Post #160: In which I whine an awful lot and then try to learn something

Did you ever have one of those weeks?

I did. Week before last, actually. Some people would say, "when it rains it pours." I would say, "it felt like our house was on a vortex of crap."

Those of you who have or have recently had preschool-aged children understand that once your kid goes to daycare, you get every imaginable communicable illness, every time it comes around. I used to pride myself on having an iron constitution, but ever since Monkey started bringing home those lovely germs, I'm amazed at how often I am knocked flat by something that barely fazes him.  Two weekends ago, despite my best efforts and loads of Emergen-C, I came down with a nasty little virus that came with a fever, sore throat, sinus infection, bronchitis, and after a couple of days, a double ear infection.

Little Fozzie Bear got it, too, so we were both miserable while Monkey was feeling fine at full blast. Just in time for Hubs to go out of town on a business trip. I got sick Friday night, he left Monday, and the three of us were planning to drive out to New Orleans on the following Friday with my mother-in-law to meet him for a wedding. Over those four days, I was supposed to be packing myself and both boys for the long car ride, working, and writing.

But then I didn't get better, and neither did Fozzie Bear. He was so unhappy, he couldn't sleep, and needed to be held 100% of the time. So I took him to the doctor, got antibiotics for his ears, and then promptly lost my voice. I cancelled my clients and the nanny (to keep from getting her or her other charges sick). Tuesday I got worse instead of better, so I took myself to the doctor -- moms know what a rarity it is, and how BAD you have to feel, to take yourself to the doctor. You pretty much have to be losing a limb or at death's door. More antibiotics for my ears and sinuses.

Cranky baby, no nanny, feeling crappy. Hubs out of town. To top it off, Monkey is brilliantly mastering the art of being an almost-three year old, which means he can annoy you within inches of dropping him off at an orphanage and running like hell.

Times like those, I miss my parents more than ever. Especially my mom. When you're really sick, you just want someone to come stroke your hair and tell you it will be alright. Or to give your kids dinner so you can go get a shower. Whichever. That night, in the midst of trying to negotiate both boys through dinner, medicine and bath, I sat down and cried for my Mom. Big, pathetic tears. Monkey came and asked me why I was crying, and I answered him honestly in my raspy squeak: "I miss my Mommy today."

He said, a little befuddled, "You miss your Mommy?"

I nodded. He knows who my Mom was, in theory, though of course he never got to meet her. She died eight years before he was born. Sometimes, however, kids understand simple things that we have forgotten. "It's okay, Mommy," he said. "You can talk to her. I'll show you where Grandma Peggy is."

He motioned for me to follow him, and feeling a little silly, I did. He led me upstairs to the hallway where we have a black and white picture of my mom, taken around her senior year in high school when she was Homecoming Queen. It's one of my favorites. "There she is," he said simply. "Talk to her."

Needless to say, this did not stop the crying. I held him close, and for a few precious moments, everything was okay. I mean, in a couple minutes, he was back to throwing enormous tantrums for no rational reason, and Fozzie was crying nonstop as I tried to funnel Tylenol down his throat. But still. I got them to bed and called my Mom's childhood best friend, who was nice enough to talk and let me listen for a while.

The next morning, my sinus infection decided to take over my whole face. I woke up with one eye swollen shut and both eyes leaking some kind of disgusting goo. Pink eye. Awwwwesome. Back to the doctor, this time with both boys in tow, where a nice but odd nurse suggested I could've saved myself a trip by putting baby pee in my eye. I took this in stride, and said to her without irony, "That's a good idea. I guess since I'm already here, though, maybe I'll just go ahead with the drops."

My aunt came that evening to help me get the boys to bed and catch up on dishes, which was an enormous blessing. One nice thing about not having lots of family nearby and available to help is that you really appreciate what you get. The nanny was returning Thursday afternoon, and I had a desperately-needed haircut and pedicure scheduled to get ready for the almost-forgotten-in-the-shuffle wedding. Oh, and I needed shoes and jewelry to go with my new dress, too. Plus the packing to leave early Friday morning. No problem. I had five hours of nanny time and a plan to use every minute wisely.

We stopped by the pediatrician on the way to preschool Thursday morning, since Monkey had been complaining about his ears and I didn't want to take any chances on our road trip. It turned out that saying "my ears hurt" was just another fun way to get attention (sigh) because they were fine. So we dropped him off and I went home to try to pull some things together before the nanny arrived. Half an hour before she was supposed to get there, I got a call from the school. Monkey had been hit in the head with a sand bucket by another kiddo, and they thought he *might* need stitches. I think I actually said to the poor teacher, "Are you kidding me?"

She was not, in fact, kidding me. I called the nanny and bribed her with the entire contents of our refrigerator and pantry to skip picking up her own lunch and get to our house a few minutes early. She did, and so I drove frantically to school and picked up my brave but bloody Monkey. I canceled my hair appointment (for the third time in two weeks) on the way to urgent care, where Monkey and I went through the decidedly un-fun process of getting him his first stitches (three of them).

It was around then that it happened. I realized the week had defeated me. I had not packed a thing, I had not seen a single client, had not written a word. No hair cut or pedicure. Nothing had gone as I'd planned. But as I held my terrified, screaming child while the doctor speared him with a fish hook needle, I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Woman plans, universe laughs. But maybe for a reason.

Even though I was packing at midnight and had frizzy hair and an emergency stop for accessories along the interstate, the trip was uneventful and the wedding quite lovely. I got to spend Mother's Day in New Orleans with Hubs, the boys, and my wonderful mother-in-law. And I think I appreciated it more for the trials and tribulations of the previous week.

Originally I thought this blog might be about Motherhood, or Mother's Day. And it is. I thought it might be about learning to give up control and replace it with gratitude. It's that, too. But since it took me an extra week to get back to writing it, I've realized there is more to it...

