: I'm going to start a Facebook fan page!  You're trembling in your boots with excitement, aren't you? I can totally tell.

15 weeks and personal finance mumbo jumbo

Today I welcomed my fifteenth week of pregnancy by vomiting for the first time since I peed on that fateful stick back in October. For future reference, prenatal vitamin + leftover Raisin Bran milk = blaaaaaaaaah.

In other, less disgusting news, I had my monthly ob appointment yesterday, and Number Three is doing well; very active, according to the doctor, and the heartbeat sounded strong at 150 bpm. There are a few aches and pains going on that are typical of this stage - the acting of up my sciatic nerve, for one, and a tenderness in my abdomen that was diagnosed by the doctor as being diastasis recti. I also found my first pregnancy-related skin tag ever near my collarbone, a couple of nights ago. Way to go, baby, for keeping things interesting!

Here I am in all my gestational glory:

 

Why do I look whiter than the Pillsbury Doughboy? And is it just me, or is that picture frame crooked? Oh, well, at least I can still fit into my regular-sized dress slacks. So long as they are cotton and sport elastic waistbands.

-------

At the start of the New Year I outlined our household budget through the remaining winter months, and I know these issues are only temporary, but things feel bleak, friends. Luke and I are working hard to pay off our credit card balance before the baby comes in June, which means almost every bit of cash from now until March is needed to cover our car insurance premiums, homeowner's association fees, and necessary grocery and household items as well as pay down our Visa bill. Luke and I did not exchange Christmas presents, only token stocking stuffers, and there are no travel plans slated for anytime soon, save my niece's baptism in Chicago next month.

Sometimes I feel like a complete and utter failure for not being able to manage our finances more efficiently, and then I remind myself that some things were simply out of our control: a $164 increase in our mortgage last fall thanks to a negative balance in our escrow account was the most jarring, and the random but major car repairs totaling almost two grand in September were definitely not on our radar. Luckily, there is light at the end of the tunnel: tax refunds in February and my annual raise in April should put us on more secure footing, though we have decided there is no way in hell we have any business taking on a car payment to buy a vehicle that can accommodate three car seats anytime soon. This means we'll be hauling two cars if we need to go anywhere local as a family and renting a van if we find ourselves needing/wanting to travel north. But hey, at least we have two cars that we own outright, and we can still pay our bills and put food on the table, and we don't have to talk about Luke going back to work (as if we could afford three kids in daycare, anyway), and really, this money glitch is so temporary in the grand scheme of things. Nothing on our plate is unmanageable, just really hard to get through sometimes on a day-to-day basis.

How's that for keeping it real?

This is just one more reason I have been considering launching a part-time freelancing business sometime this year. I'm not looking to replace my full-time income, just supplement it with some meaty writing projects from time to time.

Have any of you had any luck starting your own business? How did you get started? Are there any books you would recommend?

First trimester progress

Now that I've broken my two-week posting hiatus, consequently relieving myself of the pressure to come back with an entry of Shakespearean-like proportions, I can give you a real update.

I am still sick. I am still scared. I am still spending the majority of my waking, non-working hours curled up in a ball on the couch in sweatpants.

But also, some progress has been made.

For starters, I have already ironed out the logistics of my maternity leave. I will take 12 weeks off just like I did with Kara and sorely wished I could have done with Nathan. The first six will be paid by my employer, and the second will be partially covered under short-term disability. I will also have almost a month's worth of vacation time at my disposal, and originally I asked about tacking on a week or two of PTO to my leave, but two members of my department's senior strategy team are also expecting, and their leave will overlap with mine, and I was told it was too much time to be out of the office. For a while I was a little frustrated about this, not to mention the U.S.'s overall attitude on maternity leave in general, but there are many women in this country who could never take advantage of even the 12 weeks protected by law, so I am just grateful that my company provides paid time off to begin with and that I can be out the full three months without completely wrecking our finances.

On another work-related note, I have already spoken to my boss about travel arrangements for next year, and she has assured me that my trips should be few and far between. Not that I ever traveled a whole lot, anyway, but the mere possibility of being asked to hop on a plane and leave behind a baby for multiple days at a time was enough to bring me to tears. I had to evaluate an industry conference in Chicago a couple of months ago and I was gone for three nights, and it wasn't terrible, but for me, it was still too long. I couldn't imagine doing that with an infant at home. Luckily, I was told that if I have to go to another conference, it can be scheduled for while I'm still pregnant. Thank goodness my boss is so understanding.

Luke and I have also worked out childcare for my hospital stay. Luke's parents, who graciously watched Kara for us when I had Nathan, will actually be site-seeing in Wales when I deliver in June, so good ole Molly has offered to step up to the plate - VOLUNTARILY, without being asked or anything. How she will handle five children ranging in age from eight to two for three days is...not something I want to spend too much time thinking about. Hopefully, she won't, either.

(Thanks again, friend!)

Lastly, I've started doing a little research on lactation consultants and have information for two different resources near my area, so I'm starting to feel a tiny bit more confident that I will have adequate support for nursing this time around. (There is an entire post brewing inside of me on this very subject, don't you worry.)

Other than that, I've been trying to focus on life after Number Three's arrival: incorporating the baby into our family routines, moving forward with plans to sell the house, and getting through the difficulty of yet another First Year with my sanity still intact. I have visions of baby-wearing and jogger-strollering and baby-sittering and various other ways to keep life moving. With Kara and even Nathan, Luke and I kind of allowed our lives to stop, because with Kara everything was so shell-shockingly new and with Nathan they were both so damn young - both in cribs, both in diapers, both demanding so much attention that all we could do was manage day by day. We also didn't have a clear picture of where we were headed or how to get there, so being at a standstill didn't affect our big-picture timeline one way or the other. This time, we will have two rambunctious toddlers who like to do things like go to school and play trains at the library and dig sand at the beach, and I don't want them to lose their summer just because we add another person into the mix. Also, we DO have goals now, and a long-term vision for our future, and we are the only ones who can make that vision happen. So we'll have to start doing that, too, even in the face of constant feedings, night wakings, and growth spurts.

So, to sum up: things kind of suck right now. But come next June, it will be all good, just mark my words.

On using, not finding, the time

On Tuesday, I went running for the first time since August. Of course, it was amazing - not once have I ever regretted a run. And while I know that 12-minute miles aren't anything to write home about, it felt so good to hit the pavement again, and to readopt a posture that for a while came so naturally: arms at my sides, feet skidaddling over the ground a la Fred Flinstone and his caveman wheels. Why do I let myself fall out of sync with activities that make such a positive impact on me?

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On Wednesday, I left a "meaty" comment on a blog entry for the first time in - oh, I don't know, years? (Discussion of religion will do that to you; best of luck, Christy!) After having Kara and returning to work, I had to cut back on the timesuck somewhere, and that somewhere, unfortunately, was not only my presence on this here website but also in the comments sections of my most favorite internet people. So many of you consistently respond to my brain dumps with kind and thoughtful words, and I'm disappointed in myself for not returning the favor. I gain so much value from the blog community, personally and professionally, but in the day-to-day hustle I consistently overlook the importance of giving back. Sometimes it can be as easy as tweeting a piece of content that impressed or resonated with me. Othertimes, a little more uncomfortable, like going against the grain when my belief system isn't popular, or finding the right words to disagree.

Part of my growth as a writer and as a person in 2011, I think, will be to identify which of my causes need the most attention and how I can use my voice to raise awareness and call others to action. I don't consider myself a "safe" blogger, necessarily, but I'm not picketing on Election Day or writing letters to my senator, either, content-wise. There's got to be a happy medium.

Without morphing into a judgemental asshat, of course. 

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I'm already thinking about goals and aspirations for the New Year, and instead of hammering out the usual list of resolutions, I'm thinking of focusing on a couple phrases that cover more ground. "Escape velocity" has been a huge one for 2010 and will most likely carry over as I work on executing short-term projects falling under that umbrella; also, "moving the Titanic" (is that an insensitive reference? I sure hope not), since right now it feels like I'm aboard a massive ship that can't be steered with one quick motion, but instead requires tiny corrections and adjustments to slowly change course. My iceberg is in clear sight, and if I don't start redirecting soon, I fear I will soon be trapped into a life of what-ifs as a result of my own inaction.

But it won't be easy. "Moving my Titanic" will require maintaining my current level of responsibility (parenting, working, budgeting, wife-ing) while also making room for new endeavors that will help me change my path and generally just make me happier. For example, if I want to formally launch a part-time freelance business next year (which, newsflash! I want to launch a part-time freelance business next year!), I can't grab extra hours by cutting back on my day job; if anything, my current workload dictates ramping things up to help the company through a critical time of year. Likewise, if I want to run more or increase my blog presence or pick up crocheting again or FINALLY get some ink onto the pages of Nathan's baby book, I can't score the time by staying up any later than I already do, especially since another priority is to get better sleep. And I can't incorporate everything I want to do into every single day.

At times it's discouraging, this survival-of-the-fittest approach to time management - pitting your functions and interests against each other and balancing which ones should come out on top at a particular moment in time. But then I remember that everyone is faced with the same conundrums and challenges, all of us given the same number of hours in a day to live our lives, and it is plenty time enough to accomplish some pretty fantastic things. Myself included, even, with the right mixture of commitment and energy. The time is there. I just need to use it more effectively.

I have more thoughts and ideas to touch on (including the answer to Eva's "Why are you selling your house?" question posted to my last entry), but until then, I leave you with Nathan's latest words of wisdom:

"Dammit.... Don't say dammit."

My son, the sage.

