That's it, it's over!

I'm ending an unhealthy relationship.

Sometimes this person is great, but sometimes awful. This person remembers all my mistakes and brings them up when I am feeling my worst. This person is constantly reminding me of how I don't stack up to others; in the way I dress, act, think, feel, and act as a sister, daughter, mother, wife, and friend. This person has unusually high expectations of me and doesn't seem content with anything I've done. This person knows all my most frightening fears and likes to remind me of them often, while under the guise of being "realistic" and "protecting", or worse, "motivating" me. This person can get so angry with me and keep me from the people and things I love. One word from this person can cut deep, leaving me wounded for days. Sometimes all I see is disappointment in this person's eyes.

I've tried reasoning with this person, ignoring the hurtful words.

But I'm not going to listen anymore. I'm  going to build myself up when this person tried to say something negative. I plan to laugh at this person when they accuse me of being selfish, awful, stupid, ugly, fat, a terrible person.

I hope you don't have a voice like this in your life, I hope you have someone to encourage you, love you, pick you up when you are down, who believes in you when you need it most.

It may be a silly way to make the point, but have you guessed who I'm ending it with?

Yep, its the nasty voice in my own head. I'd never tolerate being treated this way by someone else, why accept it by myself? How about you? Are you treating you well?

I'm feeling great at the moment, getting over a funk. I wrote about said funk yesterday and didn't post because, frankly, I think I sounded a whee bit nuts.

Maybe someday soon I'll re-read it and post a selection as a frightening peek into the darker side of my mind. A nice side effect of getting all those crazy thoughts in my head out of my head is that I can realize how nonsensical and unrealistic and irrational some of my fears are.

I'm not sure what broke the spell of my latest "I suck, I'm ruining everything, why do I even try?", but One Philly Daddy's sage advice of "laughing them off" seemed to be a success.

Try it, even if you don't believe it. Next time you tell yourself you suck, follow it up with a "that is the funniest, most ridiculous thing I've ever heard! Hahahahahahahaaa! Cause ya know what? I ROCK!!!!!"

It may not work, but if nothing else, it may make you smile!

Twice in the past 8 days I attended a yoga class.

I love yoga. I imagine that yoga is to me what church can be for some. When I do yoga, I feel in touch with something (someone?) bigger than myself, bigger than my comprehension. I revel in the mind-body connection. I spend a lot of time "living" in my head so deliberately focusing on stretching down with my tail bone while up with the top of my head can start to feel spiritual.

I am drawn to the ideals of yoga, and some of my most valued lessons came by way of a yoga class. When attempting a new, challenging, "impossible" pose (crow, head stand, hand stand, etc) I've been told it is only my mind holding me back, that once my mind believes I can do it, the body will stop resisting (also known as "being afraid of falling on my head"), and I will in fact be able to do it. I loved the teacher who encouraged us to push our poses to new places, encouraging our stumbling, falling and slipping by telling us that falling was our sign that we were growing.

But I sometimes let months go between classes. They are expensive, life gets in the way, I dm busy. And if I am truly honest, sometimes it can be too much. Not physically, I am fascinated by the strength that can be achieved be leaning, stretching, holding up my own body.

No, rather it is tapping into that greater power that sometimes scares me. I was attending the same class with a teacher I really responded too, and she pushed me. She said I could extend my arms and hold cobra with just my core. She was probably right, she was very aware of my physical strengths and abilities. But I didn't. Couldn't or wouldn't, whichever. My body listened to my mind saying "you can't do this!" and I didn't attend classes for a few months.

There's also an aspect, for me at least, of getting answers. At church, it would be called God's voice, but some would say it is my truest self and I'm "hearing" what I already know.

This phenomenon fascinates me, but can also can something that scares me. What if I hear an answer I don't want to hear? Of course, those answers come only from a place of love and honoring of my truest self, a place of peace and love. So the answers shouldn't scare me.

But, I do feel better when I practice regularly - physically, emotionally and mentally. So I should probably just stick with it,huh?

Fancy Schmancy!

I did some cleaning and laundry recently, and when I put away our kitchen towels, I found something.
The set of napkins and tablecloth we registered for when we got married. The tablecloth is still in the original packaging, and I don't think we've ever used the napkins either. I also have a full set of china that has never seen the light of day. We registered for many household items on whims, planning to use them in a house we hadn't purchased yet. As usual, things worked out for us, and the towels, dishes, and sheets all matched the home we ended up purchasing and now live in. Probably better than if we'd done it on purpose.

But while I'm very grateful for the generosity we received all those years ago, I am also somewhat embarrassed that I still have unused wedding gifts. We've been married for almost 4 years, so I would think we'd use a tablecloth in that much time! What am I waiting for?! But the truth is, I'm probably saving it until. We have a dining room. Or a table that fits the table cloth. Or any number of other ideas. I'm certainly not alone in this.

I've done this in the past too, saving stickers back in middle school when stickers were the thing to collect. My favorite shirts were saved up for that special day when they could come out of the closet. Of course, many of those stickers and shirts went unused and unworn, dried up or too small by the time the perfect day came around.
So its time to use the finest and nicest, instead of waiting for the "right" day, mood, party, etc, etc, etc.

Go ahead, break out your China! You're worth it!

For happiness, just add dirt

The longer One Philly Daddy and I are parents, the more our parenting philosophy becomes clear to me. Somethings are a bit of a surprise of me, in that I'd never considered some aspects of parenthood, not so much that I expected to feel differently.
I wasn't raised to be wary of germs, and some of our best times involved streams, mud, dirt, trees, sticks, leaves, climbing, etc.

So I suppose it shouldn't be a surprise that I've concluded "A Dirty Kid is a Happy Kid."

Since I've been home full time recently and the weather has been warmer and nicer, we've been outside a lot more. Recently (sadly, my last post) I confronted One Philly Son wanting to play outside in what is essentially, our dogs' potty. Yesterday I was confronted with this once again.

One Philly Son LOVES to be outside. He whines at the doors to go outside often, and I can tell he's just thrilled to be outside whenever we're outside, whether its a walk, the playground, or throwing a ball off the porch. (Which is especially fun for One Philly Daddy and I since we do not live on a flat street and end up chasing said ball. Sigh.) He loves it. I've been visiting one of the three playgrounds within walking distance of my house every day that the weather cooperates, but it doesn't always work out. One Philly Son sometimes falls asleep on the walk to the park and the other times he falls asleep on the swings, ruining play time AND his nap schedule. Beyond that, it can get to be a drag to have to pack a diaper bag, snacks, sunscreen and lug the stroller.

Plus, One Philly Daddy spent a lot of time and effort last year commandeering various play things from Craigslist and the like to set up the perfect outdoor play area for One Philly Son. We have a small slide, 2 swings, picnic table and sand box. To top it all off, One Philly Daddy ordered a custom sign to hang over our door announcing that the backyard is One Philly Son's "Playground". Way too much love and effort went into that yard for it to go to waste because of a little dirt!

So, dog poop notwithstanding, I want to spend as much time in our yard as humanly possible. And I'd like it to be the most enjoyable and usable for One Philly Son. Which means, I imagine I'll be doing a quick poop run every day that the weather will allow One Philly Son to play outside. A small price to pay for the joy it brings him.

Today, we were playing outside when One Philly Son remembered the hose (yesterday while he played, I did some yard work, attempting to clear plants, poop and other unmentionables that inhibit his play), and stood under the dripping hose "washing" rocks and pieces of mulch. He'd already played in his sandbox, so adding water was a messy proposition.

And then I did something crazy. I called One Philly Daddy who was on his way home from work, and he picked up a small inflatable pool for One Philly Son so he could REALLY play with water.

Between the water, sand, dirt, dogs, pollen, mulch, and Cheerio snack (lovingly provided by me, and happily dumped into the pool by One Philly Son) we had quite a mess going.

But I can't stand to stand in the way of the moment when One Philly Son fills a cup of water and splashes his own face, realizing "hey! this thing holds water!" or the moment he sticks a sandy hand in the pool and realizes "this stuff washes off!" or the first moment he successfully steps over the edge of the pool without help and looks up with the "WOW, did you see THAT?!" look on his face.

More of a wonder is that watching One Philly Son has brought back some long buried but happy memories from my childhood about the wonder and glee of exploration and adventure and imagination.

Maybe a dirty kid is a happy Mommy?

Mommying where the poop meets the playground

What a day!

The sun is shining again here, and One Philly Son loves, loves, loves to go outside to play.

As a matter of fact, we have a playset, picnic table, swing and slide set up for him in the yard. I want him to play outside. I know exploring his world is a crucial and exciting experience for him.

On the other hand, we have two dogs who see the yard as their, well, potty.

Enter internal debate #1. To play or not to play? Well, I went with play, and hovered over One Philly Son to try to avert any collisions with doggy poo landmines. (One Philly Daddy did a pick up yesterday, but toddlers seem drawn to the one thing you hope they don't find.)

One Philly Son loved being outside. He drug the rake around, laughed at the dogs, threw a ball,and yes, walked directly into a densley populated poo depository.

Internal debate #2. Cut short play time or manage the poo situation? I decided to manage the poo. Out came a plastic bag, and the poo scoop and shovel. Which was tricky because One Philly Son loves all things grown up cleaning related. So while I scooped I kept up a steady stream of "don't touch that" and "icky" and we luckily avoided THAT mess. He continued to play and have a great time.