Throughout my frustrating week, I reminded myself that there are lots of parents of young kids out there who have partners whose jobs pull them out of town far, far more often than mine. Some of those parents have great support systems around them to help out, and some don't.

As Memorial Day approaches, though, I started thinking about sacrifice, and it occurred to me that one of the hardest weeks of my cushy life is a standard week for many military families. Parents and grandparents, husbands and wives, give every minute of every day just to keep their families up and running. They do this while their loved ones are not only away from home, but putting themselves in peril for all our sakes. If I'd had to add Hubs' bodily safety to my list of worries last week, or the prospect of not being able to see him for months on end.... well, I can't imagine.


It's a tiny gesture, but I'm going to be offering The Marriage Pact for free for a couple of days this week, to give folks a chance to pad their Kindles for the long weekend and the start of summer. If you haven't yet read it, I hope you'll enjoy it. I also hope you'll have a chance to spend time this holiday weekend enjoying things you love, with people you love.

As for me, I have some writing to catch up on, and I'm looking forward to some down time with the fam. Of course, we will take a few minutes this weekend to honor the sacrifices of those who've given their lives for our country, and those who risk their lives each day. This year, I'm also going to think especially about the families they leave behind -- some for a while, some forever -- who make equally important and difficult sacrifices. I'm in awe of the strength of those families, and grateful for them. "Thank you," seems inadequate, but I'll say it anyway: Thank You.

And Our Kindles Shall Grow Fat on Freebies

Well, my experiment with amazon's new KDP Select program is going gangbusters. At this writing, it's been a little over 24 hours since I put The Marriage Pact on free promotion. There have been 15,279 downloads so far, and TMP is at the top of the Kindle Contemporary Fiction List. It's Number 6 on the Free Kindle list overall.

Amazon updates those rankings hourly, so by the time I finish this blog (especially with my sweet little interruptions), it may have changed. Still, as a first-time author, it is an absolute thrill to know that something I've written is in the hands of more than fifteen thousand people. And to be at the top of any best"seller" category is something I wouldn't have dreamed of a few months ago.

Please pardon the Oscar speech. I'm humbled by the experience and grateful to everyone who has participated so far. My friends and family, as well as loads of Twitter followers, have been downloading and spreading the word with enthusiasm. I also want to send a particular shout of gratitude to my amazing mother-in-law. Neither of my parents is alive to share these little moments of triumph with me anymore, but she took the ball and ran with it last night. We were on the phone half the evening, and it was like watching election returns come in. There's a reason Hubs is such an amazing man. End of Oscar speech.

Not only have I been promoting my own book lately, I've been taking advantage of the opportunities these free promotions are offering. I have seen some really interesting books come across the Twitterverse for free -- independent authors promoting horror, mystery, suspense, sci-fi, fantasty, etc. And of course, contemporary fiction like mine. I love taking advantage of the opportunity to download some of these for lots of reasons.

For starters, it's a chance to support other authors, which is a no-brainer. My kindle is getting fat and happy and I will soon have enough free reading material to get me all the way through the summer. And maybe next summer, too. :)

But it also allows me the opportunity to download, risk-free, books from a variety of authors and genres -- maybe even those I wouldn't normally explore. I'm not a huge fantasy person, for example, but I do love a good story and I respect that sci-fi and fantasy authors have the enormous task of creating whole new worlds - with rules and places and languages - in addition to the usual writing tasks of plot, character and conflict.

I think it's good for writers to read lots in their own genre, to understand what works and what doesn't. Obviously, you probably aren't writing in a particular genre if you don't already like to read it. But other genres can teach us a good bit about the craft of writing: details, suspense, language, emotions... the list goes on. Good writing is good writing. I'm happy to find it and learn from it wherever I can. And if I get hooked on a suspense or fantasy series in the process, so much the better for me and my writing.

It's not clear what kind of impact the KDP Select program will have on reading and writing, but it certainly will be a venue for many independent authors to go from unknown to less unknown. The strength of our stories and honing of craft will have to carry us from there.

Again, thank you to everyone who has downloaded, forwarded, tweeted, and taken a chance on my little book. I hope you enjoy Marci's adventures and will be awaiting the sequel featuring Suzanne this summer. Feel free to join the email list if you want to be notified when it comes out.

PS - For those who are curious, the number of downloads is now up to 15939. Incredible.

Love and Finding Home

Today was a fantastic day. If you live in or near Atlanta, you know that the weather was absolutely perfect today - sunny and low-60's. And since Sunday is our family day (the only day neither of us works), we got to enjoy the wonderful weather together.

First on our agenda, we went to a brunch at our synagogue for prospective new members. I don't often talk about our synagogue life, but today we were 'representing' young families, so I had the chance to briefly tell our story, while Monkey ran around the room like a crazy person. I realized as I was fumbling through it why talking about our synagogue always gets me so emotional; it's because our relationship with our shul has pretty much paralleled our relationship with each other.

When DH and I decided to spend our lives together and I realized that Judaism was my true religious home, our synagogue was the first place where we both felt truly welcome. Our rabbis (who are an amazing married couple from South America and two of the smartest, warmest people I know) instantly embraced us and have followed us on our journey ever since. Rabbi Analia guided me through my studies and helped me prepare for the Mikveh (ritual bath of conversion). Both Analia and Rabbi Mario served on my Bet Din (conversion panel), along with another amazing rabbi who is a member of our congregation.

Together they conducted our wedding ceremony, which our Jewish and Christian friends alike felt was a beautiful, moving and spiritual experience. We still frequently say to one another the special words that Analia shared with us that day, "If I had to choose again, I would choose you. Every day."

After brunch, we made our way back to another sacred space -- or at least a beloved space that represents something sacred  -- our favorite trail alongside the Chattahoochee. I have been walking that trail regularly for more than three years. It's meant lots of fresh air, burned calories, time with nature, several audiobooks, and lots of great conversations with my walking buddies. Last year, when I was training for the Avon walk, I must have covered those same 3.2-ish miles more than 100 times.