On living honestly

This morning, Luke and I registered Kara for preschool.

Well, technically, not preschool. It's categorized as a children's ministry program, offered through a nearby church. Four hours a day, one day a week. The program isn't accredited with fancy acronyms, and the staff members don't have teaching licenses, but there will be free play and music and snack time and show-and-tell and take-home bulletins once a month. Plus, we'll have to get her a backpack and lunchbox. So for a two-year-old girl who's been hanging out at home with her dad and her baby brother almost her entire life, it's close enough.

It's plenty close for her parents, too.

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In an effort to get a better handle on our finances, Luke and I are trying something new at home. Suze Orman calls it the back-to-cash movement. I like to think of it as our new reality.

The new reality is this: Gone are the days where we put everything on the credit card and pay for it at the end of thirty days (which, near the end, wasn't working out so well, anyway). Good-bye to Excel spreadsheets that were intended to help us budget on a monthly basis rather than per-paycheck. From now on, if we want to buy something, we are going to the bank, making a withdrawal from the ATM, and paying for it in cash. There will be occasional exceptions, of course, like purchases online or the occasional Redbox rental, but ninety-five percent of the time, them's the rules.

We started on October 1. Six days in so far, and doing well.

 

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Luke and I have been talking a lot about what we want to accomplish in the short term--realistic goals we can achieve in the next six to twelve months. In the short term, we want more social networking opportunities for Kara and Nathan (not the Facebook and Twitter kind), to give them a chance to explore interests outside the confines of our living room, interacting with adults who are not us. We want to enjoy financial freedom and not have to itemize every single penny of a paycheck two months in advance in order to afford concert tickets or Christmas presents or a random date night. We want to formally close the baby chapter of our lives by New Year's and put our house on the market come spring. And I want to volunteer.

However, we're also in agreement on what we don't want. For example, we are not quite ready to enroll Nathan in any sort of program that takes him out of our care. He can have a few more months of home time with Luke and Kara, and enjoy the precious one-on-one time he's about to score with his dad, and at least blow out the candles on his second birthday cake before we re-evaluate our position. Also, we are not ready for Luke to go back to work, even if we could put another salary to good use ($1,600 worth of car repairs on the Outlander, I'm looking at you). We appreciate and depend on the benefits of being a one-income family: the extra bonding time for Luke and the kids, the flexibility of managing only one work schedule, the ability for me to concentrate on my corporate to-dos as needed instead of tossing my laptop into a bag the minute the clock turns five. We wouldn't be any worse for the wear for having those issues, but they would most definitely complicate things, and we have all the uncertainty we can handle right now, thankyouverymuch.

We've talked about me picking up some freelance work or Luke taking a part-time job with night and weekend hours to bring more money through the door, but honestly, right now we are content to just buckle down and do the best we can with what we have today. There is enough to pay the bills and buy the organic yogurt we like and travel north and even score dinner out once and a while. We are beefing up our short-term savings and still making regular deposits into our health savings account for medical expenses. We don't need a second mortgage, and we aren't defaulting on Sallie Mae. In every area that counts, we are fine. And believe me, we are thankful.

But still, we are making hard choices, like back in August when we discontinued satellite. This month, we stopped all contributions to my 401(k), an account that's been funded every two weeks rain or shine for the last five years AND saw generous matches from my employer, to make room in the budget for Kara's tutition. I am disappointed over this and understand there may be long-term ramifications come our golden years, but I do not regret it. Luke and I have been preparing for the future since before we even married. We're proud of the money we've accrued for retirement already. But right now, it is time to plan for now.

 

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In a conversation with Molly earlier this fall, she used the phrase "living honestly," and it has stuck with me ever since. Because that's what it feels like we're doing now: living a life that reflects our priorities and our resources, and sorting out the white noise that only gets in the way. For the first time in a long time, we're putting our money where our mouth is. What's that worth to you? I ask about almost everything now, from wedding RSVPs to a bag of Gummi Bears to preschool. What are you willing to sacrifice to make this happen?

Our short term is paving the way for the long term, a reality in which we are mortgage-free and in a position to entertain housing options that bring us closer to our loved ones, who I am missing more than ever these days. A reality that has both of us in careers that we love and best align with our strengths and passions. A reality that includes another child, obtained in a non-traditional way. It will take baby steps, but we will get there. I know it in my bones.

 

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As Kara and Nathan grow older, I become more aware of all the ways we can screw them up. I know, I know, they're only babies, all they need is love, blah blah blah, but even at this young age, we are setting the bar for how they will realize their potential. Take Kara's "school," for example. She'll be three in December, and is intellectually capable, I think, of handling a (slightly) more rigorous curriculum than the one we are placing her in; kids younger than her do this all the time in daycare, yes? But that benefit of school is not important to Luke and me right now, and as a result, her experience will be missing that formalized educational component. We'll revisit our feelings next year, obviously, but for now that's where we stand. 

We are also setting the bar for ourselves, I suppose, in regards to what Kara and Nathan can expect from us as parents. We did what we felt was necessary to get Kara into school, but we didn't even consider placing her more than one day a week (baby steps, remember?) or research more expensive options like the Goddard School or Montessori. We already know that retirement savings will always trump a 529. Many parents have different opinions on this, and that's okay. But as much as Luke and I want to give the kids the very best of ourselves, we are going to make ourselves a priority, too, and not apologize for that to anyone.

 

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I have come to learn that as a mother, I enjoy the toddler years far more than the infant ones. Kara's humor and sass are shining through these days, the product of two wise-cracking parents, to be sure, and builds upon both by relying on her razor-sharp memory. One day while we were eating dinner, she thought it a good idea to let milk dribble out of her mouth. She laughed as the milk traveled down her chin, and I hid a smile as I said, "Kara Leigh, please don't do that, that's not funny," and she replied, "Well, maybe a little funny," a phrase Luke uttered in passing the day before. (Thank you, dear.)

Meanwhile, Nathan speaks in full sentences and punctuates the majority of them with a question mark. "What's that noise, Mommy?  Want to build Mrs. Potato? Where's the moon, Mommy? Is that a oak leaf, Mommy? Want to read Turtle, Turtle, Watch Out? Should Momma hooold you?" And so on with the inquisitiveness. He is so curious, so observant, so willing to sit back and watch the action unfold. That is, when he's not bouncing off the couch, roaring like Michael Jackson circa "Scream," or body slamming his torso into the nearest gate.

They both have insatiable appetites for reading, which has been further enhanced by the recent discovery of our local library. At first I was worried they wouldn't get the concept of borrowing books, afraid they would pout and fuss when it came time to return them, but they totally get it, and now live for the next chance to play with the trains and scramble through the catepillar tunnel featured in the kids' room.

Our new reality is that our toddlers are becoming full-blown children. And man, do we just want to do right by them, and ourselves, too.

 

Picture me holding up my fingers and whispering "Seven" just like Monica in that one Friends episode

Technically seven and a half, but the title was already clunky enough.

I ended up solving last week's problem of balancing a second short run with my first long run in a month by skipping the shorter one completely, allowing me to stay on track with Saturday's six-to-eight miler while also maintaining my delicate balance of training, work, and motherhood. The morning and early afternoon were pretty hectic--the fam and I did the one-mile family walk for the local Race for the Cure and then went on to spend a couple of hours at the zoo--so my legs were already aching as I changed into running clothes, taped my knees, and updated my iPod. But hey, you take the time when you have the time, and it was a beautiful day, and I was itching to see how much distance I could cover after being out of practice for so long.

That distance was seven and a half miles. But at this point you probably know that.

Anyway, it was a great run. Difficult sometimes, in that I experienced a few sharp pains on the outside of my right knee (the more troublesome of the two), but slowing from a jog to a walk gave me the relief I needed to push on. I took several walking breaks overall but still managed to finish in an hour and thirty-five minutes--an average pace of twelve and a half minutes per mile. Not record-breaking, by any means, but a respectable pace for a first-timer, according to my PT.

Speaking of physical therapy, yesterday was my last session. Keith (what, you aren't on a first-name basis with your PT?) had me run a mile on the treadmill to confirm my progress, and I finished in just under twelve minutes with a few short twinges in my knee and calves but no real pain. I should be fine for the Mini, he said, so long as I continue to listen to my body and walk/rest as needed. Katy and I are scheduled to attempt a ten-miler this Saturday, my first and only double-digit run before race day. Keith has instructed me to prepare for this long run the same way I would for the Mini, probably because when he asked me what I planned to eat before and during the race, I raised my eyebrows at him and tilted my head as if he had just spoken French. There's plenty of time to figure all that out! I said. We are weeks away!

That's when he raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. Apparently, the time is now.

(I figured it wasn't worth mentioning that I don't have my race outfit yet. Didn't want to give the poor guy a heart attack.)

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It feels so good to finally be on track again, and except for the loss in mileage, the break doesn't seem to have done any major damage to my training. It feels so good, in fact, that last night I registered for the Rock 'n Roll Chicago Half Marathon taking place on August 1. I almost wet my pants a little bit when turning over my credit card information (races sure are expensive when they aren't comped by work!), but it seems like a logical next step for after the Mini. Having one half under my belt will allow me to prepare for Chicago with more concrete knowledge of what I am capable of, timing-wise, and maintain a more reasonable approach to training. Plus, that whole series looks like so much fun, and it's in my hometown, and the course runs along part of Lake Michigan. Why the hell not, right?

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Let's see, what else can I tell you? I'm feeling especially wordy today, as at the time of this writing my coworkers are off to lunch and I'm parked at my desk with a turkey sandwich and absolutely no motivation to eat it.