Then he heard the trash trucks out front and went to investigate.

Internal debate #3. I spotted some neighbors and kids playing down the street and had to decide whether or not to wander down the street, knowing One Philly Son would head straight there. The debate was entirely motivated by the fact that I hadn't showered and had just thrown sweatpants over my jammies to head out to play. Sigh. I must be a sucker, cause down the hill we went. Again, he had a great time.

Once playtime was over, we headed home. Internal debate #4. I wanted to give One Philly Son a bath since he'd been in Poo Palace Playland, but also needed a shower myself. So what to do? Shower while he fusses? Bathe him and hope I'm clean from our play outside? (to be clear, he only stepped in one small poo and had just the tiniest bit on the sole of his shoe. But since I had to carry him, and he often gets down to crawl/climb on things, I really wasn't sure where exactly that sole had been.)

So I did the most effective, safest, fastest thing I could think of. Drew a bath and plopped the both of us in there.

By this time, One Philly Son is getting really really tired and cranky. He'd had an eventful Sunday, and played hard all morning. #5. Lunch then nap or nap then lunch? I threw together a quick lunch, which he ate enough of, and promptly nodded off in his booster seat. So off to nap he goes.

In the midst of this one of my most prolific poop producers shred a pillow on the spare bedroom, presumably because I wouldn't let him off the lead while we were in the yard. Trust me, this dog can be quite deliberate in his spite. So that was another debate. What are we up to, 6? To blow up at the dog, clean up the mess or carry on with my bath, lunch, nap routine? I went with the latter.

I'm working hard to accept that much of my day is not under my control. I can influence certain things and control my reactions, but that is really all I can do. While in our yard my critical eye and mind made a mind-numbing list of to-do's. Flower pots and boxes, weeding, raking and on and on. I asked that voice to just shush a minute so I could enjoy my son laughing at the dog. My grossed out self wanted to be irritated, angry and fed up about the poop. I focused on seeing the value of the play, reminding myself there's poop in everyone's (metaphoric) yard, so it's not so much about being upset about the poop as it is just doing your best to play around the poop.

As we speak a pile of dirty play clothes are laying on my kitchen floor where I stripped us as soon as we came in from the yard,the guts of a pillow are piled on my guest bed, a half eaten lunch sits on my counter.

I'm so glad I'm learning to play around the poo.

Sigh. Scary stuff.

Today, we applied for life insurance. In my mind this is a simple, essential way to take care of my family in the heart-wrenching case that I'm not here to do it myself.

Of course, that's always the reality, no one lives forever, I'm just more aware if it today.

I've never given death much thought. It happens, and I hope mine is as late and dignified as possible.

The difference now is that I have a family I love more than the air I breathe, the ground I walk on. Death doesn't particularly scare me, but not being with my family does.

With a little luck, some smart decisions and being blessed more than I already am, I won't have to worry about that for a long, long, long, long time.

Out with the old, in with the new!

So yesterday One Philly Daddy and I put out 9 (count 'em nine!) bags of clothes and books to be donated to a local charity. And our closets are still remarkably full. But that's a story for another day.

For some reason, donating clothes can sometimes have an emotional component, and it certainly did for me this time. I've been stashing clothes in a bag in the bottom of my closet as I come across thing that don't fit, I don't like, or just don't make me feel great. I got rid of things that just didn't fit my style. I'm a simple gal. Solid T's, an occasional stripe and lots and lots of earthy "grounded" colors, as my style was once described to me. Now, that's not to say that I don't appreciate the look of a nice leopard print or tried on a few occasions to pull off said print or bright color. I admire the look on others, but end up fidgeting and fussing when I try to wear it myself. So I finally am giving up the "maybe I'll like it one day" fantasy, and am just keeping the clothes that I forget I'm wearing. You know, the ones I feel so comfortable in that I forget what I'm wearing. That to me is comfortable and right. If I'm more aware of what I'm wearing that what I'm doing I'm just not comfortable and I'm probably not rocking the look anyway.

So, away go things that don't make me feel grounded, comfortable and happy.

One Philly Daddy's donation style was different, and involved going through each drawer and his closet in one night. Quite the undertaking, and much more observable. Since, you know, it was a giant pile in the middle of the bedroom.

For me, One Philly Daddy's donations were emotional too. A lot of it was stuff he just didn't like anymore, and he often said "I just don't need this much stuff!" A sentiment I support more and more.

But more significant was the fact that most of his single-funny guy-very humorous-occasionally offensive t-shirt collection got donated. (Not sure how that will go over, but hey, maybe they have a young male volunteer just dying for these T's!)

Now these are shirts that I told him would have to go once we started a family. No one wants to see a man at the park with his kid in a shirt about drinking! (Right?!?! Back me up here!!!)

But once they were in the pile to go away, it suddenly felt like the passing of an era, a milestone, a real moment in our lives. Like we were shedding yet another layer of ourselves to become more of what we are now, and to make room for what we will become.

Which makes me so excited! I'm more and more excited and comfortable with our roles and excited for the life we're living and planning.

All that from a donation of our old clothes!

Love, can it ever run out?

I've been thinking a lot lately about a conversation I had shortly after One Philly Son was born. The crux of the issue for the other woman was that she was pregnant with her second child and worried that she wouldn't love her second child as much as she loved her first.

At the time I scoffed at the idea. Love is one of those amazing phenomenon that grows the more you use it or give it away. The more I love the people in my life and the more I love my life, the more love I receive and feel. Ain't that awesome!

But, I've conjured up an alternate Mommy worry. (Which I know is nonsense, but worth voicing.)
What if I love my second (still unconceived) baby MORE than my first baby!?!??

As in, will this amazing, adored, fascinating creature I've been blessed with become old hat? Will he seem droll and boring? Or worse, an irritating distraction from the new and improved amazing creature I hope to be blessed with?

Of course not! I plan/hope to adore all members of my family for their own amazing uniqueness.

But it also seems worthwhile to ackowledge that nonsensical worry, as it will hopefully provide awareness and motivation to make sure amazing baby #1 doesn't feel dumped should amazing baby #2 come along.

Unfortunately this concern did not work for our dog, who definitely got demoted when baby came along! Oh well, we got her another dog to love her!

When I moved to be with One Philly Daddy, I left a town I loved. I had an immediate connection to the town, attended college there, returned there after a few years in Colorado.

I love the town One Philly Daddy and I live in, and have nothing against it, I was just leaving a town that felt so much like home. Many streets had stories, memories of friends, cutting class to eat Ritas Italian Ice in the park, long winding walks home from the neighborhood pub.

The town we live in now has a lot going for it. A train station to the city, lots of restaurants and bars in walking distance, a real town feel with plenty of community activities. But for a time I still missed my old town.

Lately though, this town feels like home. I don't know if it's simply time, or starting a family, or accumulating memories, but I am getting fabulously wonderful warm fuzzy feelings.

I know and love people here. I have taken miles of walks with my dogs, husband, son and friends over the years. I can see the school One Philly Son may go too. I look forward to building more and more of my life here.

It's good to be home.

I think I just caught a glimpse of the side of me that terrifies my husband a bit.

It's just me, the dogs, cat, house and One Philly Son for the time being and I plan to take my time sorting out a good balance of housework, errands, educational field trips, play dates, down time and naps.

Today I changed and washed the sheets and they didn't feel grimy yet, so that was a victorious luxury in itself. The top sheet of the set I washed sat in the dryer too long ages ago and the thick hem at the top edge of the sheet has been a wrinkled mangled mess for years. It's bugged me for ages, but who has time to do anything about that?

Well, said sheets were done in the dryer while One Philly Son napped, so I did something crazy. I ironed that stupid hem!

Which is amazing since I haven't ironed, you know, clothes in months!

Part of me is really excited to not have that wrinkley hem any more and the other part of me is a little afraid of how happy that flat hem makes me!

Don't worry, there's still dust, and toys out in the livingroom. The list of things to fix or mend is long and (like everyone's) ever growing.

Working out is working out!

I've observed this time and time again, in my own life and the lives of friends and family members of mine.

Remove something that is not "working" for you, and SHAZAM! everything else seems to improve as well.

It could be a boyfriend, friend, way of thinking, client, way of life, city, etc, etc, etc. It is almost as if the weight of either trying to be something you're not or the effort of trying to make something work that just isn't holds you back. And once that weight is lifted (sometimes quite literally), the possibilities get greater and greater. The air is cleaner, the sky bluer, the grass greener, well...you get the idea.

I don't know if its spring, or my recent life-change or my recent post on just doing what you know needs to be done, but I attended one of my One Fit Mama classes today...and it ROCKED!

I've only taken a few classes, and while I loved them all and they were all great work outs, I didn't feel like I was leaving it all "on the court", so to speak.

Then there are those days when I can run the stairs, do lunges, push harder and harder, One Philly Son enjoys class (instead of escaping from his stroller), and I feel pumped. Today was one of those days. Yes, I was short of breathe and really felt winded sometimes and didn't love all the stair work...but I did it all. And I didn't hold back, I just kept pushing. Which felt great, since during my first class a few short weeks ago, I felt simultaneously like passing out and throwing up. I love the feeling of feeling powerful, capable, strong. Its addictive. So now rather than thinking the efforts to get in/be in shape are "wasted" if I get pregnant, I'm going to focus on maintaining that feeling THROUGH pregnancy, if and when we're blessed with another.