But for the last few months, with the move and the toddler-chaos and the weather, that favorite space has been neglected. Like an old friend, I've taken it for granted. When we went back today, we both noticed lots of little changes (new gravel, new plantings); and I also noticed that it was especially sweet to be there after so long. With all the transition in our lives lately, it felt like going home.

We don't get to the trail, or to synagogue, as often as we'd like. And yet, whenever we go either place, I feel more centered, and inspired to be just a little bit better than I was when I arrived. Nature never scolds me for my absence; the sounds of the birds and the soft breeze coming off the river are mine just for showing up that moment. And in our religious community, there are always warm smiles, hugs, and words of wisdom waiting for us when we walk in the door -- whether after a week or three months.

It occurs to me that our marriage is the same way (well, except that we see one another every day). Maybe we don't or can't always give one another our very best. But we find ways of reconnecting, and my sweet hubby is always inspiring and encouraging me to be a better person.

I guess that's what a home really is - a place where you are accepted and loved exactly the way you are, but also a jumping off point to become an even better you.

Oh, yeah, here's a picture of Monkey with a balloon.

Happy Valentine's Day, y'all... I hope you enjoy the day with someone who makes you feel at home.

Yesterday it was my birthday...

I hung one more year on the line
I should be depressed
My house is a mess
But I’m having a good time...

[With my deepest, most sincere apologies to Paul Simon.]


Just an update blog because I've been missing you guys... Thought I'd tell you why I love November.

Elections: I know it's dorky, but I love Election Day. Maybe because it's usually wedged between Halloween (the most fun holiday ever!) and my birthday, but all the hooplah around elections just gets me all excited -- in a civic duty sort of way. I like going inside a school or church I drive by all the time, meeting the volunteers -- who love Election Day as much as I do! -- and I even like standing in line with other voters. There's a special sort of simpatico among citizens out taking advantage of our democratic process to express our opinion about our governance rightfully and peacefully. Kinda cool.

Kinda cool. I love fall weather -- at least for the first few weeks. I think I've talked about this already, but to me the cool, crisp autumn days are just as full of promise as the first signs of green in the spring. Maybe it's the deeply programmed hopefulness of an over-achieving school nerd, but it's like I can smell the potential A's and A+'s waiting around the corner. Sure, I was more of an A-B student, but it's about potential, people.


Wish for Wendy. This amazing softball tournament put on every year by my friend Andy is helping fund research that will one day cure Cystic Fibrosis. MDH and I volunteer for it every year and it's always such a fun experience. You can stop by and see us at the scoreboard if you're up REEEAAALLY early on Saturday, or just make a donation online and sleep in.


Field day. My friends and I do a big family field day every year - it's a great way of getting all of us together outside with our kids before the gluttony of Thanksgiving for some high-quality, silly fun. The original idea was inspired by a Play Therapy class assignment I had a few years ago to get out and do something playful (Best assignment ever!); but my awesome friend Rob has been running it for three years now and taken it totally to the next level.  

Thanksgiving. I love Thanksgiving because it's all about gratitude. And eating. Two of my favorites, together. Oh, and family. So three of my favorites. I cook every-other year; and this is my year off, so it's even more relaxing! 

Planning for next year. That's right. Planning for next year. You'd never know I had this Type A streak, particularly given that I have about a 20% rate of success when it comes to carrying out plans, but I think it goes back to all the promise and excitement of fall I mentioned before. I love rounding into the holidays thinking of all the fun and excitement waiting in the last two months of the year and the fresh start in January. It's like the universe is saying 'Go ahead, spend some time with the family, be merry, enjoy the festivities; and then get your tush in gear next year.'

So traditions. And service/duty. Gratitude. Friends and family. Playing outside. And indulging my Type A side. What's not to love? Happy November!!

The Random Answer

I had sort of a nonstop, stressful day today, one that left very little space for contemplation and creativity. We're in the process of preparing to move, closing on a new home in a couple of weeks and getting our current space ready to rent out to someone else; and today was one of those days with lots of meetings,  phone calls, faxing, and e-mailing trying to make all the pieces of the process work together.

So I'm worn out and brain-dead, and definitely in a state that would not normally be conducive to blogging. I guess this is one of those days for stretching the limits.

But I can't do it on my own. So in search of inspiration, I did a little random googling, and then started googling "random" just for fun, too. I found something called a random question generator on a website geared toward sparking creativity.

Here was the question: Can I transpose positives and negatives?


Hmm....

After packing until nearly midnight last night, it was totally exhilarating to be awakened at 5:00 a.m. by my ready-to-play toddler. I often laze around until as late as 6:45, so the opportunity to greet the morning extra-early was really special. The fact that he wanted to be right under my feet or in my arms the entire time was nice, too, because I always want to be close to him. Every second.

Having a nonstop day today made me feel important and needed. It's nice to know that I'm such a pivotal part in our family and so helpful to my husband. It was really great that I had no time to waste on any frivolous activities, and that the near-constant flow of phone calls, emails, etc. really kept me on track. It was a nice bonus, however, that my phone completely malfunctioned mid-afternoon so that I couldn't spend too much time on that important call on my drive home.

The frequent, ear-piercing shrieks emitting from my child's mouth from 3:45 until 7:30 were so nice to have in the background as I tried to help a friend with a problem via IM while scrambling to make appointments with plumbers and carpet vendors and gathering sensitive information from potential tenants, while showing the condo to another potential tenant and realtor, chicken nuggets on the floor and all. It's really great that they got to experience me in my full humanity, rather than seeing me as too professional and cold.  Sometimes hearing yourself think can be so overrated!