Those of you not reading this entry through a feed reader will notice I updated my blog banner. It only took two years? Aren't you proud of me? It's not the most eye-catching design in the world, and when I first published it, it took me two hours before I realized I had forgotten to include my blog name, but it features the people most important to me and a cool running quote from one of the most famous ultramarathoners in the world, and I cleaned up the awkard contractions in my title, and overall it just seems like a better representation of who I am right now. Luke has been charged with designing a banner that's a little more creative (see the fun-looking pirate ship featured on HIS blog? All Luke, baby), but he's had no time, and suddenly I just couldn't wait a second longer. You are welcome.

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Two days ago I did something insane and requested information from a nearby university about graduate school. School! Again! WTF? The whole rationale for getting my master's degree right out of college was so that I could focus on the demands of school without the distractions of a family. Now I have an M.A. from a reputable institution, along with a good job working for a great company in a fast-moving field. Mission accomplished, right? Plus there are two itty-bitty children who can't get enough of me as it is and a husband who has dreams and goals of his own he would like to pursue someday, thank you very much, and a running hobby that will have me going after my first marathon before I turn 35, a hobby with the potential to be just as time-consuming as school. Hell, with all the time I would spend researching and studying, I could be learning how to cook something for my family that doesn't involve bread or a microwave.

But...I don't know. For Christmas last year my brother's family gifted me a year-long subscription to Runner's World, and after my first issue I was already salivating at the mouth over the idea of writing for such a neat publication. Reading Kara Goucher's profile in the March issue only added fuel to the fire, so that by April I was asking myself some pretty serious career questions. If I really am going to be the primary breadwinner for my family, the last thing I want to model for my kids is that you can't find joy in your work. Not that I don't like what I do now. It's interesting, challenging, the company I work for couldn't be more family-friendly if they tried, and the people I work with are phenomenal. It's hard to imagine ever wanting to be in a different place. Then again, I'm only 30, and while my education and experience are pretty well matched with my current responsibilities, in order for me to advance to the next level professionally, I need more training. MBA, communications degree, accreditation in public relations, something a little more business-driven than what I took from my creative writing and grammar classes. Which would be fine, if any of those options appealed to me at all.

So, what do I want to do?

My dream job is writing beautiful stories about interesting people, trends, and events; stories that take months of research and investigative reporting and careful editing to convey something important about the human condition. The Kara Goucher profile is a good example of that. I believe I am certainly capable of that. But I haven't achieved it just yet.

Enter more school, in a program specifically grounded in the nitty-gritty aspects of journalistic, magazine-style writing. Like, say, an M.A. in journalism. And the best time to enroll would be when you work for an employer that would fit the majority of the bill.

Like, say, mine.

No decisions have been made yet; all I did was drop an e-mail to the graduate school office asking for information. But the wheels in my brain are definitely turning.

(Luke is thrilled, I'm sure.)

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I'm traveling to Long Beach, New York for a two-day sales meeting this week. My blog will turn six next week. My sister Ryan will be visiting from Germany in May, I've got two work trips in June, and Luke and I will see U2 in Chi-town in July. Samantha is having a baby, her second, in September, the same month I will walk down the aisle as a bridesmaid in my friend Gina's wedding and spend four days in Minneapolis for a conference. The kids are getting older and more easily transportable, as evidenced by our recent weekend activities and travel plans for summer--water parks, state parks, beaches, and museums. Our house is slowly starting to come together with a replaced kitchen faucet here, a dining room curtain rod there, and goals to repaint our kitchen. We're getting ready to celebrate four years of marriage in between potty-training Kara (half-heartedly) and weaning Nathan off his morning bottle, the last of the bottles to go. We are discussing family size and coming to an arrangement I think I can live with.

In other words, we are throwing ourselves into life. And it's pretty damn nice.

LockedIn

Before I begin, first let me say that I am not a fan of the word "playdate." Are you hearing that? Playdate. Sounds so preppy, doesn't it? Very la-dee-dah and let me don some pleated khakis and pristine Keds so my perfectly groomed offspring can delicately sip tea in your living room. As a girl who grew up on the South Side of Chicago and whose neighborhood wasn't immume to the occasional drive-by, it just sounds pretentious to me. But there isn't another word that better describes coming to somebody else's house for a couple hours of hands-on toddler fun, so there you go.

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It was a cold, snowy day in February, and I had just pulled into Katy's driveway for a playdate. And not just any old playdate: my very first one. Katy, my racing partner in crime, is the first non-work friend I've made since moving to Indianapolis and also becoming a mom, and we are still very much in the courtship phase of getting to know each other. Add to that the fact that family and work obligations have prevented us from meeting up outside of the occasional race, and you're left with a mother who is equal parts nervous about unleashing her kids on unfamiliar turf and hopeful that everyone would hit it off famously, laying important groundwork for future merriment to come. It was perfect timing, too, as Luke was supposed to be out of town visiting his BFF, so I wasn't even cutting into our family time.

The first crack in our plan was the cancellation of Luke's trip due to poor weather; Indianapolis had been hit with a few inches of snow, making a lengthy road trip on I-65 not such a smart idea, so he decided to reschedule for the following weekend when conditions were predicted to improve. The second was Nathan's accidental ingestion and prompt regurgitation of a pretzel stick that became lodged in his throat, resulting in a clothing change two minutes before we were supposed to leave the house. As I buckled the children into their car seats, pulled out of my garage, and began the 45-minute trek to Katy's neighboring town, I quietly wondered if God was trying to tell me via snow and vomit that maybe we'd all be better off if I just stayed home.

But, but.... Friendship for me! Social interaction for the children! (Think of the children!) As Gollum would say, "We wants it, we needs it!" And so I trudged on.

We arrived at Katy's house about twenty minutes later than planned, so I was already feeling the pressure to get the kids out of the car and onto her door step as soon as possible. Not helping matters was Kara's entrance into Dreamland minutes before pulling into Katy's subdivision. The minute I killed the engine and grabbed my purse I was faced with an issue I hadn't previously given much thought to: When you have a wide-awake, rambunctious one-year-old who can't be trusted to follow directions near a residential street and a two-year-old who COULD be trusted but is snoring louder than any adult you've ever heard in your whole entire life, what are you supposed to do? Which child do you grab first?

In hindsight, I know what I should have done: I should have called Katy on my cell phone to ask if she could take Nathan while I handled Kara. But what can I say? I'm not a stay-at-home mom, and this was the first time I had ever traveled alone with both of my kids, and I was afraid of playing into the stereotype often ascribed to working dads--being too far removed from the trenches of day-to-day parenting to do anything more than run around like a decapitated chicken when presented with the simplest of tasks, like, I don't know, GETTING MY KIDS OUT OF THE DAMN CAR. I was too embarrassed to ask for help.

This is what laid the groundwork for my fatal error.

I grabbed Nathan first.

With the boy perched securely on my hip, I checked to see that my purse was still hanging from my shoulder (it was) and made my way to the other side of the car, where Kara continued to snore. I opened the door, lay my purse down at her feet (DANGER DANGER), hit the automatic locks (OMG WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS), and with my free hand shook her lightly by the shoulders. "Kaaara, Kara, honey, we're here now. It's time to play with our friends!" I chirped loudly into her ear. Silence. I grabbed her hand and kissed her cheek and ruffled her hair, but nothing.  I unstrapped her car seat buckles and even tried to tickle her, hoping all that jostling would wake her up enough to, at the very least, crabbily push me away. Fughettaboutit. "Kara-Kara-Kara-Kara-KAAARA," I shouted, Nathan wriggling like an earthworm, struggling to break free of my grip which was fast losing hold. And it was all in vain. 

Well, shit.

That's when I heard the turn of a doorknob, and Katy stepped outside.

"Is everything OK?" she asked. "Do you need any help?" At least, I think that's what she said. It's hard to recall exact wording at this point, but I trust it was something similarly hospitable and kind and caring.

"Oh, yeah," I called back, trying to sound casual when the whole time I was dying inside, DYING, "my daughter went and fell asleep on me, that's all!" I swiveled to get a better look at my hostess, and before I could process what was happening, my hand instictively pushed on the car door, and the car door snapped shut.

Internally, my slow-motion battle cry was so loud it was deafening (NOOOOOOO), and my eyes grew bigger than Pamela Anderson's double endorsements because holy hell, I done locked mah baybee in the car. In twentyish-degree weather. Almost an hour away from home.

The tears, they were threatening to surface any second, and if this had happened in front of one of my sisters I definitely would have pulled a Sally Field (I WANNA KNOW WHYYYY) but I pushed them away because crying in front of a woman who doesn't even know if you have a middle name is perhaps not the most inviting way to get better acquainted.

I would have stood there maintaining my deer-in-headlights expression a la Uncle Jesse from Full House except Nathan was still in my arms and I needed to call somebody to free my toddler from her hatchback prison. Plus, the car was parked in Katy's driveway in a town with a reputation as one of the safest and friendliest in the Indianapolis area, and the engine was off, and Kara was plenty warm in her winter coat, and besides that she was STILL snoring away, so I pried myself away from her long enough to carry Nathan inside. Katy called a local locksmith, but there was either a communication gap or a sense-of-urgency gap on his end because while the guy promised to call back with an estimated time of arrival, he never did, mother-effing bastard, doesn't he care about the children?!

So I called Luke. The husband who should have been in Kentucky some three and a half hours away with our only spare key but due to a random stroke of luck just happened to be at home.

That was a pleasant phone call. Especially since we'd had a slight disagreement earlier that morning.