I know. Duh. So simple. And yet, I was too busy, tired, had too much to do, was stressed about this and that, and holding on to that idea of it being a waste, and I could not do it.

And that's ok. Cause I'm gonna do it now.

Here's an unexpected twist on my first day "officially" home with One Philly Son.

Tough love nap.

Only the second time I've done it, but both times involved less than 10 minutes of half hearted crying followed by, you guessed it, a nap.

When I was working from home, naps were different. When i first started I was still nursing and One Philly Son would fall asleep in my arms. Later, if he was fussy, he'd fall asleep in my arms. If I had to get work done, he'd fall asleep in my arms.

Trust me, I'm fully aware that this was not ideal, but it worked.

I needed him to sleep during conference calls, or at least not be crying himself to sleep when the phone rang, etc, etc, etc... Honestly it probably falls under the topic of my last post - knowing what needs to be done, and still not doing it.

Well here we are, I don't need to work, take a call or get back to my laptop. But One Philly Son does need to nap before a family function tonight. And now, the few minutes of crying no longer feels like something I have to prevent, manage or avoid. It is a temporary part of my son learning to get himself to sleep for a nap. Bed time at night has worked for months without holding or rocking. He goes to bed,occassionally fusses, but goes to sleep. Only for nap time on days I worked from home did he fall asleep in my arms. So I know we both can do it...it was just a matter of doing it.

So now that my primary focus is on being Mom, instead of Worker/Mom, I feel like I'm making better choices already, and it's only the first day.

Weighting to see...

So life is full of dilemmas.

My current one is admittedly laughable, but a dilemma none the less.

Here's the situation: I'm not in as good of shape as I'd like to be. I consider myself moderately healthy, and have been sneaking in WAY more vegetables than I knew possible. My arms and legs remain thin-ish and toned (chasing and carrying a 22 lb bundle of love will do that). BUT my middle keeps getting softer and squishier.

I know exactly how to fix it. Eat less. Move more. It really is that simple. (I'm also hoping that a reduction in my stress level may result in fewer mindless sugary treats - my major weakness- being shoved down my throat).

Here's where it gets tricky, and when I know I'm my own worst enemy. I'd like to have a second child someday, and will obviously gain weight. So I tell myself the effort to get in shape will be "wasted."

Yes, I know that is ridiculous.

Health and saving are two things I feel should always be a priority. If I'm healthy when I get pregnant, my pregnancy, delivery and recovery will be easier. My baby will be healthier. I'll probably be happier and more able to cope witb stress.

And yet...

So my story really isn't about excercising or losing weight, but that fantastic phenomenon when you have all the data, you KNOW the smart thing to do, and you probably want to do it. And yet...you don't.

I'm not sure of the answer or the solution, but it is interesting to ponder. I'm well aware of the roadblocks I put in my own way, while I have many reasonable explanations, I realize they are all junk and if this was really a priority, I'd be doing what needed to be done.

I've felt out of control of many of the details of my day to day life and it fascinates me that my response is to give up further control by losing myself in ice cream and thoughts of "when such and such happens, I'll ...". Even though I've known all along a regular work out would give me greater strength to deal with the uncertainty.

Whatever happens, I'm 1000% (yes 1000) confident I'll be motivated to act before things are too out of hand or there is a real health concern.

I think understanding why I'm acting this way will translate to other moments I find myself paralyzed by my own inaction. So I'm going to give myself just a little more leeway, to see what happens. Will the removal of a major stressor cure my sweet tooth? Will I wake up with energy and the urge to work out?

Who knows? But I'll keep ya posted!

Today was my last day physically going to the job I've gone to for 5 1/2 years in downtown Philadelphia.

I have a few more days of work, but not at the location I called "work" for all those years.

Cleaning out my office, files, and desk filled me with all kinds of emotions and reactions.

I remember moving to the area to be with my then boyfriend of one year (now husband of going on 4 years). We were sure we wanted to be together for the long haul, but this was still a big step. My new job involved supervising, something I'd never done and wasn't sure I could do. The women I had the privilege of working with are some of the finest I've ever known.

I remember planning my wedding from my desk, and the bridal shower my co-workers hosted for me at the office. They gave me white silk roses in a vase that have been in my office since the day of the party. I gave them to our receptionist today.

I remember my sister coming in from Kentucky a few days early to surprise me at my office days before my wedding. She and I ceremoniously changed my nameplate from my maiden name to my married name. It was a moment I'll never forget.

I remember promotions and working harder than I've ever worked for a supervisor who trusted me and empowered me as never before.

I remember being pregnant and working on one of the largest events I've ever had to coordinate professionally. I was trying to convince everyone, including myself, that I could be the same worker I'd always been.

I remember feeling proud, accomplished, overworked, appreciated, special and invisible at various times. This is the longest I've been with any employer and by most standards, I was a success. My achievements were many, and I can be and am proud of my work and accomplishments there.

Life changes, and I am eager and excited for the next chapter, but I'm also happy with and proud of the chapter I'm closing.

Things are changing. In a big way.

By the end of the week I will be laid off.

This is not a financial, career or personal crisis. One Philly Daddy and I have made specific financial decisions regarding the size of our house, newness of car, etc so that his salary is enough to live on. Career-wise I've felt without direction and unsatisfied since my return from maternity leave in November 2009 (which makes
it seem like a really long time). Personally I welcome the opportunity to focus on my family.

But there is the question of my fire, my groove, my zest. By no means has the past year-ish been bad, it's been quite good actually. I've loved being a Mom and growing closer to my husband and growing our family. But I've struggled with my place, my role, trying to make the best of a situation that changed out of my control, and influenced all facets of my life.

I am proud to report One Philly Daddy
seems to be in his groove - working out, eating well, wildly productive. Which I envy since I feel like I've been bounced around a bit with my work situation. I can be strssed, feel pulled in very conflicting directions and unmotivated to focus on eating well, working out, etc. In short, my day to day life hasn't matched up with my vision for my life. And it's been hard.

So I'm hoping I find my groove, my stride, my zest.

Sometimes life's most precious moments are the simple ones, with pajamas instead of fancy dresses, sippy cups instead of steaks and wine, and no photographers, just the mind's eye to preserve the perfect memory.

Tonight my family sat down to do a relatively simple thing - watch a movie, in this case Despicable Me. One Philly Son has never sat through a movie, so the wisdom of this decision was not clear from the beginning.

But he loved it, and it is an adorable movie that One Philly Daddy and I enjoyed as well. It was a perfect evening.

And then it got better. One Philly Daddy said "this is his first movie, so we should buy it, and then we can watch it and Big Fish on Christmas"

The back story is that One Philly Daddy and I do not own movies as we rarely watch them and rarely want to watch a movie twice. But our first date was Big Fish, a kooky movie about love, and when it was clear we wanted to spend our life together, we bought the dvd of Big Fish and occasionally pull it out to watch. Anniversaries and special nights. It always takes us back to the beginning and fills us with excitement for our future.

So when he said we should buy Despicable Me, I saw a family tradition, a future unfold, with visions of loving hours on the couch together, growing children, the passing of time as we grow, learn and love together.

Yes, it was a perfect moment.

There's a quality of mine I hope I do not pass on to One Philly Son.

Being nice.

Specifically being nice at the expense of his own needs.

Let me explain. Now that we venture out to public play dates, we occasionally (a lot more often than I am comfortable with) are confronted with children who want the toy One Philly Son has selected. I appreciate the parents who step in and say to their child "no, honey, you can't take toys from others" and am appalled at the parents who don't notice or intercede.

I have been conflicted and uncomfortable with how to react as the parent of the child who has had "his" toy yanked from his hand. I don't want to be rude, so even when the other parent apologizes and returns the toy, I make a joke, say it is no big deal and maybe even discount my son by saying something like "he'd probably get bored with it soon anyway."

Wrong life lesson, Mommy. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

The lesson I fear I teach is that his boundaries can be crossed, someone else's needs are more important than his, and that niceness is more important than standing up for himself.

I'm going to have to practice a few new ways of handling this situation, but my goal is no longer to prioritize preserving the ego and dignity of a perfect stranger, but rather to teach my son respect and pride. For others and himself.

It's not my goal, but I bet I gain some in the process as well.

Tonight I'm caught thinking about the fragility of life, the ripple effect one small change or event can have.

I adore my son and wish him a happy, secure, successful life full of joy, love and confidence. But I know there will be tears, heartache, pain and hurt.

Part of me has the urge to try to prevent this inevitable pain, but I am forced to admit that my greatest growth and strength came from my times of great pain and turmoil.

So what really is the best thing to do for my son.

For a variety of reasons and circumstances, today was One Philly Son's last day at his day care. A day care he thrived in and loved. A day care I trusted and appreciated.

And I'm afraid the changes may lead down a path I wouldn't choose for my son.

I've lived long enough and through enough to realize that all new beginnings, no matter how wanted and longed for, come with a period of fear and self doubt. That first step down a new path is full of uncertainty, fear, and excitement.