You  know, it's funny, even trying to exaggerate this exercise and even with the true stressors listed... I have to admit that some of the positive 'spin' really is just as true, at least upon reflection. Okay, maybe without the shrieking in the background while I'm on phone, but still.

Trying to artificially turn the negatives into positives in response to the random question made me realize how easy that really was. Many people don't have the opportunity to move right now at all, much less to a house they're totally excited about. The logistical juggling that comes along with that is a short-term stressor; and in a month, I'll look back happy and relieved that everything has worked out for the best.

And it doesn't take long of complaining about my noisy, needy, early riser before I can also hear his deep belly laughs and feel his sweet tired baby hugs. And I am reminded, as I am every day, how difficult it was to get him here with our fertility challenges. I can still vividly remember those painful and frustrating moments when we weren't sure he was even possible. That fact makes it hard for me to even consider taking the positives of my day - the little things that made me smile - and turning them on their heads. But turning negative into positive? Yeah, I can do that.

The Wearing of the Pink - Breast Cancer Walk Recap

Whew! It's been almost two days since I finished one of the more major challenges of my life, and I'm finally finding time to sit down and write about my Very Pink Weekend. For anyone who happens not to know, I participated in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer this weekend in Chicago.

The total event is 39.3 miles over two days -- a marathon the first day and a half-marathon the second; and participants raise a minimum of $1800 each to benefit breast cancer treatment and research. My friend Dara and I flew in from Austin and Atlanta respectively to spend a couple of days sight-seeing and then tackle the event itself. We were a little nervous about all our walking around the city on Thursday and Friday, since we knew we'd need fresh legs to tackle such a big challenge. But anyone who's been to Chicago knows that it's pretty irresistible from a traveler's perspective. There are just too many things to see, do and eat to stay in the hotel room!

When we made it back to our hotel Friday evening for the "Event Eve" registration, I began to get the idea that this walk would be different from anything else I'd done. The atmosphere was electric and upbeat; people crowded around tables examining buttons, gear, and rain ponchos; and there was pink EVERYWHERE. We checked in, picked up our "fantastic fundraiser" hats [thanks to many of you who gave generously!] and made our way to the hotel restaurant for a hearty, early dinner. While there, we talked to the first of many die-hard walkers we would meet that weekend, who was preparing for her 6th year participating and wore a 'bedazzling' pink ribbon hat covered entirely in sequins.

Before setting the alarm for a freakishly-early 4:30 a.m., I made some notes in my journal about my frame of mind and reiterated some promises I'd made to myself during the very difficult training: do the best you can, go as far as you can, but don't push yourself so far that you get injured. When I originally set out to do the walk, I thought I would easily [ha, ha] master all 39.3 miles in my 12 weeks of training. But one pulled calf muscle and hundreds of lonely training miles later, I realized that my original goal may not have been the most realistic one -- especially when the opportunity to do long training walks on Sunday mornings also meant missing out on our only day to spend together as a family.

So, since the Avon Walk offers the option to do a half marathon both days (for a total of 26.2 instead of 39.3), I thought maybe that was more realistic for my current phase of life and in the last four weeks had more or less adjusted my training schedule accordingly. By the night before the event, I was filled with anxiety that I might not even be able to do that much -- after all, the most I'd walked in one day was 12 miles, and never two days in a row! I was torn between the strong desire to prove myself worthy of all the generous support I'd received and the knowledge that there is really no shame in whatever distance I walked. I said some reassuring words to myself, watched The Replacements on TV for cheesey inspiration, and slept comfortably until the alarm went off way, way too early.

We boarded the shuttle bus to Soldier Field sometime around 5:30 the next morning, standing in line with our bags and lots of strangers who were taking the same journey. Even at that point, people had their reasons for walking pinned to their backs -- names of loves ones lost to breast cancer or still battling, words of hope for the future, pictures of mothers and daughters (including an ultrasound image of a daughter still in the womb of a pregnant participant).

In line for the bus, we were behind a group of girlfriends who have obviously made this event an annual tradition together, who were chatting happily and each wearing some iteration of this quote: "I walk for my daughter(s), so the only pink ribbons they wear will be in their hair." As the weekend wore on, we witnessed so many poignant expressions like this one -- along with so many displays of sisterly, family and friendly bonding -- that I often found myself close to tears and warmly comforted at the same time.

When we arrived at Soldier Field a half hour later, it was to a sea of frenetic pink activity. Checking in, getting coffee and breakfast, taking pictures, stretching, dancing -- the activities were varied and seemingly endless, but all toward a common purpose. We made our way to the stage area for opening ceremonies and began noticing the unique and interesting team names and slogans on the shirts of those around us -- spotting and pointing these out became our own little version of the "license plate game" over the next two days. [Some of my favorites: Operation: Save My-Raq, Hakunah Ma-Ta-Ta's, Girls Gone Miles (Uncensored), A Tale of Two Titties, Blister Sisters, The Ta Ta Sisterhood, and the simple but elegant "Boobylicious." I also particularly liked the "Pink Sluggers" team who had baseball-style shirts on with their bra sizes as their jersey numbers.]

At the Opening Ceremonies, we also started seeing survivors out in full force (more than 300 survivors walked with us) and their families  showing support. I was particularly touched by a woman with a cape and bandanna, accompanied by a man and two little boys with shirts that said, "My Mom (Wife) Fights Like a Girl." We saw fun costumes and accessories ranging from pink feather boas to bunny ears to foam princess crowns and capes. Buttons proclaimed "F--k cancer" (in elegant pink, naturally), "Blisters don't need chemo," and "Save Second Base." There were also buttons like "3-year alumni" for those who had walked before, and "5-year survivor." During the ceremony itself, we learned that we had raised $7.7 million as a group, and we heard inspirational stories from survivors and family members, along with this guy, who recently lost over half his body weight on Biggest Loser and walked in memory of his aunt.