Again with the forgetting of specific details, but the phrases "OH MY GOD!" and "I'm so sorry!" were involved. I'll leave you to guess who said what.

He had to dig the Cobalt out of a mountain-high pile of snow, Luke said, but he was on his way.

So, every three minutes for the next hour, I ran outside to check on my girl and make sure that a Wizard of Oz-like tornado hadn't suddenly carried the Outlander away. I imagined her waking up, realizing her predicament, and throwing herself against the window sobbing for Momma to get her out. I feared she would slither onto the floor and hit her head against the base of her car seat. I worried Luke would get lost or stuck in traffic and that I'd have to beg the fire department to pull the door off its hinges. Not that I'm even sure they do that sort of thing, mind you. But you know. I was scared.

I also felt very much like an idiot in front of my new friend, my new friend's husband, and my new friend's children.

After what seemed like an eternity but in reality was just a little more than sixy minutes from the time we called the locksmith, Luke was parking behind the Outlander and unlocking the passenger-side car door. I pushed past him to gather Kara in my arms--my baby, my baby--and brought her into Katy's house, and let me tell you, Sleeping Beauty never even stirred until I started removing her coat. She yawned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes and seemed generally refreshed from her leisurely mid-afternoon nap. She didn't even notice that her mother was curled into a fetal position on the floor, cheeks burning in humiliation, giving silent thanks to God, already drafting the inevitable blog entry.

Mom in training

Here at work, March 1 kicks off a month-long spotlight on the annual performance review. Instead of being evaluated around the anniversary of your hire date, The Powers That Be decided to make it more efficient by subscribing to a more collective approach, setting company-wide deadlines for completing your self-evaluation and meeting with your manager to discuss what you're doing well, where you'd like to improve, and how the company can help. Last Monday was the cut-off for turning in self-evaluations, and it got me thinking: if there were performance appraisals for parents, what would they look like? Who determines if we're doing a good job? How do we know if we're getting better?

Before I had kids, I had pretty specific (if not slightly traditional) ideas of what it meant to be a good mother. I would stay home with my babies, for one, and spend oodles of time with them every day. I would learn to cook and bake so I could fill their tummies with mouth-watering, nutritious, interesting foods. We would visit the park and check books from the library and go swimming and biking just like the Von Trapps and hang out with friends and family and "talk out" our problems and always, always have naptime.

By those standards, Donald Trump would have kicked me out of the mommy board room at the end of my first maternity leave.

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The most glaring disconnect between the mother I thought I would be and the mother I am is the working. For better or worse, I am and probably always will be the primary breadwinner for my family. Full time, outside the home, Monday through Friday, with occasional travel and evening conference calls and the need to be accessible 24/7. I can count on one hand how many hours I spend with Kara and Nathan on a typical work day; usually I'm home long enough to eat dinner and rough around for an hour before we jump into Nathan's bedtime routine, followed by Kara's, followed by Nathan's sporadic cries and Kara's pleas of "Mommy and Daddy sit with you?" followed by oh, yeah, my husband, there you are, hello, now who gets to wash the dishes? Though really, since Luke cooks, it should always be me washing the dishes. It takes all my reserves just to complete fundamental tasks to get through the day; forget luxuries like updating a baby book or posting to my blog (a fact that doesn't escape my readers, for sure).

My most upsetting fail as a parent, though, is my struggle to stay patient in times of stress: Kara's random tantrums when asked to pick up her toys or brush her teeth; Nathan's restlessness in the middle of the night when bouts of cradling, rocking, and sitting beside his crib all fall short in their attempts to comfort. To me, THOSE are the instances where you demonstrate true growth in parenting, putting your "training" to good use and pushing beyond your natural instincts to achieve new results. I know hissing at Nathan to "just be quiet!" won't help him fall back to sleep; I know threatening to skip stories at bedtime won't encourage Kara to clean her pearly whites. Yet so often I'm the hamster on the wheel, repeating old behaviors, hissing and threatening in the hopes that this time it will resonate, but it never does. Instead, they get upset, and then I get upset, and then I feel guilty because shouldn't I know better by now? Is this really the example I want to be setting for them, that these are the only tools at my disposal?

But then Kara will shout "Oh, Mommy! There she is!" and clamour for a piggy-back ride, and Nathan will clench his arms around my neck before plopping into my lap for a story, and I feel so damn good about my relationship with them and how connected we are, and I vow to hold fast to the "quality versus quantity" mindset and stop measuring myself against other women. Even wonderful women whom I love and admire. When it comes to mothering, somebody will always outperform me in one way or another, but I have my own strengths, and my kids seem to like me just fine.

(For now.)

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When it comes to assessing future growth opportunities, I think that for as long as there are children under my roof, I will have to constantly re-grant myself permission to be anything more than "just" a mother--to also invest in my marriage, extended family, community, friends; my faith, work, education, health. How to get it all done? You can't. At least, I can't. So I'm trying to focus my attention on two or three tactical objectives for any given day and appropriately prioritizing the rest, all the while knowing that if my kids don't rank first from that perspective (their safety and well-being is always top priority on a grand scale), they sure as hell are going to come second. I stole the basic idea from our chief operating officer, who says he spends his hour-long commute to the office reviewing what's on his plate and determining where his presence will make the biggest impact. "Some days that means all eyes on human capital and not touching sales and marketing. It's all about making the best use of my time for the people that need me most for that moment in time."

As a mother and not a c-level executive, this translates into leaving my laptop at work to make a deposit in the "mommy bank" even if there's an end-of-quarter presentation looming over my head. Other times it's dragging my ass out of bed and working on my fitness when I want to cuddle with Luke instead. On the days I travel, my primary goal is to make the trip worthwhile for my company, and my roles as wife, mother, and fledgling athlete fall into place where they can. And so it goes, trading long runs for blog time, bedtime for work time, bedtime for date night, and understanding I will never do them all in the same 24-hour period. Some dreams will collect dust for years, dreams like earning a second master's degree or changing career paths or running my first marathon. I am slowly learning that the key to preserving my sanity is treading water when I know I could swim, being just good enough when I'd rather be great.

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When I was a junior in college, on the day a term paper was due, students were commiserating with each other over the hellish writing experience when somebody warned the professor to expect flaws in her draft, explaining her difficulty in managing coursework with on-going family issues and a part-time job to boot. She wasn't making excuses, exactly, more just disappointed for not meeting her own expectations. "If only I'd had one more night," she said wistfully. "Just one more night and I could have really given it my all."

My professor just shook her head.

"You can't look at it that way," she said. "We faculty don't expect our students to live in a bubble. We know you have other responsibilities and that school can't always be your focus. All we ask is that you do your best in your current set of circumstances. If that turns out to be A-level, great. But if not? That's okay, too. Just do what you can with whatever you've got, and show us that you're trying."

Hopefully our children will be at least that understanding when grading our performances as parents--if not now, then at least when they're grown and in the same boat. And if merit increases are involved, may they all be prorated.

Fireside chat, Internet-style

I think my children are trying to kill me.

For the entire month of October, it seemed, Luke and I were staring into the pit of hell. We slept in couple-hour patches as Kara and Nathan found various reasons to cry their bloody heads off in the middle of the night. Kara was sick three times, the most recent ailment rearing its ugly head over Halloween weekend in the middle of hosting Nathan's baptism. It was especially scary because her highest temperature clocked in over 105 degrees, and she felt so hot I swear I could have fried an egg on her forehead. We debated taking her to an urgent care center or ER but decided the drawbacks of being stuck in a waiting room with the possibility of receiving zero guidance in terms of treatment outweighed any possible benefit. Instead, we made an appointment with our pediatrician for Monday afternoon, where I was privy to the joyous experience of observing my toddler daughter's catheterization to make sure her recurring fever wasn't a symptom of a raging bladder infection. Her culture came back negative for a UTI, so apparently it was just another virus doing a number on her immume system.

So that's (mostly) why I've been MIA 'round these parts, what with the crying from all four of us and no sleep and taking off work to keep a cold washcloth on her face while ingesting hours of Max and Ruby episodes with the occasional Little Bear. As a result, there's a week and a half of unwatched All My Children episodes on the DVR and two layers of dust on this here blog. The hodge podge of images in this entry were uploaded and saved in draft form more than two weeks ago, with the intention of publishing them shortly after my last post. This means you're getting up-to-date content married with outdated photography, which was slightly outdated to begin with. But you're a go-with-the-flow type bunch. You can handle it.

 

Kara, Nathan, and me in the dolphin dome at the Indianapolis Zoo in September. Ah, memories of healthier days.

Let's transition from talk of sick children to my biggest piece of news, an idea that has consumed the majority of my non-parenting-related thoughts almost the entire time I've been away. You know that whole "half-marathon next fall" plan I came up with after my first 5K? Deliberately shelving it until next October so I would have plenty of time to train without overexerting myself? Yeah, well, I've since decided that moderation is for the birds. Not only have I upgraded my registration in the Indianapolis Mini-Marathon from a 5K to the real deal, I also signed up for all three training races that take place beforehand--a 5K in February, 10K in March, and 15K in April--as tangible motivators along the path to race day, set for Saturday, May 8, 2010. According to the Web site, "The Mini-Marathon is the largest half-marathon in the U.S., and overall, the fifth largest running event in America. The 2009 event sold out on December 26, 2008."

And I'm going to be part of it.

