Shoes on, Schedule off

Even though I'm comfy on the couch with my laptop, I'm writing this blog with my shoes on.

See, I had plans for today. We have errands to run and family commitments this afternoon, so I thought Little Monkey and I would go to the bouncy-place this morning [a fantastic phenomenon our generation never got to experience] and let him get out some of his toddler energy in a nice air-conditioned playground setting. So I put him down for a quick morning nap and got myself ready.

But as so often happens, my plans weren't his plans, and LM didn't want to nap despite how exhausted he clearly was this morning. He'd be quiet for a minute and I'd think he was asleep, and then I'd hear squealing and chatting coming from the nursery. Every time I was about to go in to comfort him or get him up, he'd quiet down again and fool me into thinking he was asleep. And then five minutes later...

So, just when I had finally decided to give up and head out without the morning nap, he actually did fall asleep. And so far, he's slept for an hour and half, while I try to reorganize my plans for the day and get done what I can here (quietly). It's much longer than his usual morning nap and will probably through him off for school tomorrow, where he doesn't typically get a morning nap.

Now, I know lots of parents -- both in real life and in online forums -- who are strict schedule-keepers. Some people organize their lives such that their kids get the same sleep and the same meals every day, and that seems to work for them. Others follow more of the advice I once heard from a girlfriend, "Live your life and just incorporate your kids into it."

Philosophically, I've always agreed more with the latter approach. It's hard enough for me to keep my own life organized, so also having to make sure I'm home by 10:00 a.m. or 1:30 p.m. every day for naptime because 10:06 or 1:42 would mean a major meltdown... Well, I think I'd just be setting myself up for failure. On the other hand, I have found that I do need to know how much sleep LM needs each day; and it's helpful if I tune in to his basic patterns and respect his signals.

So, our lives together have turned into kind of a mish-mash of give and take. We have days where LM has to conform to my schedule -- the days I go to work and he goes to daycare (daycare being a new experience for both of us); scheduled playdates and lunches with friends; and those seemingly endless errands each week. And on days like today, even though I have a vision for how I think the day will go, I can adjust to LM's seemingly random need for a two-hour nap at 10:30.

This hit-and-miss scheduling strategy isn't outlined in any of the baby books I read or even advocated on the websites I visit to check out developmental milestones and get tips on how to get funky baby smells out of the laundry. But the symbiotic back and forth works for us, and I think it sets a basic precedent for respecting both our needs. I'm okay with that -- even if it means the occasional meltdown at the grocery store or rearranged day planner.

Overcoming Inertia

It's been tough coming up with ideas for a blog lately. Of course, when things are going smoothly in my world, I don't "come up with ideas for a blog," I just write about the random crap that happens to me and the random way I view said crap. Easy-peasey and occasionally entertaining to someone other than the weird Asian spammers who have been my only commentators lately. Sigh.

Needless to say, there hasn't been much in the way of smooth blog-topic flow lately. And one thing I've noticed about blogging is that nothing kills inspiration like a long absence. It's like the Law of Blog Inertia. A blog at rest, stays at rest. There's also been a lot going on in my non-blog life -- buying a house, looking for renters for our condo, trying to keep up with a wobbly toddler who has a mind of his own, etc.

On top of all that, my attention span lately hasn't really been long enough for blogs. My thoughts have been more well-suited to a different social medium -- I've been thinking in one-liners more apropos of Facebook status updates. They range from frustrated ("Bathroom scale doesn't change, regardless of eating and exercise habits. Is it possible the cause is bathroom scale gnomes?") to snarky, ("Dear guy walking diagonally at your leisure across parking lot aisle, reading receipt, while I wait with screaming baby in the backseat: Is it hard being the only person on earth? Do you get lonely?").

But none of them seem like good blog-fodder. I mean, who wants to read a four-paragraph rant about an inconsiderate guy who held me up from getting into Publix a few minutes sooner? Not you. I know it!

I'm not the only one who struggles with this. I've been checking out some other blogs and noticed that even my favorites have interruptions in service and blogs about mundane daily stuff and odes to kittens, etc. Of course, sometimes the mundane things can be the most accessible, universal and even emotionally poignant -- because those 'mundane' things reveal the most about who people are and what their lives are like.

So maybe I'm hesitant to blog about my toddler and how confusing I find his tantrums [screaming to be picked up, wriggling away immediately, then more screaming to be picked up again -- anyone?].