And then, we were off. The first couple of miles were incredibly slow, as all 4,000 participants -- mostly women, but lots of men, too -- bunched together on sidewalks and running trails, and particularly when we crossed over narrow bridges. We soon learned that we were sharing these spaces with pedestrians and cyclists -- some of whom were gracious and supportive and others who were annoyed and even downright rude about sharing their bike routes with us. I guess you can't win everyone over! We followed a path northward along the edge of Lake Michigan, with me pausing neurotically at rest stops and benches to make adjustments to my shoes (inserts in or out?), my water bottle (hanging from my bag or carried?) and rain gear (on or off?).

We learned the ins and outs of rest stops: "Drink and pee, ladies! Drink and pee, no IV!" We were entertained by volunteers in outlandish costumes and a couple of large men dressed head to toe in pink, dancing on a cart being pulled by an ambulance through the streets.The rain threatened to appear all morning with some minor sprinkles and clouds, but by mile 6 -- just as we moved away from the lake and into the city -- it started pouring down.


Miles 6 through 9 were soaking wet, but the city also brought new inspiration as we left the contested beach path we'd shared with territorial cyclists and wandered down sidewalks that seemed to be expecting us. Shop windows were decked out in pink crepe paper, balloons and the occasional "Good Luck Avon Walkers!" sign taped to the glass. People waved and honked their horns as we passed, a stampede of pink beneath wet ponchos and jackets. There was a group (a gang?) of bikers -- Harley, not Schwinn -- who volunteered to help us through the busy intersections by directing traffic, blaring upbeat music and shouting words of encouragement about how far it was to the next rest stop.

As we came to more residential neighborhoods, there were organized cheering stations between stops where supporters shouted encouragement, slapped our hands, handed out candy, and thanked us for walking. Restaurants gave us free lemonade and handed out plastic to-go bags to help people protect things from the rain. A few houses even had supportive signs hanging from balconies and kids came out into the small city yards to cheer, wave, and even play drums for us using pots and pans. Even with wet hair and tired feet, it was impossible to feel anything but warm and happy. We had lunch at around Mile 10, and the weather cleared from then on, so that by the time we hit the half-marathon point, it was warm and sunny.

We'd been "behind" the prescribed schedule for walking farther than the half marathon all day (the organizers had a time-table for leaving each rest stop if you planned to walk more than 13.1 miles, and Dara and I had consistently been behind it all morning because of the large, slow-moving crowds and our positioning toward the back of the walk). By the time we got to the half-marathon finish line, we were only five or ten minutes behind the marathon schedule, so we had to make a decision: sit in the grass with our shoes off and enjoy our 13-mile achievement before heading back to the "wellness village" where we'd camp for the night, or move on with essentially no time to rest and see how far our bodies would take us.

Even though we were already a mile past what either of us had done in training, we both felt pretty good, especially since (unlike many of our compatriots) we were blister- and limp-free at that point. We stood up, filled our bottles with a water/Gatorade mix, stretched our achy muscles, and went on.

The next three miles went by more and more slowly, as we pushed ourselves beyond anything we'd done before and simply kept asking our feet to comply with the wishes of our hearts (at least that's how it felt to me). At mile 15.5, we faced a small hill that felt more like a mountain, and stopping for traffic lights felt more painful than walking. By the time we got to the rest stop at Mile 16, I sensed we were done. Dara, who sometimes has a better relationship with reality than I, recognized it first, and she sat happily in the grass to wait for one of the sweep vans while I toyed with the idea of trying to make it alone to Mile 18. I put my shoes back on after airing out my pained feet, and stood up "to see how I feel." She was nice enough not to laugh at me as I took a couple of wobbly steps before acknowledging defeat. Looking back on it, I think I might've been able to make it two more miles if I'd been willing to (a) walk less on Day 2 or (b) come home on crutches. Neither is really an appealing option, especially with an active almost-one-year-old to chase around, so I'm glad my friend was the voice of reason for us both.

We took the bus for the next 10 miles of the route with companions who shared our mixed feelings of pride, satisfaction, and maybe just a bit of disappointment they hadn't made it the whole marathon distance. We passed the walkers still on the route, viewing them with some mixture of sympathy and envy. Some were slowing down like us, nearing their own time on the sweeper van, while others walked as though they were still on Mile 2. Particularly amazing to me was that some of these latter women were 30 years or so older than I, and I noticed that several of them wore indications that they are breast cancer survivors. It was awe-inspiring.

Just before Mile 26, the bus let us off at Warren Park, where we walked the final .2 miles to the Day One finish line and the Wellness Village. We hobbled across the finish line amidst more cheers and worked our way to the gear truck to gather our luggage and supervise the boy scouts who were still putting up tents (including ours). We had a refreshing, surprisingly passable dinner under the enormous dining hall tent and went to a smaller tent for a yoga class that was challenging but made our tired muscles feel soooooo much better. Avon provided mobile showers (my first shower on a tractor-trailer, as far as I can remember), and there were doctors, nurses, chiropractors, physical therapists and massage therapists all tending to the walking wounded.

Exhausted, we skipped the "Fireside Follies" that promised entertainment in the main tent and retreated to our own tiny space before dark to read and journal. As the late walkers filed in from the route, we heard stories of those who had pushed themselves beyond their limits and ended up vomiting, disoriented or passing out entirely. Friends, parents and in some cases, ambulances carted away those whose spirit and determination had outlasted their physical abilities. Coming back from brushing my teeth I saw a woman awake and sitting up but barely able to respond to the attending paramedic's questions. For me, this really affirmed our decision to stop when we knew it was time to stop; but it also made me realize how passionate and committed many people are to this cause, this fight, and I felt re-inspired for the final half-marathon the next day.