When I first learned about the Mini through work (God bless my employer for covering registration fees to such things), I was perfectly happy with running the 5K and absolutely terrified of committing to anything more strenuous than that. I'm new to running and swamped with responsibilities at home and still spotty when it comes to hitting the pavement on a regular basis. Of course I needed more time, right? Surely there were more appropriate endeavors to consider before taking on a lofty pipe dream. Not to mention that it's already November and the race is in the spring and how in the world am I going to train when the sun sets by five and there's snow and ice beneath my feet? It's not like I have a treadmill at home or free time to hit the gym.

So I went for the 5K, and encouraged Luke to do it, too, and that was that. End of story.

Luke and the kids in front of the elephants, Kara doing her best imitation of a stageshow diva.

Except that it wasn't the end. Suddenly I couldn't go a day without learning about somebody finishing their first half-marathon or training for that half-marathon or taking on a half-marathon in New Orleans four months from now or an entire group training for the race together. Marry that with the knowledge that a local blogger was willing to run the race with me, and my coffin was sealed. Suddenly I went from "Oh, HELL, no," to "Why the hell not?"

I've got some programs to review and some races to run before the end of the year, and in January I'll start training hardcore. I have no goals in regards to performance or rank or how much to run and how much to walk, and I still don't know where I'm going to find all this time to train. All I know is that I want to do this. So I will.

These years with young children and modest earnings are full of joy but also limitations. Luke and I won't be tackling an overseas trip anytime soon. We have at least five years before we can think about moving into a nicer house or investing in a better family car, and I don't have the intellectual gumption to focus on learning another language or picking up another degree, despite their attractiveness on my dream list. But completing a half-marathon? That's attainable now. I can run on the trail in my neighborhood or on the streets within my subdivision. I can take advantage of the free gym membership I'm offered at work and come up with a schedule to get myself there. I can train in ratty old tee-shirts and pants or I can pick up some gear from Target. I can change my eating habits. I can cross-train at home with The 30 Day Shred and other videos. I may not win this race, but I can definitely finish it. Is there a better way to celebrate your thirtieth year on Earth?

 

Nathan and I at the White River Gardens, adjacent to the zoo. He's excited about the race, too.

Last week, for the first time since before Kara was born, I clocked in below 140 pounds on the scale. This monumental achievement happened mostly by accident--when Kara got sick this last time I was too busy freaking out to remember to eat three meals a day--so when I weighed myself last Monday and the second number held steady at three, I was like, "Huh. Whadda know," and didn't think much of it. I figured it wouldn't last. Eating and running well enough to stay below 143 pounds is easy; it's pushing myself over the hump to shed another eight to ten pounds that seems impossible. But as of this morning I weighed in at 139.2, so maybe it's not a fluke. My current pair of jeans--size-fourteen, Old Navy jeans that were originally purchased after Kara was born, post-partum transitional jeans that I couldn't button without gasping out loud yet still had to wear to have lunch with my boss the week before I went back to work in March--are distastefully too big. I can put them on and take them off without undoing the button while the butt cheeks sag and reveal the waistband of my underwear when I bend over, so maybe it's not a fluke. There is still Halloween candy in my house a full week after Halloween.

So maybe, just maybe, it's not a fluke after all.

 

Luke and Kara at White River Gardens, admiring some lily pads.

One of my big projects for work last week was to itemize my budget for 2010, and one of the most notable changes from last year is the increased focus on travel. The second half of 2009 has me reaching into different sales territories for field visits and presentations, and that will continue next year, in addition to attending some conferences for my industry and for professional development purposes. Ninety-nine percent of them will be short overnights not requiring even a full day away from home, and I actually enjoy getting out into the field and learning more about what we do, not to mention being able to indulge in a book for hours at a time while I'm waiting at the airport/in flight/passing time at my hotel. Still, though, the thought of missing bedtime even one night a month (roughly) makes me a little sad. I went to Chicago this weekend with Nathan to visit with my sister Ryan, who was in from Germany, while Luke stayed home with Kara since she was so recently sick and also not sleeping well. And even though I had a blast with my family and enjoyed the extra one-on-one with my son, who turned out to be quite the easy travel companion, part of me felt so off because Luke and Kara weren't with us. I never realized how dependent my own personal balance is upon simply having the four of us together.

Kara and I looking for airplanes during one of our after-dinner walks.

That said, I think a key component of 2010 will be placing a stronger emphasis on Luke and I spending more time together as a couple outside of being Mom and Dad. A lack of family nearby and a very tight budget means we haven't solicited baby-sitters unless there's an evening work function I need to attend (awards dinner) or the occasional non-work-related event that doesn't allow for children (Billy Joel/Elton John concert in May, Tori Amos concert in August). And frankly, I am starting to feel the effects. I miss my husband. I want us to spend time together outside of watching Man vs. Food while we fold a load of towels in our pajamas. I want to go out with him wearing boot-cut jeans that fit my ass properly and a little eye shadow and talk over a nice steak and see a movie. Hell, at this point, I'll take sporty sneakers and soup and sandwiches at Panera. I just want us to have the occasional luxury of just paying attention to each other.

Of course, to make this happen, we need a baby-sitter we trust completely who won't charge us an arm and a leg to watch our children, and I still get weirded out at the idea of bringing a stranger into my house. However, the longer we go without spending any real quality time together, the closer I get to believing even that option isn't unthinkable. There are coworkers I know and trust who are willing to do this for us, but they live on the other side of town and, well, they're ADULTS, not twenty-year-olds looking to score extra money for gas or the junior prom. It's hard to muster up the courage to take them up on their generosity, as if they have nothing better to do than keep an eye on kids they aren't even related to. If only we had family nearby to hit up once and a while. If only we lived closer to where they are. But right now, we are here, and we need to embrace it, and I need to stop being afraid of what other people think and start doing whatever is necessity for my family to live a life full of color. And right now? That means finding a baby-sitter.

We have been making an effort to attend church more regularly, and my hope is to find someone there who takes to my kids instantly and is looking to sit at least one night a month. That's not so much to ask, is it? My marriage is worth at least that, right? (God, I'm looking at you. Hook a daughter up.)

Luke and the kids on the way to our walking trail.

There are so many posts brewing inside of me--a nine-month update for Nathan, Christmas shopping, ramblings about my house, more reflections on family planning and life with two children--but on my lunch hour I'm more inclined to click through my blogroll than hammer out a substantial thought track, and when I get home my top priority is to throw on my running clothes, stretch, and get out the door as soon as possible (and it still only happens twice a week!). Then it's bedtime and dishes and tallying receipts and comforting a child who is sick/teething/wet/poopy/determined to see that Luke and I sleep no more than five or six hours a night. I know it'll get easier, but I find myself growing impatient with the timeframe. Will I ever again blog with any sort of consistency, or will it always be feast or famine? Will the puzzle pieces ever just fall into place, or will I always have to work this hard to score any time with myself/my husband/my friends/hobbies, etc. etc.?

 

Don't ask this guy. He's one of them. 

But I haven't given in to Starbucks

So! I had this brilliant idea yesterday. Seeing as I'm on the cusp of attending a three-day blogging conference where I'll be passing out business cards with my URL on it, I thought it might make sense to--wait for it--BLOG. I know! Am genius. Tell all your friends.

Wonderful things have been happening these last few weeks, many of them related to my job, so that's what I'm going to start with first. If you follow me on Twitter, you know that my employer dropped two happy bombs on us in less than one week: the half-year profit-sharing bonus we received in June and the CEO's decision to transfer ownership of the company to his workers through an employee stock ownership plan (ESOP). You can learn more about ESOPs from our trusty friend, Wikipedia, but basically it means that the founder has given his baby, the business he started almost twenty years ago with his personal life savings, to those of us on the payroll. It translates into additional retirement savings for every one of us and voting rights on major decisions involving the company's future, not to mention a more tangible motivation to continue our current level of success. It was an emotional day when he broke the news, and as I learn more about the specifics, I am blown away by how lucky I am for not only having a stable job in a shaky economy, but a rewarding job with a company that only projects good things on the horizon, not to mention the opportunities I have to advance my skills and challenge myself professionally. As a result, for the first time in my life, I'm taking a proactive approach to my career, assuming new leadership roles and working alongside my boss and other team members to develop strategies for our department that will enable us to work more effectively. I've also been involved with some pretty exciting writing projects that jazz me up like nothing else, even when those projects are equal parts frustrating.

So many women who work outside the home are miserable in their jobs because they are unfulfilled by what they do, making it even harder to be away from their babies. And it IS hard to be away from my babies; I never look forward to Monday even after the most hectic of weekends, I'm always craving more time at home. But I can say with absolute certainty that my time away from them is well spent. Finding myself professionally has inspired me to take a long, hard look at my priorities outside the office and how I want to spend my time (contributing to this is the fact that I'm still reading Eat Pray Love and feeling very connected to the idea of nourishing my personal core). I'm also reflecting on the lessons I want my children to learn from me about finding their passion and also turning raw lemons into lemonade. It's been an energizing process, to say the least, and enlightening, to form a relationship with my company that mirrors a long-term partnership, a marriage of sorts where each side is committed to giving as much as it takes and overcoming obstacles in a way that leaves everyone's dignity intact.

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Things have come to a bit of a standstill on the fitness front, and I can't believe I don't feel guilt about it, but I don't. Even with sporadic exercise and frequent surrenders to peanut butter cup blizzards, I've maintained an average loss of eight pounds, so I can't feel too bad when it's clear I must be doing something right. Unfortunately, an eight-pound loss post-baby isn't the same victory as an eight-pound loss before your body carries a child--my mid-section still looks three months pregnant--but hey, I'll take what I can get. I knew that the more time I allowed to lapse between workouts the harder it would be to get back into a routine, but life is still so topsy-turvy for us right now, and I hate to keep using that as an excuse, but it's also the truth. My girl crush on Jillian Michaels remains as strong as ever, but I'm at peace with sometimes (OK, a lot of times) choosing other ways to spend my time, knowing that life will settle down little by little and a night of rocking my son back to sleep won't always kill my desire to Shred the next day. I did buy some new gym shoes, though; that counts for something, right?