There was a time I feared that those feelings were in some way an indication of the future success or failure of my new path, my new life. But now I know, that it's just life. Making a change probably should come with fear and uncertainty.

I'm ok with being afraid and unsure, but I also plan on feeling hopeful, excited, and looking forward to the coming changes.

So I'm feeling hopeful that this path leads to continued joy and blessings for my family.

One Philly Daddy and I subscribe to the philosophy that it is crucial to provide the very best that we can for One Philly Son (and any future additions). Of course, I imagine most parents feel this way.
We live in a great school district and have hoped to afford a larger house within said school district. But also agree, whatever One Philly Son would need,we would do our best to provide, whether that means tutors or classes or whatever. We have memberships to the Philadelphia Zoo, Please Touch Museum, and Sesame Place. I take him to storytime at the library and plan to sign him up for music or tumbling classes in the Spring.
This past weekend we went to The Little Treehouse and a Valentine Party with Elmo at Sesame Place.
All of these activities are fun, but also expose One Philly Son to the ideas of play, imagination, sharing, socializing, boundaries, and much more.
But they cost money too. One Philly Daddy and I are very, very blessed to have the means to provide these activities for our family, and I'm aware of how lucky we are.

Beyond financial means, there is also the philosophical outlook that we have in common. We do not subscribe to "children should be seen and not heard" or "spare the rod and spoil the child" or any of those. For us, love, affection, honesty, and trust are building blocks (we hope) to a great person.

As we left Sesame Place yesterday I asked One Philly Daddy if he thought it was "worth it" since One Philly Son will not remember any of these early year efforts. He responded that of course it was, and that if it didn't matter then it wouldn't matter anything that happened the first three years of anyone's life. And the professional consensus seems to be that those years are crucial for developing the foundations for trust, communication, health, and even things like interest in reading and eating vegetables.

So we'll continue carting One Philly Son places that make him smile, excited and happy. We'll remind him slides are for going down, to share, take his turn, to not throw things and to be gentle with others. We'll read books and put veggies on his plate everyday.

The price of admission is well worth it.

Have you noticed you have more energy to take care of what you have to do when you take care of yourself?

This is a lesson I learn and re-learn often, but I just read a Scoutie Girl's blog about fitting in her personal creative projects, not just her work ones. Her goal is to not lose her personal goals in the face of her professional success and abundance.

Which is a very noble cause, in my humble opinion. I'm always impressed by how renewed and energized I feel after I do something for myself. Whether it's yoga, drinks with friends, painting my nails or just catching a chick flick, it almost always works. There was a time I thought of those things as a waste of time, taking me from what I "had" to do.

Actually, the opposite is true, and taking care of me gives me strength and motivation for taking down Christmas decorations, 3 loads of laundry a day, dishes, bath time with One Philly Son and getting myself to work. Of course this means sometimes walking away from something that "has" to be done for something infinitely more important - me.

Don't forget to put some me time on your schedule, you'll be glad you did!

Here we are, a week into the new year already. Does it still feel shiny and new to you?

Nothing really has changed in my life, but the things have been set in motion to bring change in the near future.

And I'm that cool nervous excited for it. I'm about to embark on an entirely new path, one I previously felt I couldn't walk. And now I'm eager for the change. (Don't worry, I'll fill you in when I can.)

I'm sure a part of me is merely romanticizing what life will be like when things change, but I honestly do expect positive change for me and in me. Already I can feel some of the frustration fading. We have two dogs, one whom must be kept on a lead because no matter what alterations we do to the fence, he escapes. Well, on Friday in the midst of a snow storm, he managed to get off his lead and pranced, hopped, ran and gallopped around the yard. One Philly Son was alone in the house but watching through the screen door as I chased after our dog on my slippers (without socks. In the snow. While my son was alone in the house.) A few weeks ago I would've felt frustrated, boxed in and resentful. I would've been harsh with my dog, which always makes our other dog cower. So I would've felt guilty.

All because my plate felt full to brimming and spilling over with obligation and responsibility.

On the day in question, I laughed.

It was funny, afterall, and I now feel my energy, spirit, time and love will be spent in a way that feels worthwhile to me. I felt free to laugh, and roll with the day, rather than weighed down by things. Things that were not serving me, adding to my sense of purpose or joy, or supporting my ideal life. These things remain present, but just the knowledge that I will soon be rid of them was enough to put a smile and a laugh where a scowl and a curse used to live.

I can't think of any better proof that I'm doing the right thing.

Back to reality

Today I, along with many of us, returned to reality. That is, I went back to work (some of you went back to school) after a long holiday break. Personally, I was out of work for 13 straight days, and had loads of quality family time.

I realized something while on my break. Being a full-time SAHM (that's stay-at-home-Mom) is not nearly as easy as I once imagined. I once imagined SAHM meant a clean house, home-cooked dinner every night, and loads of time for undivided attention to the child(ren).

Yes, I've been working from home, but being a working-from-home-Mom I didn't really get a real impression of what being a day-in-day-out stay at home Mom would be like. It was easy to blame challenges of the day on trying to be a worker-Mom/caregiver/house cleaner/cook.

But let me tell you, full-time, 100% Mom ain't easy. Not that I ever thought it was, but here's the essence of what I learned.

It's not about you/me (the Mom). What I could accomplish in a day, the mood of the day, the events of the day were dependent not on me or my plans, but on One Philly Son.

Talk about an "aha!" moment. (Or "duh!". Either works...)

The journey of the SAHM is (somewhat) to manage a world in which you are not in charge. I mean, not really. Sure, you can set the parameters of nap time, meal time, play time, TV or not. But throw one ear infection in there (as we did) and things can get thrown out of whack.

Still, its something that intrigues me. More and more a traditional role of Mom and homemaker (feminists, look away!) appeals to me. I can see the fleetingness of time before the kid(s) go to school. I can understand the desire to be the one to teach colors, numbers, and letters. I can see the joy and happiness of being with  your child(ren) every day, all day. I am drawn to playground and coloring books, to lazy breakfasts spent talking about yellow bananas and green grapes and round bowls.

I also have a greater appreciation and understanding of the frustration that may accompany the career path of SAHM. No, it is not easy. But, oh how rewarding!

During the time I was home on break, One Philly Son seemed to develop in leaps and bounds. We went to the Please Touch Museum not once, but twice and he loved it. He started responding to One Philly Daddy and my verbal communication more and more. One Philly Daddy said "give me your pacifier" and One Philly Son DID. One Philly Daddy said "come here and help put your coat on" and One Philly Son DID! When I mention taking a bath, One Philly Son not only goes upstairs to the bathtub, but also signs "bath." He's also consistently signing "more" and "eat." I think "milk", "drink", and "play" are not far behind.

I have no idea if these developments have anything to do with me being home for a long stretch and being able to focus solely on One Philly Son or if it is a coincidence. I have no idea if he's been doing these things all along and I just finally noticed.

But I am grateful that I was here and present and aware of these things as they happened.

I've made a monumental decision.

Using One Philly Daddy as my inspiration and muse, I've decided to give up chocolate for 2011. For those of you intimately aware of my eating habits and coping skills this is a big deal!

One Philly Daddy is giving up something in 2011, and it got me to thinking. Sweets and chocolate have long been something I enjoy but have no real control over. As a child my paternal grandmother would give us multiple shopping bags of candy at each holiday. Christmas was chocolate Santa's and boxes of candy canes. Easter was hollow bunnies, Peeps of all shapes and colors, peanut butter eggs, a giant chocolate coated coconut egg, with m&m's of the appropriate color for each of us. Sweets were not something we had in my house, so when they were around, we binged. I mean, really binged. What is probably an entire family's worth of sweets was ingested by each of us in a matter of days. At every holiday. For my entire childhood. How we handled the sudden influx of thousands of calories, I'll never know.

As an adult I managed to enjoy sweets and chocolate and solved my lack of self control by not having it around. But, still, when sweets are around, they are eaten with gusto.

Worse, I've realized lately that my choco-binges are becoming more and more emotionally driven. Rough day = chocolate. Used to be a few Hershey kisses would satisfy me. Recently, I think I could've polished off a one pound box of Ashers, if common sense didn't prevail. I've even torn the house apart in the wee hours of the night to make a batch of chocolate chip cookies (the mix from the store, I'm not that crazy...) And lunch at work, well, does a bag of Party Mix and the chocolate du jour sound healthy to you?

Here's the sad part. I hardly enjoy the chocolate anymore. Its not a treat, its not something special to be savored, I'm not sure I taste it. Its something to be shoved down my throat in massive quantities to distract me from whatever's going on that day.

And this year, there's been plenty to be distracted from. Merger at work, poor economy, motherhood (which I love, love, LOVE. But I still haven't figured out how to shower everyday that I am home with him. And forget working out, reading, shaving, switching out my summer clothes for winter clothes or any of those other luxuries...wouldn't change a thing, adore One Philly Son, but parenting, it's a smidge time consuming...)