But first, we had to survive the weather. Overnight, in our tiny little tents, we experienced what I later learned was a severe weather system that killed several people in other parts of the Midwest. I heard rumblings from the staff the night before about "evacuation plans" but no one ever pulled the trigger on that. In the middle of the night, as the winds whipped our tent around violently, the anxious part of me hoped nervously that the non-evacuation was because we were really pretty safe (after all, the flimsy tent always makes things seem worse, right?), and not because the storm had come up so fast that no one knew how bad it was until it was already right on us. I'm pretty sure it was the former. In any case, everyone in the event survived the night and only a few people had to move to a more sheltered area after their tents blew over. Seriously, the tents blew over. With people and gear in them. Sheesh.

For our part, Dara and I only experienced the whipping winds, a small puddle in the tent by the door, and the hardship of being placed in a tent right next to those people who never go camping and thus don't realize that the tent walls aren't like real walls, and just because you can't see through them doesn't mean you can't hear through them perfectly. So we endured some way-too-loud conversations and phone beeping at both 10:30 p.m. and 4:30 a.m. from them.... but if I'm honest, I probably would've been awake at both times anyway!

So, a little grumbling and muttering and rubbing of sore backs, and we were packed onto the gear trucks and sorted out for breakfast. The atmosphere was still lively as everyone prepared, refreshed, for Day Two. I heard later on that there were 2800 of us starting that morning, but in the close quarters of the Wellness Village and with all the lively chatter, you never would've guessed our numbers had shrunk by 1200.

The route re-opened to walkers at 7:30, and we were off into one of the most perfect days imaginable. The sun shone merrily and the morning was cool and dry -- not even a hint of the storms from the night before. We walked through quiet neighborhoods all the way east toward Lake Michigan, where we turned south through Loyola's Chicago campus, which is astonishingly pretty and beach-like, especially on a quiet Sunday morning. I thought I would be sore from Saturday's exertions, but I felt really fine and actually had a bit of a bounce in my step for the first three or four miles.

We couldn't have asked for a more beautiful day as we weaved our way through the parks along the lake, taking in the sights and doing a much better job avoiding run-ins with cyclists and joggers than we had the day before. It seemed everyone was refreshed with the knowledge that the end was in sight. Again, we were greeted along the route by our friends the bikers, and by little cheering sections of cancer survivors, families, and health care professionals. Just when the day was getting warmer and my legs beginning to get tired, we passed a man standing next to a healthy-looking woman in her 40's; and he held a colorful homemade sign that read, "My wife is a 6-year survivor. Thank you for walking." It brought tears to my eyes then, and it still does now.

The miles wore on as they had the day before, with the same regular rest stops and congeniality. As we got close to Mile 10 and our scheduled lunch, the conversations around us began to turn to planning for after the event - coordinating rides, dinner plans, thinking about soft warm beds for napping. At lunch, with only a 5K left to walk, the park where we stopped looked, in Dara's astute observation, like a war camp. The grass was littered with people bandaging their feet, icing down sore muscles, wrapping up knees and ankles. People seemed to eat more hurriedly than at previous meals and very few were taking pictures with friends and teammates.

The remaining 3.1 miles took us across the Chicago River and back into the heart of the city. We were so spread out along the city sidewalks that instead of a formidable sea of pink, we sometimes even blended in with the crowds of tourists and residents out enjoying the street festivals of a warm Sunday. I was so grateful that the end was coming (and frankly not sure how much longer I could've walked if it wasn't), but it was also a little sad that our united band of warriors sharing a common experience would soon become separate individuals once again, melting back into our separate lives.

The final 1.2 miles seemed to take an eternity. From the last rest stop at 11.9 miles to the finish line at Soldier Field, each step seemed like its own little endurance test. I found myself envisioning falling down in the grass outside the stadium and simply sleeping there until I took a cab to the airport. Conversation slowed as everyone seemed to focus on the single goal of making it to the finish.

But what a finish! Back at Soldier Field, the crowds had gathered, and husbands, friends, moms, dads, and many others waited for us, cheering wildly from the 13 mile marker all the way to the finish line. It felt amazing to be crossing the finish line, and vicariously wonderful to watch relieved and proud walkers fall into the waiting (and even more proud) arms of their loved ones. My intense happiness at that moment was rivaled only by my intense yearning to be celebrating with my own family and wishing that MDH and our son had flown in from Atlanta, too.

Dara and I both did collapse on the grass, after finding someone to take our picture at the finish line and getting sufficiently out of the way of the other walkers. And we might have stayed there a while, except that the rain returned just at that moment to spur us onward to collect our gear. Now thanks to my poor planning when I booked my flight, we were unable to stay for closing ceremonies, which would've been cool in many ways [Suze Ormond was a speaker, and the foundation presented checks from our donations to the beneficiary organizations]. But as it was, I loaded my large backpack onto my back and we set out for the El to take us back to the airport. We ended up walking another mile or so to the El station, so whenever anyone asks how far I got in the walk, I feel very comfortable rounding up to 30 from our official distance of 29.3!

In a way, I think having some quiet time on the train and at the airport to reflect on the weekend was as valuable to me as the wrap-up of Closing Ceremonies would've been anyway. It was an amazing weekend, and I think I have learned (and will continue to learn) so much about myself from it. I'd like to say something profound in summation, but the truth is I don't think anything I can say will beat the simplest words of love, tenacity and gratitude that we saw all weekend on homemade posters and screen-printed t-shirts. And since most people reading this have been affected by breast cancer in one way or another, I know that you don't need me to say anything more, either.

Thank you SO much to everyone who supported me in this undertaking - financially and emotionally. I am so appreciative of the donations, the well-wishes on Facebook, the text messages during the weekend, and all the positive energy. We are better together, in this fight as in all things!

To Do Today...