 

Nathan and me at Indy's "Unite to Fight: Race Against Prostate Cancer" family walk a couple of weeks ago. I carried Nathan while Luke pushed Kara in her stroller.

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The continued anticipation of my Tori Amos concert next month along with the recent death of Michael Jackson (and I'll admit it, I am still so sad about that) combined have restored my interest in music. Not that I ever stopped being interested, but most of Luke's and my CDs have been living in a beat-up Tupperware bin in the back of our closet since we moved into this house, and I've been too lazy to dig out stuff as it appeals to my mood. Yesterday I got to thinking about all the songs I've been out of touch with simply because I haven't been able to find them, and it kind of pissed me off to the point that I finally said ENOUGH and organized the CD rack we bought well before Nathan was born. Alphabetized and everything, though I do wish I'd been able to categorize discs for each singer/group in the order they were released. Baby steps, people.

I also made a mixed CD of what I consider to be Tori Amos essentials so I don't have to switch discs to hear all my favorite songs. One of the reasons I'm still attracted to her music after all these years is its ability to become relevant as I gain more life experience. For example, Boys for Pele freaked me the hell out as a God-fearing high schooler, but as a married woman with two kids and a more sophisticated religious and world view, I'm more comfortable with the appeal they hold for me. When From the Choirgirl Hotel came out my senior year, I couldn't get past her new band sound to appreciate the lyrics, but in just the last week or so I found new meaning in a song I had completely written off. The biggest surprise has been my fascination with The Beekeeper. Those who only like Tori when she's angsty have no use for this one, and I understand; I didn't like it, either, not until well after I had Nathan and the softness of those songs found a place in my head. Anyway, all of that to say that the Tori I became enchanted with at 17 is not the same Tori I relate to today. It's pretty awesome when music grows with you.

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I'm drinking coffee now. Me, the woman who swore she would never succumb to the drama that is depending on a caffinated beverage for survival, typically enjoys a thermosful doused with skim milk and sugar on the drive to work. With all the late nights I've had in the last month or two, I've been so tired in the mornings that one day when Luke asked if I would possibly benefit from a liquid pick-me-up I said HELL YES, WHERE DO I SIGN UP. And I said it again and again until Luke was grinding coffee beans as part of his morning ritual while I finished getting dressed. There's something to be said for sitting in my car with one hand on the steering wheel and the other balancing a drink, an act that wakes me up and transitions me from home to work in a way that my sans-coffee routine didn't. Maybe I feel more adult. Maybe the beans are that strong. Either way, I like it.

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Luke spent this past Saturday at a theme park with a friend, so Molly and I took the opportunity to co-host Baby Day 2.0, and the kids had a blast together. They are all at such different stages now that it's hard to believe there's barely a full year between any of them. The Baby Day sequel marked the third weekend in a row that we had company, and it's been so nice to invite people over and watch their kids play with ours. Kara's now getting regular exposure to her peers through the daycare/nursery at church on Sundays, but other than that, not so much. So it was great to have my sister Samantha and her family with us for the Fourth of July and my friend Maia and her two girls the weekend after that. With upcoming BlogHer taking place in the trenches of my hometown, we'll have a straight month of Saturday-Sunday fun.

Here, the photographic evidence:

 

Kara and baby Danny, who will celebrate his first birthday next month. I say this every time I mention him, but I swear he is the spit and image of my sister.

 

Auntie Samantha and Uncle Dan entertaining their first and only nephew, with Nathan loving every minute of the attention.

 

Baby Day 2.0. Kara's all, "Girlfriend, where did you get that awesome striped shirt-dress? Don't hold out on a sista," And Marin's like, "A fashionista never reveals her secrets."

 

Meanwhile, Nathan and Marin decided to pose as if they were attending their first Baby Prom. Nathan may have even tried to grab her hand.

 

Molly loving on her godson. (At least, he will be her godson, once Luke and I can secure the fall baptism date with our pastor.)

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And that's all, folks! I hate that my writing is so sparse here and that the entries I do post have to cover such a large span of time, but that's another aspect of life I'm slowly making peace with. Despite my fallen-to-the-wayside personal blogging, I'm super excited about BlogHer this year and learning new ways to feed my addiction increase my overall knowledge of social media. I'm probably one of the few attendees whose primary reason for going is to actually take part in the sessions. This year is weird, though, in the sense that I'm not part of any big blogger meet-up like I was two years ago, and since Luke and the kids will be with me, I doubt I'll make any of the parties. I'm OK with that, but I really hope to meet at least a few of the bloggers I read and/or who read me so I don't totally miss out on the networking aspect of the conference. I'm also debating whether I should bring my work laptop and try to liveblog any of the events. I've never been good with crafting blog posts on the fly (aka the reason this site so frequently collects dust), so I'm not sure how solid my entries would even be, but I'm definitely thinking about it.

Will any of you be in Chicago? If so, I'd love to say hi. And if you're doing the BlogHer 5K on Friday morning, you'll get to meet Mr. Nathan in person. If that's not reason enough to walk three miles before breakfast, I don't know what is.

What’s your story?

When it comes to the blogosphere, I tend to stay out of controversial threads, mainly because I'm afraid of failing to articulate my points very well and instead pissing somebody off. In the five (!) years I've been doing this, it's never been my style. But for some reason, I can't keep quiet about this one.

Here's the gist of it: A video was recently made that addresses the struggles of the working mother, but it didn't touch on the specific stresses of those who work outside the home. One mother wrote about how upset she was that the work-outside-the-home mom demographic was completely ignored (one of my new favorite posts, by the way, because of Kim's ability to be brutally honest and respectful at the same time); another took it one step further to say that moms who work at home have it easier than those with traditional office jobs. One work-at-home mom (one of our very own Parents bloggers) wrote a post in response to that one defending her livelihood, which is the post that I came across first, and I took issue with the phrase "full-time mom" being applied only to stay-at-home moms. After all, a mom is a mom, you know? If you have a child, you're on call twenty-four days a week, 365 days a year, no matter how you spend your eight-to-five hours. I posted a comment to that effect and originally thought I would publish a longer dialogue here.

(Note: I chose not to watch the video because I didn't think any good would come of it.)

But after giving it more thought, I realized that's not really what I wanted to say. Instead, I want to give every mom out there a big, fat hug because damn, this job that we have is hard. Wonderful, yes, and life-changing and miraculous and beautiful, and parenthood is absolutely one of the best things to ever happen to me, and I wouldn't trade this experience for all the money in the world, but still. It's hard. And in analyzing my reaction to Lindsay's post, I discovered that I didn't want to pick apart her words when deep down I knew she meant no harm. I just wanted to take a minute to tell my story as a mother.

In the end, I think we all just want our stories to be heard.

So here's my story.

I am a mother who works outside the home to financially support her husband and two small children. Frankly, it wasn't my first choice—I desperately wanted to be the one home with my kids—but I have an amazing job in my field of choice with a competitive paycheck and fabulous benefits and a flexible schedule and an employer who strives to promote a reasonable work/life balance for his employees, and my husband didn't, and neither of us wanted to forgo having savings accounts or paying the bills on time or living in a shady part of town where we would fear for our own safety, let alone our children's, so there you go. Yes, it makes me sad sometimes, not being there every day, but the pride I take in doing my part to make a happy home for my family is well worth the sacrifice.

My life is a constant juggling act, trying to manage my day job, my freelancing job, spending time with my family, and working to improve my physical health. Sometimes I can take time off for doctor's appointments, and sometimes I can't. Sometimes I come home from work so late that I go a whole day without giving my son a bottle. Sometimes I miss bedtime completely. Sometimes I comfort a baby at two in the morning and get up for work at five. Sometimes (OK, most times) I leave the dinner dishes for Luke even though he’s done them the last three nights, even though he's been on his feet all day and deserves a break, too, because my day job has to continue into the night, because I never want anyone at work to say that Bree used her home life as an excuse to drop the ball.

And yet, despite the hard times and frustrations, I truly love my life. I know that everyone has stresses to deal with, and I don't think mine are harder than anyone else's. I feel blessed to have a husband who is right there in the trenches with me, fulfilling his own role as a stay-at-home dad and dealing with the sacrifices that go along with that. I thank God every day for the children we have, and I am glad to do whatever I can to see that they are happy and healthy. And when I feel guilty for making what I perceive to be a less than perfect choice, when I feel like I'm being judged for those choices, I'm learning to take comfort in the knowledge that the only people I have to answer to are Luke, Kara, and Nathan, and as long as they know I'm doing my best, that's all that matters. I am more than an adjective used to describe how I spend forty-plus hours every week. I am a mother. Period. And oh, what a gift it is, to own that noun.

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Excerpted from Parental Discretion Advised, originally published on Parents.com. Copyright 2009 by Meredith Corporation. All rights reserved. Reprinted with permission.

The stars at night, are big and bright (clap clap clap clap)...