So I'm giving up chocolate. But its also symbolic of a move toward greater health (more real food instead of the processed crap; time to exercise, meditate, or whatever it takes to make me feel healthy), peace (see again meditation, etc) and happiness (ahem, work situation). For reasons beyond my control, this past year has left me feeling invisible and tired (again, ahem, work). Its not a feeling I love. And I know that indulging in chocolate is really not facing the facts, confronting them and DOING something about it. Its sticking my head in the sand. Or in this case a family size bag of M&M's...with chocolate covered pretzels...and Oreos...well, you get the idea.

Not only is the chocolate not a good coping mechanism, it is not physically giving me the strength, focus or nutrients I need to live my life. There's a reason its not one of the food groups.

So I'm giving it up. Not just because its chocolate, but because of what it means....I'm actually looking forward to it. (For now. Ask me again Jan 3rd...)

I attended a training at work recently that involved an excercise writing our personal mission statement. The purpose was to create our professional mission statement, but I was intrigued. How often do we ponder our life in respect to goals, purpose, our MISSION?

I gave it a shot, and here it is:

My personal mission is to thrive in life with passion, purpose, and integrity; to provide a loving, joyful, fulfilling, peaceful, abundant existence for me and my family that pays the highest respect to each unique individual and their personally defined highest potential.

The beauty of a mission statement is that it can and should be examined and changed as needed to evolve with the situation. For now, I like this one for me.

So what's your personal mission statement?

I've been in a funk the past few days. I worked two long days Thursday and Friday last week, while battling a stomach flu which carried into this week (I think...killer headache and nauseous but nothing...happened, if you know what I mean). Then I had a long (but fun) day Saturday, including an overnight stay with One Philly Dad and One Philly Son with my sister and mother. First on Saturday we had a Holiday party (even if it was sort of depressing) where it was nice to catch up with folks I don't see often enough. Then an awesome 40th birthday party, complete with an Ace of Cakes cake. The day involved nearly as many hours of driving as it did of sleep.

Since then, we've taken it kind of easy - some grocery shopping, a nice family dinner out but nothing too strenuous. Still...

My post yesterday was hardly insightful or meaningful. I was just feeling blah.

I'm not sure if its that fact that I'd been reminded at the Holiday Party of just how hard some people have it, or the strange dichotomy of the hardship of the Holiday Party followed by the opulence of the birthday party, or just pure exhaustion... but I was in a funk.

Lucky for me, the clouds seem to be breaking and I can see a bit of (metaphorical) sun peaking through. I don't know if it was the bacon-cheeseburger with fries, the kick-boxing workout One Philly Daddy drug me through or finally getting caught up on some sleep that turned the corner.

Sometimes these things just happen.

Having a funk of a day and letting it ride itself out was a skill I had to learn. Having a parent with an unaddressed and untreated mental illness left me haunted for years...every mood and feeling needed to be evaluated to see if it signified my inevitable fall into (forgive the phrase) craziness.

If I could count the times One Philly Daddy has told me that everyone has down days, sad days, days when they feel fatter, stupider, uglier, poorer, (etc) than everyone else...well, I'd be counting pretty high.

So, in a truly ironic twist, these days, a funk is something of a victory. I'm sad, I'm bummed...I get over it.

How was your day?

I attended a holiday party this weekend. It was nice to catch up with people, but it was also a bit sad and depressing.

Of the maybe 15 people there 2 had been unemployed for months, 1 almost a year. One man's wife had left him after about 20 years of marriage. A few had health problems. A woman in her mid-thirties was preparing for her parents and grown brother to move into her townhouse as a result of economic issues. People tried to be optimistic and hopeful, but it was clear on their faces that life has been hard this past year.

I appreciate both their efforts to be positive and hopeful as well as their brutal honesty about how hard it has been.

As an adult this is the toughest and most far reaching "rough time" I can remember. Sure, I've known individuals and even families who've had a tough stretch with tragedy or not enough money or just painful sadness. But this is a time when the bad times seem to have affected more people than not.

I sure wish I could muster up some brilliant words of hope, but they all feel hollow right now.

I've always been a bit of a worrier. Professionals and those in the know call it catastrophizing. Essentially this means exaggerating the negative of a situation and expecting not just the worst, but an unrealistic made-for-TV, horrible, awful version of the worst. It means a lot of time spent afraid and worrying.

I've put a lot of work into not doing this, and continue to do so, as it can still my brain's "default" setting when tired or stressed (the normal kind). I used to think that if I expected and prepared for the worst, than I wouldn't be surprised or upset when it happened, and maybe I could see how to prevent it from happening. Preparing this way seemed like a "smart" and "safe" thing to do.

I recently spoke with my sister about the worries of pregnancy and motherhood. If you let it, the long list of foods not to eat, potential toxins in your home, things to improve your child's brain power, etc, etc, etc can really overwhelm and scare you. A lot. My god, the catastrophes that loom in parenthood!

I assured my sister that worrying comes with motherhood. One Philly Son is 15 months old, we have a video monitor so I can SEE and hear him at night and I still go in his room sometimes at night to check on him. Just to be sure that seeing him breathe and hearing him breathe aren't illusions, I go rest my hand on his chest to feel him breathe. (I also cover him back up, since he kicks his covers off a few times a night, then ends up sleeping in a tiny little ball, I assume because its warmer...so its practical AND somewhat irrational)

I told her that worrying and fear pre-baby are nothing compared to the potential worrying and fear post-baby. After a baby, the stakes are higher, the threats scarier, the horror stories more unimaginable.

But as I talked with her, I realized that the love and joy are far outweighing my fear and worry.
And that's really the important part, isn't it? Focusing on the love and joy (not just as it relates to babies, but everything)? Reaching out with two hands to hold on to it, regardless of the risk it brings? Trusting that it will all work out? And that if it doesn't, you'll have the strength and fortitude to handle it anyway?

In my experience, the love and the joy are what you remember when you look back on life events. The worrying and fear seem useless in the peace of hindsight, once everything has worked out. And after observing this over and over and over and over again in my own life, I decided to start expecting it to work out so that I could actually enjoy the "during" part of my life, instead of just as a happy flashback.

So in these hectic holiday times, with gloom and doom on the news and all around, try to imagine yourself as the you when all these worries have worked out. Imagine yourself seeing how everything you may be going through right now has led you to a better place, and see if some of your fear and worry transforms into love and joy.

Happy Holidays!

planning for the New Year

The new year approach-eth.

Yes, I know that's not a real word and I don't usually buy into the concept of starting something new or life beginning anew on the New Year. I've always sort of thought that if you wanted to get a new job, cut/dye your hair, find a boyfriend, lose/gain 10 pounds, etc you should just....you know...DO IT!

But One Philly Daddy and I have been looking forward to the new year as a sort of fresh start. The past year has been the best year in many ways, but it has also been a trying year. We were new parents; I still have an unsure work situation, and the economic uncertainties weighed heavy on life and familial decisions.

We've grown up into parents, which causes (in us at least) some introspection. What are our priorities? What sort of life are we aiming to build? What does the life we lead teach our children? Is it what we want them to learn? Etc.

In the past, I focused on the number on the scale, all the while claiming that I was concerned with my health, not my weight. But in the past few months I've not worked out and not eaten particularly well (by my standards). The news on the scale is not as bad as I expected it to be, or at least not bad enough to motivate me. I know that means I'm pretty lucky, but it also means my motivation was not really health (or I'd be eating better and working out). So my goal is to really focus on my health. Which means I am counting minutes worked out and servings of fruits and veggies instead of pounds on the scale.

In the past, I used increasing responsibility, good reviews and increased pay as my measure of success and progress professionally. My degree and work has been primarily in non-profits, so getting rich was never my goal (indeed, I always said I needed to do something worthwhile, but I've realized I was measuring how well I was doing that worthwhile thing by my raises and promotions). Now, passion and fulfillment are tipping the scales in their favor as a way to judge my success.

In the past, I was content to define "quality family time" as hours in front of the TV. I recently brought up the idea of two nights a week of "no TV" with One Philly Daddy. I'd like for us to share more than a couch cushion and air in our "quality family time." I want to teach One Philly Son letters, numbers, colors, how to catch, songs to sing, animal sounds, and on and on and on. And I want to share it all with One Philly Daddy.

In the past, One Philly Daddy and I lived a pretty hedonistic life. No, we weren't swinging from chandeliers on a nightly basis and we continued to make smart, intelligent, future-based decisions for ourselves. But, if we wanted to go to dinner, split a bottle (or two or seven) of wine with friends, or take a vacation, (you get the idea), we did. And we're beginning to feel that the cost doesn't outweigh the benefits anymore. Now, we'll probably still do what we want to do, but what we want to do is more along the lines of the Philadelphia Zoo, Please Touch Museum, parks, and story time at the library.

You may say this "new" way of  thinking just makes us tired and old, or even worse (gasp!) boring parents. But for me, it feels like a conscious decision to get more value and meaning in my life. And I am SO EXCITED for all that is coming our way.

So we're looking forward to the new year, being more present participants in our own lives and making deliberate decisions for what we want our life to look like.

What are your new year's plans?

Today on the train was a group of 20-30 7 or 8 year olds, I think on a field trip. They were so excited it was hard not to watch them and smile. They were SO excited. To be on a train. To be going to the city. To be doing something new.

We went to the mall tonight and let One Philly Son wander the stores and halls. He laughed, he shrieked, he played peek-a-boo with stragers. People stopped to smile and watch him.