Here is the "To Do" list I made for myself for today:

- check office vm (every 2 hrs)
- reflection journal for class
- bank
- lunch w/ ----
- finish marketing flier & e-mail to group for approval
- make baby food?
- f/u w/ potential client

But here's my "hidden agenda," the one that isn't written on my day planner:
- Step out into sunshine and take a deep, cold breath
- Enjoy catching up with old friend over lunch
- Turn up the radio and sing (badly) on the way to bank
- Pause after completing a work project to feel proud and relax before moving on to the next list item
- Dance in the kitchen while the cranberry applesauce cooks
- OR..... Run out of time to make cranberry applesauce, forgive self, be content in knowledge that child will neither starve nor die instantly from eating preservative-laden pre-packaged baby food.
- Express gratitude for my life, family and health.
- When hubby gets home, kiss him like I mean it! ;)


Have a great day, everyone....whatever may be on your list!!

Resolution Road

2010 is just one day away, and it's time to take stock and resolve to make changes in our lives for the coming year. Even though we all know, deep down, that New Year's Resolutions rarely work, somehow the blank slate of a whole new year is irresistible. It's like a fresh, white canvas crying out for paint. So some years I resolve to exercise more, eat less, eliminate fast food from my diet, etc. Other years I resolve to stop talking on my cell phone while driving (or at least stop simultaneously flipping off other drivers while talking), stick to a budget, or to get up early every morning to write that novel that's been brewing in my mind for the last 15 years.... I could go on and on.

In any case, it seldom works out for very long. I think it might because our New Year's Resolutions often lack the authenticity it takes to make real changes in our lives. I know from my professional life that human beings making fundamental changes is a slippery, inconsistent process at best -- and that's when you are really ready to change. Ready to change like, deep down in those dark caverns of your soul ready; and motivated, too.

So often what we call "motivation to change" is really just a repackaged self-loathing that happens to be targeted at a tangible goal. I can't believe I gained 15 pounds this year, and just look at all I ate over the holidays. No wonder my jeans don't fit. I hate myself this way, I have to do something! I'm going to resolve to stick to a diet, go to the gym four times a week, etc.

Sound familiar? I can tell you it took me about 10 seconds to write that because it's so familiar to me. And sometimes, this tactic works... At least for a while. Shame can be a powerful short-term motivator. But without something deeper to buttress it, shame ceases to be effective after a while -- just like that horrible gym teacher we all had a one time or another who thought humiliation was the best way to motivate kids in unflattering gym shorts.

With the old gym teacher or a drill sergeant or boss, we don't have a choice about motivation (not completely, anyway) -- compliance is to some extent mandatory. But with ourselves, when it comes to resisting the french fries, dragging ourselves to the gym, or putting 10% in a savings account... well, it's really just down to how much we like and respect the person giving the orders. And that would be...... me.

So, that's why the negative messages only get us so far. I can tell myself all day long how fat or lazy or broke I am; but at the end of the day, who wants to listen to someone who is constantly telling them they're fat, lazy and broke? Even if it is myself, I'm going to do my best to get out of that relationship -- in this case by rebelling. So I end up ordering the extra-large french fries or charging up the credit card just to prove to myself who's boss. I'll show me!

Not only is this self-destructive, it's totally confusing. I'd rather just team up with myself instead -- it's more effective, and it saves time by cutting out all the arguments [not to mention the me-to-me cell phone minutes]. My theory is that the best way to get on my own side is the same way I would try to get someone else on my side... to be more positive and encouraging instead of browbeating and shaming.


I believe that when we come from a perspective of self-care, our goals are more authentic and useful than when we are working to meet the expectations of other people, or even society at large. So in 2010, I am going to try to care for myself better in lots of different ways.

Instead of resolving to lose the 15 pounds of baby weight I just can't seem to shake, or to get into my old jeans, I'm just going to try to focus on enjoying being healthy. There are so many happy reasons to make healthier choices: because I enjoy being active, because I feel better when I'm healthy, because my son needs a positive role model... And none of those need to involve counting calories or monitoring the scale.

This year, I am going to be more focused on the little details of life, not just because I'm annoyed that I bounced a couple of checks this year, paid some late fees on bills, and just got a ticket for an expired tag (although I am annoyed about that!). But I'm realizing that by focusing more on the details, which is -- obviously -- not my strong suit, I'll be helping myself to be a more well-rounded person and freeing up energy and money for other things.

I'm also resolving to make the most of my relationships this year - by investing time and energy where I've been negligent, and by creating better boundaries with people who don't always give me back as much as I put in. I want to try to continue what I started last year by saying "no" when I'm over-committed and by not filling in every single white space on the calendar. This is the year to accept me for who I am and where I am, and not to judge myself by others' standards (or what I think others' standards might be!)

As I write this, I'm realizing that my goals for 2010 have a couple of themes: calm and focused. And that's exactly what my life has been missing! How much easier it will be to remind myself in late January and February to "create calm" and "stay focused;" instead of checking my progress on the scale or the bank account.

I'd love to know what other people are planning for 2010... How will you take care of yourself this year??

[Facebook friends, if you feel comfortable, I'd love for you to also copy your comments to the original post at http://dollhairdoesntgrowback.blogspot.com].

Happy New Year, Everyone!!

Oh, sweet shower...

Yesterday was one of those days. My little man was so exhausted that he couldn't sleep -- and it was driving us both crazy. I tried everything - his crib, the pack-n-play, the swing, the bouncer... every contraption known to man designed to make babies comfortable and sleepy. I tried a ride in the car and walking around the house in the Maya Wrap (sling). No dice. He just kept crying himself into short bouts of fitful sleep, then jerking awake to scream with renewed energy and volume.

He was miserable, I was miserable; he cried, I cried. There's nothing worse than your child being inconsolable and feeling like there's nothing you can do about it. And even though - logically - you KNOW it can't go on forever, it feels like, well.... forever. I felt completely inadequate as a mom, and totally frustrated as a person. There were a couple of moments when I thought I might just go for a walk and leave little man to cry it out in his crib.