I'm typing this from a hotel business center in downtown Houston, where I'll be for the next couple of nights to engage with sales folks in the region to get a better feel for how they interact with clients and what my department can do to assist their efforts. When I first joined this company four years ago (officially celebrated this past Saturday, holla!), travel was something I rarely did, if ever, but in the last eighteen months or so we've been growing at an exponential rate, so now keeping tabs on activity "in the field" is going to be a regular part of my job. I've never considered myself to be a particularly savvy traveler, and in the spirit of my first solo round-trip extravaganza, I've tried to keep things as simple as possible, which for me means nonstop flights instead of connecting ones and cab rides instead of rental cars. Luckily, my bosses subscribe to the simple camp, as well.

Things have been OK so far. Saying good-bye to Luke and the kids this morning brought on my Angela Chase-inspired chin wobble and crocodile tears, but no major snags or snafus. I found my local Park, Ride and Fly with little trouble and passed quickly through security, giving me a two-hour window to check e-mail on my new fancy Blackberryjackphone thingamabob and shoot the breeze with my sister and Hoosier shredhead companion while waiting to board the plane. The plane itself was claustraphobically small, and my seat had an odd curve to it that prevented me from reclining in a completely comfortable position. Also contributing to my jumble of nerves was my tendency to relive the pilot episode of Lost, questioning my ability to properly attach the oxygen mask to my face and detach the bottom cushion so I could use it as a flotation device, just in case the plane crashed near a magical tropical island with the power to change time.

Once I landed in Houston, I hailed a cab to my hotel, and it wasn't until we were on the expressway that I thought about how vulnerable I was; this guy could have shot me in the face or driven me to some remote location to do God knows what. In case you couldn't tell, that didn't happen, so I booked him to take me back to the airport at 5 a.m. Wednesday morning.

Why yes, I am paranoid, thank you for asking!

If I were a single person with zero baby weight to lose and loads of dispensable cash on my hands, I'd probably be having the time of my life. I'm just a couple of blocks away from the Galleria Mall, where I found a place to eat dinner, and it would be easy to kill a couple of hours shopping for clothes and pigging out on treats. But instead I steared clear of NY&C entirely and enjoyed a whole-wheat turkey sandwich with a side of fruit while digging into a back issue of Working Mother magazine, a publication I like far better than any of the other parenting bibles on the stands these days. The sandwich had the potential to be just as damaging as a Big Mac, what with the zillion layers of meat and cheese, until I removed more than half of the guts, much to my server's chagrin. Jillian Michaels would have been proud.

Oh, and I miss my family like crazy.

I'm totally boring myself with this entry, but I figured my temporary kid-free status owed the Internet an update. Maybe I'll be wittier tomorrow. *Crosses fingers*

Closer to fine

I am seriously in awe of newish moms who are able to blog more than once every few weeks. Good Lord, where do you find the time? My intentions are good, but between changing diapers and doling out snacks and paying the bills and remembering to shower, this Web site always gets the short end of the stick until I can't take the dust anymore; then I pound out seventy million paragraphs that probably would have worked better as several concise entries but, well, this boot-camp phase of my life doesn't allow for such strategic blog posting. That said, just one day shy of Nathan's nine-week birthday, I feel like there's light at the end of the tunnel.

A lot's happened since I last wrote. For starters, thanks to a switch in formula and bottle type, we have a much happier boy on our hands. Nathan is still high maintenance in the sense that being held is not always enough to calm him, and he still spits up a lot more than Kara ever did, but he's no longer screaming for hours every day; in fact, he's finally starting to enjoy life, smiling at us, cooing at my over-the-top baby antics ("Hi there, handsome boy!"), showing interest in rattles and toys, even paying attention to some of Kara's books during our various marathon reading sessions. He's still not even close to sleeping through the night, though, and because Kara was clocking eight-hour stretches the night she turned six weeks old, this kind of sleep deprivation so far into the newborn phase is majorly kicking our asses. Luke and I are both well aware that hers was not typical baby behavior, and I don't want to be all about the comparisons, but dude. THIS FAMILY NEEDS SLEEP. GET WITH THE PROGRAM, SON.

The change in Nathan's temperament combined with the slow return of spring has encouraged us to get out with the kids more often. We bit the bullet and purchased a double stroller, a Graco Quattro Tour Duo to be exact, a stroller that sold me on the color scheme alone, but so far we've only used it a couple of times because damn, that thing is hard to navigate, and when Luke and I are both around, it makes more sense to pair one child with each adult rather than burden one of us with roughly thirty-eight pounds of baby weight.

But look! So pretty!

 

There's a short walking trail behind our subdivision that leads into an even fancier one, and now it's one of my favorite things about where we live, because no longer are we confined to loop in circles like we were at our apartment complex, and gone are the days of having to pack up and drive to another part of the city to stretch our legs. I think this will be key to me getting back into shape, as I'm too busy playing catch-up after work to commit to a gym and I'm just not motivated enough to join Weight Watchers again. Instead, I'm trying to maintain perspective, reminding myself that birthing two babies in two years is hard work, and my body needs longer than six weeks to heal.

You like how I casually slipped in that whole "Oh, yeah, I'm back at work" reference? Because yes. I am back at work. And if you think leaving one baby at home is hard, just try it with two.

I'm lucky, though, that the transition has been much smoother. I had an infinitely easier time finding transitional clothes to wear while I'm (half-heartedly) working on my fitness, and that's been a huge boost to my self-esteem. Last time I was trying to squeeze myself into tens and twelves and failing miserably, resulting in an Ugly Cry in one of Eddie Bauer's dressing rooms last year. This time around, I had a Reality sandwich and just got the size fourteens I needed to keep my muffin top squarely at bay. And do you know that even though I was smaller last year, I look much better now because I'm actually wearing clothes that fit, that are a smidge too big even, and when that happens, there is no muffin top? There are no unflattering bulges! Who knew? Once again, I wonder if I've been in denial about my true size all along. We'll see what happens as I start shedding these extra layers of skin.

Anyway, work. I went back on Tuesday, and while the days leading up to it were pretty stressful, it felt kind of nice to get back into the swing of things and start concentrating on my family's new version of normal. On the flip side, I never knew what to say when people asked if I was happy to be back, because no, actually, I wasn't happy, I was flipping out over how Luke would manage the needs of two babies without losing his damn mind, and I was missing my children something fierce, and I'm sure that was evident by the look on my face. When I pulled into our driveway a little after four (still doing the seven to three-thirty with only a half-hour for lunch), Luke and Kara were staring at me from her bedroom on the second floor, Kara waving her sweet little fingers off, and I ran in as fast as I could, scooped her in my arms, and promptly burst into tears. I did it again at seven-thirty, uttering a strangled, "It's bedtime already?" as Luke went to bring her upstairs. The other thing that's been hard is dividing my time between both Kara and Nathan, trying to give them each my undivided attention, but I fail almost every time because when I'm reading to Kara, Nathan's crying to be held and when I'm holding Nathan, Kara is running after me with a book in her hand. To combat this, I've decided to take back ownership of Kara's night-time routine, since Nathan goes to bed so much later and there's still plenty of time to hang out with him one-on-one before I hit the sack around midnight or later, depending on the timing of his bottle. I've been pestering Luke with talk of two-versus-three almost every day since we brought him home, and now that I'm back in the corporate grind, I'm imagining what it would feel like to timeshare with yet another child, wondering if that will be the proverbial nail in my reproductive coffin.

ANYWAY, now that we're finally living our new version of normal, I'm continuing to challenge myself to let go of the small stuff and focus on important things like spending time with Luke and the kids, improving my health, stealing some quality time with my pillow, and picking up the house during an episode of Lost. On hold are things like mopping floors, cleaning out closets, updating baby books, making out a will and trust (for all my bitching and moaning about this before Kara's birth, I still don't have this done), and repopulating our new phone book until Nathan has a more predictable sleep schedule and we all have a better handle on our routine. Until then, I'm just putting one foot in front of the other and doing the best I can with the precious time I do have. I'm also holding on to this new feeling of peace, because even though life is hella crazy right now, I really do have it all. A wonderful husband, beautiful children, well-paying job, a place to lay my head, food to put on my table. When I think about how blessed I am, it truly blows my mind.

 

Nathan: How did you people ever get along without me?

Frema: I don't know, son, but at least we were well rested.

I've said before that 2009 will be about finding a new balance for my family and maximizing our time together, and getting a better handle on our priorities also means we'll probably see a little less of our extended families; at the very least, we'll be mostly staying put and they'll be coming to us. While it was a lot of fun to see everyone so much last year, it also took a huge toll on us, and now that we're farther south than we were in the apartment, it takes three hours to get to Luke's parents' house and four to get to Chicago, and that's without even one bathroom break, which, HELLO, two babies, ain't no way THAT'S gonna happen. I refuse to piss away my remaining PTO with half days here and there so we can run around like chickens with our heads cut off, trying to cram a weekend's worth of diapers and clothes and toys into a gazillion duffel bags and listening to the kids whine in their car seats and attempting to time our breaks so that we can get everyone fed and changed in as few stops as possible and then come home on Sunday minutes before bedtime with no time to recharge before the upcoming week. Next year will be a different story, when both kids are off the bottle and sleeping through the night, but right now, it's just too hard. That said, this past weekend we did make the trip north to see everyone, seeing as I had added two weeks of vacation on top of the six weeks of paid leave generously granted by my employer, and I wanted to make them count. Plus, I was dying to introduce Nathan to my side of the family, as Dan, Samantha, and baby Danny were the only ones to meet him until then.

 

Here's Kara having a jolly good time in Luke's old backyard.

 

Daddy D, Kara, and Grandma before our drive to Chicago.

 

The majority of mi familia loca. Look at all those babies! If two of them weren't mine, I would totally be spiking a temperature. You know, because of the baby fever.