Something about children's pure joy and wonder is fascinating.

Let's try to get some of that joy and wonder back ourselves.

Life is short. Too damn short.

In the past day I’ve come across these websites: (please check them out, some of them were pretty profound to me)

www.jennyslight.org
www.onepercent-cure.org
http://theinvestedlife.msn.com/investor.aspx?type=blog&aid=i_7&id=26481389
http://www.parentdish.com/2010/12/01/the-year-of-doing-it-anyway/

A group of volunteers I know “adopted” a family for the holidays and planned to purchase presents and clothes and food. One of the children was getting treated for a brain tumor, but unfortunately passed on Thanksgiving Day. (They are still giving the presents, though this Christmas will still be painful for this family.)

My office donated Thanksgiving feasts for families, one of whom is a single mother being treated for cancer, who has a 7 year old son. She’s drawing up her will, “just in case.”

I feel like there’s a lesson in all of this information.

I’ve spent a lot of my life focusing on doing the right thing, the smart thing and not taking lots of risks. Risk equals danger to me, and I’ve had enough of dangerous and scary living. I wouldn’t change anything about my life, and am proud of the life and choices I’ve made. I built a safe life because it was just what I wanted and needed. But I didn’t push many limits in my efforts to create a safe life. Now that I have my safe life, I’m feeling brave enough to step out of line a bit.

Waiting for things to be “right” (in the bank account, at work, with your weight/haircut/boyfriend) before you buy a house/have a baby/take a vacation/pursue your dream is beginning to sound….well….dumb. Like a waste of a limited commodity, namely time.

I pray that this lesson isn’t being hammered into my head for anything more meaningful than to tell me its time to get off my butt, but I think its time to get off my butt.

I’m not exactly sure what it is I’m going to do once I’m off my butt, but I’m going to give it a shot. I’m not going to spend so much time focusing on the right, smart thing, and try to spend some time doing what I want to do.

I’m a smart girl, with good intentions, so I seriously doubt I’ll move to Paris or sell my possessions or start doing anything dangerous or illegal or irresponsible. (In the past, when I imagined stepping away from my “safe” way of doing things, I envisioned unpaid bills, dirty clothes, my starving children crying while I wondered the house with a crazed look in my eye and paint in my unkempt hair. That’s not what I have in mind.)

I just mean I’m going to be more mindful about saying yes to things I want to do, and no to things I don’t want to do. Things that bring me joy and peace and happiness are welcome. Those that bring me stress and anguish and pain will be less and less tolerated.

Where’s your wild side?

Wow, things are tough out there.

Unemployment benefits are set to expire for millions of Americans in the coming weeks and the debate about tax cuts, extending unemployment benefits beyond the 99 weeks currently covered and the job market rages on.

I'm not here to express my opinion about any of that, I do not consider myself informed or educated enough to offer an opinion or solution to our national economic situation.

I recently signed up for home delivery of the Philadelphia Inquirer on Sundays, hoping I'd clip some coupons and save some money at the grocery store. (I'm having a hard time finding the time to cut said coupons, but I'm not giving up yet.) Even though I'm not looking for a new job, I thought I'd take a look at the classifieds to see what the job market was really like...I mean, the paper was already in my house and everything, why not?

And I have to say, I'm glad I'm not looking. The last time I looked for a job, I was living in Bethlehem and it was 2005. My boyfriend (currently known as One Philly Daddy) and I had decided that the Lehigh Valley - Philadelphia suburb commute to see each other was no longer working. We wanted more time together, and suspected that this was "it", so I planned to relocate.

I remember sorting through pages of classifieds, to find 5 - 10 jobs that were an OK fit and 1 - 3 that felt like a really good fit. There were probably an additional 10 - 20 that I could apply for and have a chance at getting. Back then, it was OK to be picky about the kind of job, hours, pay, industry I wanted to work in. I only applied to jobs I really wanted, and it took 6 months for the process to play itself out, from deciding to look to starting a new job. And it was still stressful and felt like a long time.

These past few weeks of glancing at the classifieds (I don't have the stomach for much more than a glance.) I've found very few jobs that I am qualified for. Maybe one or two that I might be considered for, and more times than not, zero that were a good, or even OK fit that I could be excited about.

Yikes.

No wonder people are stressed and worried and scared. It seems being picky about the kind of job, hours, pay, and industry is a thing of the past (and hopefully future).

I don't know if we should extend unemployment or not. I don't know if we should extend the tax cuts for the rich, everyone or no one. I don't know what we should do.

I do know the sense of hopelessness is hard to fight and can be pervasive, from friends who've looked for jobs for a long time, to the news, to politicians. I am not in a hopeless situation by any means, and feel the effects of the hopelessness that seems to soak our world right now.

All I can offer in the way of encouragement is the fact that I have had personal experience in some really, really crappy situations. My mother offered these words of advice, which turned out to be true. "This too shall pass."

Hopefully, sooner rather than later.

A sister joins the sisterhood of motherhood

My sister recently announced that she is expecting her first child! 

My sister is my best friend in the world. I can tell her anything, even dark, dirty little secrets I don't even want to say out loud to myself (and oh boy, have I!). I can brag to her about my kick a$$ day without worrying that she'll feel like I'm, well, bragging. She speaks my language, knows where I come from, and accepts everything about me. Clearly, I'm fond of the girl!

And to think of her on the journey of becoming a Mom just makes me so darned happy! (Because it is what she and her husband want and planned for. Not because I'm one of those pain in the a$$ people who thinks everyone should have a child...to each their own people!)

I've shared what little tidbits I can remember, pulled out all my books to give recommendations. (My favorite was The Pregnancy Bible. I LOVED it. I know everyone says you should get What to Expect When You're Expecting: Fourth Edition but I didn't find any pictures in there and I found the book kind of "blah" the few minutes I flipped through it in the book store.

But The Pregnancy Bible: Your Complete Guide to Pregnancy and Early Parenthood had pictures of the developing fetus for each week (real pictures, not artists renderings), as well as a week-by-week this-is-what's-happening-to-your-body explanation for Mom. (I'll admit, I cheated a lot and read into the future to see what was coming) As in all pregnancy books there are those pages/paragraphs that scare the be-jesus out of you, but One Philly Daddy and I made it a habit to sit in bed with that book and read about what One Philly Son was doing that week, or how far he'd come, or what he'd be doing when....  It was awesome and one of my fondest memories of being pregnant with our first child.


Of course, as in many, if not most, journeys in life, the during can be pretty hectic. After our anatomical ultrasound and One Philly Son was declared healthy, I still couldn't stop worrying something was wrong. I fretted about setting up the nursery. I fretted about affording everything. I fretted about getting everything done. I fretted about what I didn't know to fret about.

And...we got everything done. Everything turned out just fine. Mere months after the birth of One Philly Son we settled into a routine. All those things I fretted about magically transformed from unknown, scary, unimaginable things (just how early do I have to wake up to get us to work, the baby fed and to day care, the dogs and cat fed...how is that going to work? I could not imagine.) into normal, blessed, part-of-our-routine things.

Too often I don't give me/life/my husband the credit it deserves for the incredible track record of things working out.  They usually do, and yet it always seems to be a surprise to me.

So I know my wonderful, darling sister must have a head full of "what if" and "how" and "when" and "holy cr@p, now what??" But I also know, she'll find her answers, and in no time at all, she won't believe she was ever unsure of what to do.

I’ve hesitated to write about this for some time. The situation is still going on, and the outcome remains completely unknown. But it is taking up a lot of room in my mind, so perhaps this will free up some room for other things.

I’m in an unfulfilling position at a non-profit going through a merger where no one’s position is guaranteed.

Since I returned to work from my FMLA Maternity leave, things have been up in the air with merger “talks”, then decisions, negotiations, and finally restructuring. We’re in the restructuring process, and, as often happens in these situations (this is not my first merger/buy out experience) things take longer than expected and planned.

So what we’d hoped to be wrapping up soon will probably be going on into the new year for at least a few weeks.

Prior to my maternity leave, things were different. I worked long, hard, crazy, busy hours. If I took a lunch, I came back to multiple voicemails and emails. I accomplished incredible quantities of work. My philosophy and response was “I can do that” no matter how crazy the request, how short the deadline, how big the project. (And most of the time, I did do “it”.) If I didn’t know how to do it, I found out. If no one else wanted a project, I took it. If a position was vacant, I filled in until it was filled. Sure, I was frustrated sometimes, and overwhelmed by all the work at times.

But I also felt important, busy, valued, appreciated, necessary, awesome. I had a complete sense of having it all. I could have a family, a challenging job, contribute financially to my family and feel great doing it. I was PUMPED at the prospect of it all.

Now, unfortunately, I feel listless, unsure, confused, unnoticed. My tasks have dwindled (hopefully to increase if/when the merger is finished), and I hate to say it, but I’m not sure anyone really notices I’m here. I can go days, if not weeks without a work related voice mail (I don’t count telemarketers).

It is disheartening and disconcerting to feel so invisible after feeling so indispensible.

I yearn for a purpose, a sense of accomplishment.

Have you ever noticed the phenomenon that the busier you are, the more you can get done? I epitomized that phenomenon at work for awhile, and now I am bogged down in the flip side. No focus, no drive, no motivation. It takes me an hour to write a fax now. I used to do that in the midst of returning a phone call AND an email.