I didn't do that, of course. And of course he did calm down eventually. And when MDH came home from work, he took over parenting duties and let me have 30 very sweet minutes all to myself to take a long, scalding-hot shower. It was amazing the difference I felt... 6 hours of frustration washed away by a half hour of hot running water.

It really made me appreciate the little things (like a hot shower) that that make us feel human. I thought about all the methods of torture that involve taking those little things away - like time and sleep deprivation. They don't sound all that awful from the comforts of your living room, but (as every new parent can attest) losing those little freedoms that we normally take for granted can really wear away at your internal resources and sense of self...

I spend so much time, in my line of work, exploring the complex and unknowable depths of the psyche and all the intricate neural systems that make people tick (or not). But it occurs to me how simple things like uninterrupted sleep, basic hygiene, or the freedom to just sit and gather my thoughts for a few minutes are so fundamental to my basic sense of well-being. Maybe I'm not such a complex creature after all.

A Season of Gratitude

Thanksgiving was four days ago, and I finally feel like I might be ready to eat again! We had a wonderful holiday with family and food, a nice wrap-up to a busy but fulfilling few weeks (so busy and fulfilling, in fact, that I haven't blogged in a month!).

Since this is the season of gratitude, I thought I would take a few minutes to express how grateful I am for so many things that make my life rich. I'll admit that this blog is more for my benefit than the reader's, but perhaps you'll bear with me as you contemplate your own feelings of gratitude.

First and foremost, I am grateful for the love of friends, family, and of course, MDH. Without the love and support of the many people I am lucky to have in my life, I would be incredibly lost. There have been many occasions lately on which I've been surrounded by love and laughter -- and those times refresh my spirit in a way that nothing else can.

I am grateful for all the opportunities and challenges this year has presented me. Many times I have been frustrated and exhausted this year, and sometimes I have failed outright. But in every failure and frustration there has been an opportunity to learn something: patience, inner strength, generosity, humor and even a new skill here and there. I'm also grateful for the challenges that are still ahead of me; I know that next year will present me with innumerable opportunities to learn and grow.

During these difficult economic times, I'm more aware than ever how blessed I am to have a warm, safe place to sleep each night; basic good health; consistent food in my belly; and any number of options for how I choose to spend my time. I know that many others don't have these simple things - gifts that I take for granted each day.

It's nice to have a special time of year that reminds us to be grateful; and I hope I can carry some of this gratitude forward to each new day. Just thinking about all for which I am grateful makes me feel calmer, more centered and in many ways... at peace.

So, here's to a peaceful December filled with cold weather, warm friends and grateful hearts!

It's Pat on the Back Day!

And this time I don't mean self-flagellation!

I have to be honest, it's been a rough few weeks for me motivation-wise. My energy has been spread in a lot of directions lately, both personally and professionally, and some days it has been all I can do just to keep up. I felt I was struggling just to make it through each day without being overwhelmed by my to-do list, and yet actual progress on any of my goals seemed elusive and far off. It's that old hamster on the wheel feeling....

This isn't unfamiliar territory for me. I'm totally the type of person who loves getting into 1,000 things at once; and I have the attention span of a fruit fly. I love throwing myself into something, especially when it's new and novel, and being passionately committed to it.... until things start to stall out. It gets boring or hard or doesn't pay off quickly enough and I become full of self-doubt and frustration.

In the past, those feelings would've sent me scurrying on to the next venture or distracting myself with something more immediately gratifying (and, believe me, it's still tempting)! But I've been trying to turn over a new leaf in this arena, at least partially; and while I'm trying not to lose my energy for life's variety (I certainly still have that going on), I am also working hard at sticking to things longer, even when they begin to feel a little like drudgery.

For someone like me, this is no easy task. But I've been working hard at it in the past couple of years. So during the last weeks' struggles, I tried to channel my frustrations into productivity; and it has really paid off in a couple of different ways.

First, even though I am not even close to being a runner, I've been pushing myself to stick with my running and walking routine, even when it got boring, my fitness buddies weren't available for support, and I have been TOTALLY frustrated that my hard work isn't showing big results on the scales (yet). But this Saturday I finished a 5K almost 4 minutes faster than my time a couple of months ago. Sure, it was mostly downhill, so I had a lot of help from gravity; but I ran way more than I ever have before, and I was proud of myself nonetheless! My sore muscles this weekend have been a badge of honor.

I also finished a big work project this weekend (my new e-book, woo-hoo!). It was the first such undertaking I've ever actually completed by myself, for myself -- with no editor or boss imposing artificial structure for me. I worked on it with just about every spare hour I've had in the last several weeks, and it has been really challenging. I wrote during many times when normally I would've been watching TV, hiking, shopping, hanging out with friends, sleeping in, or just relaxing.

And even though I made sure to keep doing those things sometimes to stay balanced, there were several moments where it felt like an uphill battle just to force myself to the computer and sit down to write. Self-doubt is also a major player in the writing process for me -- on the one hand, it pushes me to look closely at how I can improve each sentence; but on the other it can overwhelm me with feelings of utter incompetence. Who do I think I am, anyway, writing a book? What makes me think I can do this? Sometimes I just wanted to abandon ship... let someone smarter or braver write the book, I'm going to watch "Psych!"

But this morning the struggle paid off - at least for my own personal edification. I got to send an e-mail out to my networks, telling everyone that the book is done and ready for sale online. I got so many supportive and congratulatory responses from friends and family, that I felt all warm, fuzzy and proud. And whether anyone actually buys the book or not, I get to enjoy the satisfaction that I actually finished it!

So now I'm trying to relax and allow myself to enjoy this tiny moment of personal achievement, before moving on to the next challenge. The momentum is carrying me forward, but I'm trying to stop and celebrate (the way I always tell my clients they should celebrate) even these small milestones for what they are......

Now, what can I get into next??