 

Me lovin' on my nephew Danny. The last couple of times Samantha and I have gotten our families together, our time was cut short by one medical emergency or another (remember Kara's party?), so this was the first time in a long time I was free to snuggle her baby. He looks so much like Samantha did when she was his age it's scary. So I was a little emotional.

 

One day they'll be knee-deep in snips of snails and puppy-dog tails, but for right now, Nathan and Danny are still working on forming their magical bond.

 

My nine-week-old family of four. I think we're gonna make it after all.

Admitting defeat

All week I've been thinking about the return of Tragic Love Friday, mainly because I've been trying to find time to write it.

On Monday, I went back to work after bawling my eyes out on Sunday night, sobbing, "I hate this, I hate this," "this" being having to go to the office all day just as Kara's starting to do more than lay on a blanket and mesmerize her father and I with her adorable, fleshy gums. Samantha was still in town, so we all had dinner together, only I could barely sit still, wanting to finish up as fast as I could so I could have the baby in my arms again but also wishing I could have another cry and wondering why my heart still hurts so much when I've been doing this for a week and a half already. I put on a happy face for Luke and my sister and spent my free time wiping down countertops and picking up toys so there wouldn't be as much mess for Luke to worry about the next day. I was already leaving him with a sinkful of dirty dishes, and as we all know, the cook should never have to clean, but by the time I finished my Parents entry, it was past ten, and I had to get into bed soon or my eyeballs would explode the next day from the lack of sleep. Thus, no TLF writing on Monday.

Tuesday wasn't any better. I had to go to the dentist because last week I bit on a raisin and felt a shooting pain in my mouth that stayed with me for a good five minutes. Only after forty-five minutes of sitting in the waiting room, flipping through the latest issue of People and staring at my cell phone, wanting to call home but not wanting the waiting room patrons to think I was one of Those Moms who couldn't even go to the damn doctor without checking in on her kid, the dentist couldn't find the source of the problem and actually asked me why I didn't bring in any raisins to demonstrate what was wrong. Another half-hour in traffic, and by then I was really charged up and barely said ten words to Luke the entire evening, in my lame-brained attempt to shield him from my bad attitude, but when I told him I wanted to pick up some more work clothes because I'm tired of trying to squeeze into tops that don't fit my belly, he asked where, and I told him, "The store," I'm pretty sure he was able to see I wasn't sunshine and roses. Was major bitch. I'm surprised I wasn't directed to the couch. No TLF.

Last night I thought about it. I'd apologized for my behavior and come home at a decent hour. I scored plenty of play time with Kara and posted a quick entry on Parents, leaving me with plenty of time to draft a chapter or two. But then Kara decided to take a nine o'clock nap before her last feeding, and she took that last nap in my arms, and all I could do was snuggle her close and sniff her head, which smelled wonderfully of Johnson's shampoo. By the time we started her bedtime routine, it was almost ten, and Luke told me I'd better get ready myself, since it appeared I'd actually have a chance to slip under the covers before eleven. I did, and I did. STILL no TLF.

This morning, before I got into the office, I set aside twenty minutes to get some writing done, with the assumption that I could continue my train of thought at lunchtime. Only it was then I remembered that I needed to find updated headshots of the actors and actresses playing each character, and it had to be done NOW because how could I post the beginning of part three without a character introduction, so I got caught up in doing that, and instead of stopping at 6:20 like I planned I stopped at 6:26, leaving me only nine minutes to pack a lunch, brush my teeth, throw on some make-up, and get out the door. I walked out the door at 6:40, just as Kara started to stir, so I hurried out as quick as I could because it's so much harder to leave when I have to say good-bye. Only when I got to my car, the windows were covered with frost. FUCK. So I let the car run and hurried back inside, where Luke was getting ready for Kara's first feed, so I changed Kara's diaper, smothering her face with kisses the whole time. Then I cursed myself out for even picking her up in the first place because of course there were tears in my eyes as I left, and then I felt bad even for that because who would pass up a chance to spend a few minutes with their baby before a long work day?

As delusional as it sounds, I contemplated doing some TLF stuff on my lunch hour, but fooling around on the computer this morning and having to let my car warm up meant I was twenty minutes late for work, and that's when I started thinking, Maybe trying to post TLF tomorrow isn't such a great idea.

Yes, it really took that long, partly because I was so excited to sink my teeth into a project that had nothing to do with work or parenting, but mostly because I've been going on about it for weeks, and I didn't want to let anyone down. I didn't want anyone to miss their TLF fix because I was "too busy" to write it, like I was this big important person with far more sophisticated ways to spend my time then work on the sequel to a story I started when I was fourteen.

But really? I am too busy to write it. To be honest, I'm barely holding it together.

I'm fully aware I put this pressure on myself. On the surface, I feel like nobody expects me to dust and vacuum every week or send baby gifts out on time, but underneath, I constantly think people are judging me, wondering why I can't shape up or get into the rhythm of things. I can't stand it when people appear to be pitying me because I have to go to work and my husband stays home. Samantha called me "noble" and I cringed, because there are so many people in harder situations, so many people with more difficult problems then going back to a job where my work is valued and well compensated. The last thing I want to do is martyr myself. On the other hand, I can't deny that my plate is too full. I'm feeling pulled in all directions. I can't keep up with the pace I've set for myself.

Something's got to give. And right now, that "thing" is this blog.

I won't be gone forever, or probably even as long as I think. I love posting and talking with all of you. This Web site has (sadly?) become a huge part of who I am. But I don't have room for it right now. My plate is too full. I want to spend time with family without scrambling to the computer every ten minutes. I want to write TLF part three without feeling like there's a gun to my head. I want to learn how to be a working mother without trying to spin every single moment into some literary masterpiece. I'm already doing that for Parents. I can't do it here.

I want to read books again. I want to comment on your blogs again. I want to join the gym and talk on the phone and refocus on my job again.

In a nutshell, I want to figure out how to enjoy my life and my new role as a working mom. I've got a wonderful husband and a beautiful daughter who both amaze me every single day, and yet, somehow I've allowed the Internet to cast a shadow over both of them because I'm afraid of losing readers. I look back at Amalah's archives during her period back at work and honestly can't believe she posted as often as she did. Even during her maternity leave when she was breastfeeding all the time. I gave in to formula before we even left the hospital and I could barely manage once a week. I've re-read her entries countless times, banged my head against the proverbial wall, thinking, What the hell is my problem?!

Now I get it. My problem is not knowing when to say When. So, just for a little while, I'm finally going to say it.

See you back here soon.

Moods, swinging of, even moreso than Jenna's

At the time of the start of this entry it's 2:08 in the morning. I should be catching some zzzz's, but instead I've chosen to burden the Internet with my tormented, sort-of-depressing thoughts. Lucky you.

The time has come for Luke and I to put our one-income-family plan into action. His last day of work has already been acknowledged by his department with a farewell lunch at Rock Bottom. I've been in contact with my supervisor and made plans for us to share a meal of our own before heading back to the office, to get up to speed on what I've missed and mentally prepare for what things will be like upon my return. It's no longer numbers typed into an Excel spreadsheet; it's our reality. Luke is a stay-at-home dad. I'm a working mom.

And even though there are still almost three weeks until I have to swipe my security badge at the lab's employee entrance, I feel like my maternity leave is already ending, because come five o'clock tomorrow, Kara and I will say good-bye to this special time we've had getting to know each other. I'm happy for my husband, but so bummed for me.

After Friday, things will be different. No longer will I be the primary parent with whom Kara spends most of her time. Gone will be the days of Luke walking through the door after a long day at the office and me greeting him from the living room couch, spewing happy words about the funny sounds the baby made that morning, cradling her sleeping body in my arms. No more singing "Peppermint Twist" while dancing around the apartment at eleven a.m.

It's not mommy guilt I'm suffering from; it's sadness.

I'm trying to be strong. I'm trying to get excited about shopping for work clothes and grabbing a shower before noon every day and talking to other adults again. I don't want people to feel sorry for me. I don't want Luke to feel bad (happy birthday, honey!). I know that somebody's got to work and my bond with Kara will continue to grow and eventually it'll all get easier.

But IT EFFING SUCKS, just the same.

To keep myself from drowning in a pint of Ben and Jerry's, I'm hereby announcing the official return of Tragic Love Friday, if only to have something awesomely trivial to focus on in my spare (ha!) time. It won't run every week, or even every other week right now, probably just once a month until a solid plot's been established, but no worries, because you'll have Brain Fest Friday to hold you over between installments. We'll have our first official BFF session tomorrow, so be sure to tune in. In the meantime, I'm going out on a limb and setting a TLF season premiere for...(flips through Norman Rockwell calendar) March 28. Those of you interested in being part of the writing team, please e-mail me so I can add you to my newly created Gmail group, which should allow us to swap ideas in an orderly fashion. If you don't have a Gmail account, let me know and I'll send you an invite. Also, don't stress about your literary skills or lacking soap opera background; I'll be controlling the main direction of the story and do eighty percent of the writing, anyway, but from time to time I'm sure I'll need pinch-hitters, and who better than a TLF fan?

Whew. Just thinking about the tragic possibilities makes me smile.

Edited to add: Of COURSE Kara choose this particular morning to wake up at five o'clock making the cutest sounds imaginable. But how can I be mad at this sweet little face? Does she not kill with the adorableness?

Edited to add AGAIN: Luke's V-Day present to me? A TWO-DISC collection of love songs by Phil Collins. It doesn't get any better than this, folks. (Seriously. I'm beyond giddy.)