I feel like my brain is turning to mush, and I miss the fire and rush of feeling necessary and important.

So, I'm going to try to get that rush somewhere else, brainstorm a personal project that might give me that sense of fulfillment I am missing.

This situation at work will pass, and whatever the outcome, everything will work out. But I bet finding an independent source of fulfilment, a passion of my own is a worthwhile pursuit.

What's your passion? Is it really yours or is it dependent on someone or something else?

What's your gift philosophy?

Even though One Philly Son has already had one Christmas, and is quickly approaching his second, I am still contemplating my Christmas gift philosophy.

The ginormous pile of everything he asked for? or a few specific and hopefully meaningful gifts?

Last Christmas One Philly Daddy and I agreed to purchase only a few gifts for One Philly Son. #1 He was 4 months old and wouldn't remember #2 He didn't need a stinkin' thing. #3 He wasn't aware enough to want anything and #4 We knew he'd get plenty of gifts from other, very generous friends and family.

Last year, we bought him a cloth storybook, and a singing Elephant, and I'm happy to say, he still plays with both and still carries them around the house nearly a year later. Which is what we want a gift to be, right? Something that brings joy and stands the test of time to provide continued joy.

This year we are following much of the same philosophy. So far,we are gifting 1) 3 personalized books that will include his name, because I hope he'll enjoy them for years to come, plus they are Sesame Street ABC and 123 books, so there is also an educational component.

2) a Stride to Ride Dino Walker (currently $44.99 at Toys R US, but free shipping if you spend $49) because I know  he will love, love, love it right now. (and we have the room and floors so he can ride it in the house during the winter)

and 3) a Disney music CD (cheaper new at Toys R Us) because he is fascinated with the CD player, "dances" in his car seat to music playing in the car and loves Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.

I hope they are all things that One Philly Son will enjoy and use often.

We might pick up a few more small things, and maybe I'll get some cute little things that he can dump out of his stocking on Christmas morning. But that's probably about it.

He still won't remember this Christmas, so I don't feel the need to "wow" him just yet. If one day, he's just set on something spectacular, and One Philly Daddy and I can swing it, I'd love to gift him that amazing gift that he talks about years later as "the" Christmas. Every parent wants to provide that, don't they?

But I don't think (who knows?, life evolves) I'll strive to provide a pile that can be literally be jumped into, like some of my childhood classmates got...

I guess I don't want to create the unhealthy expectation for One Philly Son that he will get everything he wants all the time. I believe this leads to the child not understanding the value of what they have and a sense of entitlement.

But at the same time, I understand the philosophy that childhood only happens once, and when is a better time to teach a child to wish, to dream, and to expect those wishes and dreams to come true?

So what's your gift philosophy? Do you let your child(ren) make unlimited lists and provide everything on it? Or limit their requests to a few items and only provide a small pile? Let me know your thoughts...

Thanksgiving

I am grateful that most of my stresses and worries come from the problem of abundance. (If you are having a hard time seeing the abundance in your life, check this out. A good exercise in perspective.)

Too many choices - work or stay home with kids?, have kids or not? how many?, buy a house?, how big?, where? Public school or private?

Money for necessities and most of my reasonable wants - unlike a lot of people. Whether or not there was going to be food on my table this Thanksgiving was not a question. Neither was the heat.

My family and I are healthy enough that I can take it for granted sometimes, and not eat well or work out.

Free enough to criticize anyone, believe anything, decide what I want to be. 

I have the luxury of a partner to help, when many do not.

My safety is not a concern, nor the safety of my family.

These are just the biggies, not to mention the apple pie I'll eat on Thursday, the beautiful weather headed our way this week, the new couches I'll be sitting on, etc, etc, etc....

Happy Thanksgiving...

It's about time...

One Philly Daddy and I did something yesterday we've been putting off for a long time. We've talked about it on and off for years and sometimes had very different opinions about whether or not to do it at all. Recently I said I'd never do it. And here we are.

We bought new couches.

Why we didn't:
1) The couches we had worked for years. They were hand-me-downs, but we were young, and they worked. In the beginning, I even liked them.
2) New furniture is, to me, crazy expensive. I'd rather save the money or take a vacation (And we have. A lot.).
3) We have two dogs, a cat and a baby/toddler. It seemed anything new would just get ruined in a few days anyway.
4) I was hoping to find something almost-new (better for the environment, my wallet, the world, plus - less heart break if the dogs/cat/kid make a mess).

Why we finally did:
1) The couches are no longer "working". I was beginning to be embarrassed. The couches had stains, so a few years ago I had them cleaned professionally (cheaper than new couches). Then they got more stains, and the cushions started to tear, so I bought slip covers (on sale, much cheaper than new couches. Plus, I had the benefit of being able to wash away any messes). Now, when anyone sits on the couch, the cushions slide out so far you end up with half a cushion suspended in air over the front of the couch, and a big gap of no cushion behind your butt. I spend a lot of time shoving the cushions back in place and brainstorming ideas of how to get them to stay put.
2) I was getting tired of being a hard working adult who can afford to pay cash for new couches, but continues to have a couch that looks straight out of a college dorm room.
3) I wanted to. Badly.
4) We searched all the "almost new" options, repeatedly, and found nothing.

What I learned:
1) The overriding concern for stains was probably not necessary. We purchased a sofa, chair and a half and an ottoman. And the fabric protection plan for all of them. For an additional $150, American Signature Furniture will clean any stains or tears from pet or human spill, bodily fluid or accident. If they can't get it out or fix it, they will replace the piece for 7 years. We'll see how well the actual delivery of this service is, but as One Philly Daddy put it, "if anyone needs this service, its us".
2) I already knew this one, but its always nice to see it in action: One Philly Daddy and I are legitimately concerned with each other's happiness. We refused to buy something we both didn't love (in style, color and price), which meant 9 stores in one day and a lot of communication, but I think we both love what we ended up with. (Correct me if I'm wrong honey..quick, before we pick up the new furniture!)
3) If I could get away with it, I would probably save every penny I earned besides necessities. Apartment (small, and pseudo-crappy is OK, just needs to be safe), car (ditto), food (nothing name brand, please!), a few social outings, and basic cable. Student loan payments and the rest sits in an account, for "just in case." But life is meant to be lived. And if I'm going to (and One Philly Daddy) work hard to excel at work and earn a good living, I should probably allow myself to enjoy a few nice things, once in awhile. I'm honestly excited for these stupid couches!

So, we did it. We didn't get anything fancy or expensive (We did visit one store having a 50% off sale, and everything was still twice our budget. Ouch.), but we like it, and we're happy. Plus, it should be here before Thanksgiving (which I am hosting)....and I won't be fixing cushions OR worrying about stains....now that's something to be grateful for!

I recently re-read Eat Pray Love because I loved the book, but also because I am so taken with this woman's journey to discover herself. It took courage for her to examine her inner-workings with such honesty.

I've always been into self-awareness and self-help-y type exercises, experiences, books and writings. I once exclaimed, without an ounce of sarcasm, "I love therapy!" I started going as part of my parent's divorce proceedings, and honestly, I guess it stuck. I wasn't consumed with the desire to escape or avoid what was going on in the world or within myself, I was consumed with the desire to understand. I felt it I just understood, I could take a different path.
What I've learned over the years is that actually understanding what goes on in the human mind is complicated and tricky. And understanding what goes on in your own mind is even more complicated. (Something about objectivity?)

But what a fascinating journey! (Admittedly, some of this therapy was in fact necessary at certain times in my life. I thank (insert name of your favorite deity here) for all those who helped when I needed it most.)

The desire to understand how and why you are who and what you are fascinates me. Admittedly, there are more social hobbies a girl can have, but this one has served me well, and I have to say, I cherish the journey I've taken.

It may go without saying that a fair amount of the work that I did was to educate myself so that I would not repeat certain patterns, certain legacies that should've died generations ago. I was going to be the broken link in that chain if it killed me.

I don't think I realized until I had my son just how scared I was of screwing it up. (And I knew I was plenty scared, but I think this was down-to-my-bones scared without even realizing it..)

The innocence and purity of childhood is the most reverent, sacred thing to me. I believe a child's trust, faith, heart and soul are the most important and valuable things that anyone can be entrusted with. The Hope Diamond is a cheap trinket compared to this. And I know that that sounds like a pretty big deal, but it does not begin to express the importance that I put on it.

And yes, a fair number of shrinks (I use this phrase with all fondness and respect) have informed me that this belief may in fact be a teensy-weensy bit too much pressure on any human being.

But of all the things to not f*ck up, this one seemed the most important.

And I'm gloriously proud, relieved, somewhat embarrassed (there were, ahem, a few people who told me all along I could, I just didn't believe them) to admit...I can do this.

I'm a decent Mom. It is by far my favorite role to date, and I revel in it. No, I won't do everything perfect. Yep, I'll mess somethings up. Yep, some of my hangups will unfortunately be visited upon my children. But I bet some of my grace, wisdom and strength will too...

A Yoga teacher/friend/truly fascinating person I know recently conducted a Yoga retreat in Mexico called "Letting Go" (oh my god, that's like three of my favorite things - yoga, Mexico, AND self help?!?!?! I love it!) and it got me to thinking, its time to really start putting down all that baggage I've carried around for so long.

My biggest, deepest fears have been proven wrong and I can stop arming myself against them.

What can you let go and put down?

We're just human after all...

So we've just returned from vacation to fabulous Mexico. One Philly Son was fabulous on the planes and loved, loved, loved the beaches and pools. Honestly this resort was wonderful for kids.

The staff adored him, going out of their way to say hello/hola, to talk to him, give him things to play with. There were plenty of activities that he was too young to do, but this resort would be great for kids of any age.

On our return flight there was a man who I assume is ill. He traveled in a wheel chair and his wife (I assume again) was carrying what appeared to be oxygen for him. I noticed he was wearing a hat that read "Cancer Sucks Team Bob". My assumptions continue to conclude that this man is sick, suffering from some form of cancer and that he and his wife took a trip together to spend some time out of hospitals and chemotherapy rooms. We happened to ride the elevator to the baggage claim together (a young boy in his stroller, a sick man in his wheelchair, enough to give anyone something to reflect on) and his wife's purse was open enough for me to see a pack of cigarettes.

I hope my mouth didn't gape open when I saw the cigarettes.

But it got me to thinking. My first reaction was how, even when we know the right thing to do, we don't always do it. Eating vegetables, working out, etc, etc, etc. I was a bit appalled at this woman. (Again, admittedly totally based on assumptions) Here is her husband bravely battling cancer and she's still SMOKING?!?!?! How dare she?!?!?!

But immediately after it got me to thinking about our humanity. Our flawed, imperfect, try as hard as we can and still not perfect, human selves. If my assumptions are correct, this couple could literally be fighting for their life together. I can not imagine the strain, fear, struggle or anything else they are going through. And, clearly, I have no idea of their story, situation, life or anything else. For all I know he sprained his ankle running on the beach and the oxygen was a fancy case of tequila.

Who the heck am I to judge based on what I think I saw?

The truth of the matter is, I don't know anything about that couple, other than that they smiled at my son in the elevator and rode on a plane back from Mexico with me.

So I'm embracing my imperfect humanity, embracing that I don't have all the answers (actually, I probably don't have any of them...) and patiently waiting for the answers to be revealed in their due time...

Relaxed, for so many reasons!

The One Philly Family is mere hours away from a fabulous vacation in Mexico. The dog sitter is set up, the bags are packed, the laundry is done, we're almost ready to set the alarm for really-freakin-early-o'clock and we are ready to go!

Beyond that though, we've reached a real level of relaxation, acceptance and comfort. For example, I have been traveling with One Philly Daddy long enough to know he doesn't stress about it. He throws some stuff in a bag and goes. Even after repeated trips taught the same lesson (sort of. He never packs enough socks or t-shirts, we can never remember which), he doesn't stress. I stress about packing. Especially with One Philly Son. How many diapers are enough? Which toys will keep him happy on the plane?

And I also know that One Philly Daddy's stress will begin when we wake up tomorrow and won't end until we've passed security at the airport and are at the gate eating breakfast.

The point being, we've been together long enough to really know each other well enough to anticipate, expect, accept and roll with the things that stress each of us out.

And that is truly relaxing.

I don't know....Daddy?

I have a confession to make. I've had a very (sub-conscious) narrow-minded view of Daddy's.

Yes, my own father was not an award winning father, but he was certainly not the only man in my life. So, for whatever reason, I assumed that Fatherhood (dun-dun-dun) was an experience fraught with a overwhelming sense of obligation, duty, responsibility, pressure, and financial worry. I suspected Father's (always with  a capital F, of course, this is serious business!) looked at their children and felt a sense of dread at the weight  of overwhelming responsibility. How yuck!

I (wrongfully) presumed that it was only the Mother's who were nurturing, and caring. I presumed only the Mommy's got that sense of pride just looking at their child sleep or watching him/her walk, read, play, laugh, eat. I thought only Mommy's experienced the joy of parenthood.

Was I ever wrong!

I'm not entirely sure where I got this uber flawed idea, because I had a variety of male influences, many who did not fit the mold of the stressed out, resentful Daddy.

Sure, my grandfather is a dyed in the wool, old-school Marine, who I can remember rarely showing affection to my grandmother, but I also grew up with a neighbor, who's mere existence I'm pretty sure saved my life.

This neighbor is an elderly Irish Catholic man who never married, but always loved children. When my home was chaotic, loud, scary, and unpredictable, his was quiet, safe, welcoming and sometimes provided the most basic necessities - shelter and food. He hung a "Happy Birthday" banner in his kitchen window so we could see it as we ate our breakfast for years, and took us to Friendly's for a Conehead Sundae on our special day. He helped us with school projects, work applications, college essays. He always believed in us by never doubting us.

Beyond Pop-pop and my neighbor, I've known father's of friends who were their confidantes and biggest fans, I've known strict Dad's and lenient Dad's, rich Dad's and poor Dad's, loving Dad's and distant Dad's, all kinds of Dad's. So I've observed all kinds, I just got it stuck in my head somehow that none of them really enjoyed being a Dad. I mean, I knew lots of Dad's who were good Dad's, it just never occurred to me that they liked being a Dad. How sad, right? (For me and them.)

Since I've become a Mom, I've noticed more and more that there are loads of Daddy's who dote on, adore, protect, provide for, and yes, feel joy and pride when just looking at their children. There are loads of men who excel at being Daddy's and enjoy it. (One Philly Daddy being one of them.)

I'm a little embarrassed that I had that assumption for so long without even realizing it, but I gotta say, I've never been so happy to be so wrong. And guys, you Daddy's out there doing a great job and loving it, sorry I so underestimated you. Keep up the great Daddy-ing!

Date night at the Sixers...

Tonight, One Philly Daddy and I are headed out for date night! Woohoo! We're headed to a Sixers game, which is cool. But not as cool as 5 or 6 hours of just the two of us. We could paint a kitchen, do laundry, rake the leaves, head to the city for a show and fancy dinner and we'd still have a great time. We've done lots of cool things, but some of our greatest times are really spent doing nothing, just time with each other.

I love that One Philly Daddy and I can always talk, even about difficult tasks, and we do our best to respect each other's opinion, even when we disagree. He truly is my best friend and I love to just be around him. He's got lots of the traits I wish I had, which makes him my perfect complement.

So I expect I'll have a great time, even though I probably won't know who the Sixers are playing, or even what the score is...

The accountant and the hippie...

Oh brother. Maybe I shouldn't have said out loud I'd made a decision (even without sharing or executing said decision).

I'm even MORE excited to get going today. I've got plans, BIG plans!

The smart, grown-up, fiscally responsible side of my brain is speaking very slowly, in a serious tone, and is wearing glasses and a tweed jacket.

It says to me "Wait, just a little while longer. This is the smart thing to do. Your dreams will be there."

The New Age, gut and heart following side of my brain is making a face like she just ate something really sour and is rolling her eyes a little bit.

"Seriously? Life is short, get out there and do it already!" She says.

Now the smart, grown up side of my brain turns to the gut-heart following side and says "But what if...." and then trails off in an ominous way, like we couldn't even imagine what may happen if we foolishly run off into the night, following our dreams without a thought in mind.

And, just to up the ante, the gut-heart following side says, very calmly and serenely, "yes, what if?" Implying, of course, that worse than any horrible thing the smart side imagined, is not doing what makes you happy.

Honestly, its kind of amusing. Because, the smart side and the heart-gut side (which sounds kinda gross right now!) have to live together. Like a lot of good marriages and friendships, there is a saver and a spender, a do-whatever-I-feel-like-er and someone seriously planning for the future.

Neither is right or wrong. Neither is good or bad. They both have strong, valid arguments, and they both have down-falls and disadvantages if followed too closely to the letter.

So here I sit, imagining an accountant and a hippie battling it out in my head and in my heart, sure that at the end they'll both say "See. I told you I was right."

Stuck on a hamster wheel, but only temporarily...

I've made a decision. I'm excited, nervous, and eager for the changes this decision will bring.

But I'm not ready to execute. Well, that's not true. I'm ready to execute. But its not time yet. Responsibility, logic and my head are all 100% on the side of waiting a little longer.

But I spent a long time being a list making, a "right" decision maker. I did the right thing, the smart thing, the thing that made sense on paper, added up to the smart thing. And then my life took a serious nose dive. Fiancee dumped me. Serious health problems for my brother. Serious legal and family problems for my sister. Trauma to my niece. Got fired. In like 18 months. No job, alone, scared for those I loved.

And I decided (realized, learned, whatever) with the help of some serious soul searching and hours of heart to hearts with good friends, that life is not lived on paper. The smart thing on paper is not what's really right, and the gut (however flawed and imprecise) is sometimes smarter than the brain.

So I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that my gut and heart are behind this decision. I'm not questioning that. But the brain is pulling in the reins a little bit. And that is creating some frustration. I feel like I'm denying myself my heart's desire. And I know the heart does not like to be denied.

The frustration (unfortunately for One Philly Daddy, who gets the brunt of it) leads to crankiness and eating a little too much Halloween candy. But its also very reassuring. There's no confusion or doubt here. I know what I want. And I'm going to get it. And that will be great.