But this blog is about my life, mostly, and right now my life is full of trying to get a very short person strapped into a car seat several times a day and negotiating a transition from one home to another. So, I guess if you're interested in that, you'll read, and if not.... well, you probably didn't make it this far anyway.

So, in the immortal (and pretty much unrelated) words of an unknown spammer who tried masking a link to a suspicious website with some words of wisdom, "Knowledge is a treasure, but practice is the key to it..."

Jeepers! Creepers! The Return of the Blog

After my last blog, and the 30-mile walk over two days that preceded it, I decided I would take a week off from fitness walking, blogging, and a few other healthful but non-necessary activities in my life. I figured seven days of relaxation would allow my body and mind to reset so I could come back refreshed and better than ever.

Hmmm.... A week off, eh? Well, now it's exactly six weeks later and my walking activities have been only slightly more frequent than my blogs. Guess I needed more time to relax than I thought!

Well, I may not have been walking, but my little man is. He took his first steps just over a week ago, and I can hardly believe how fast he's growing (and moving). It's hilarious to watch him toddle around with his arms out like a drunk midget, huge open-mouthed excitement all over his face.

And I haven't been blogging myself, but I've been reading some other friends who are new to the blogging scene, and they have really inspired me. One of my favorites is a courageous and deeply personal blog called "The Drive at 35" by my friend Andy, which I invite you to explore at your leisure.

In the meantime, I'll try to pull myself together for something more substantive soon.  Happy Summer!

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!

Blisters and the Battle Within

I'm nearly halfway through my training now, completing a 12-mile endurance walk this past Sunday. I'm learning a lot about myself through this process, including what my body is capable of enduring and how surprisingly quickly I can bounce back from what feels like overwhelming tiredness or soreness.

I have noticed that during each week's long walk, the distance that felt impossible the previous week seems way easier; and it's during the last two miles of any distance that my feet really hurt, my body aches, and I wonder how I'll make it to the finish line. And yet, the following week I'm able to cover that same distance, plus two more miles. The human body is a fascinating machine.

This post, however, is largely about what I'm learning about my brain. One of the reasons I undertook this quest -- other than the obvious ones about fighting breast cancer, and the fact that any excuse to spend time with my friend Dara is a good one -- was that I wanted to give myself the opportunity to add some self-discipline into my routine. Please don't misunderstand, my routine can be pretty grueling and intense on its own, so I am certainly not a lady of leisure to begin with.

That said, I've always felt that personal discipline was one of my weak points, whether it's sticking to a diet, keeping a clean house, or finishing a novel. I'm a high achiever when there are external forces tugging at me, like grad school course requirements, a friend showing up at my door at 5 a.m. with a yoga mat and a smile, or good old fear of public humiliation. It's when I have to tap into internal motivation that I seem to struggle. So part of me was hoping, as I stared down the barrel of Avon's prescribed training schedule, that this process could be a learning experience through which I acquire some personal willpower.

So, I'm following the schedule, more or less, with my primary commitment to myself that I will complete each week's long endurance walk on Sunday, and try to walk as much as I can for the rest of the week. The place where I walk is more or less a 3 mile loop, with some flexibility of distance depending on the route I take. I just repeat the loop however many times I need to complete my goal for the week.

The beginning and the end of each loop brings me close to my car, and therefore, temptation.

So this is where it gets interesting. Or boring, actually. For the first few weeks, I had the novelty of my task and all the initial excitement to keep me chugging along, despite the pain. There's also the fascinating vantage of watching the trail and its inhabitants evolve and change with each passing lap, which could be a blog all its own. This past week, however, the novelty and my interest in everything around me began to wear thin, and I'll admit that putting one foot in front of the other for 3.5 hours began losing its appeal.

Add to that some pretty vicious chaffing and painful blisters, and of course it crossed my mind -- as I rounded on 5.5 miles -- that the car was within easy reach, and I could be home and in a hot shower in a matter of 30 minutes. What's interesting to me is not that I had this moment of weakness (totally understandable, that); but how quickly my rationalizing mind swooped in to support the idea of giving up.

It just happened so fast. I thought, "wow, I don't want to be out here today," and in a matter of seconds, my head was filled with reasons it would be okay to quit. You're in pain, you should go take care of yourself. Who would you be hurting if you go home? No one would blame you. Most people wouldn't have walked 6 miles yet today, you're already ahead! You've done so much for this cause already, it's not the end of the world if you ditch one practice walk. And the eternal classic, the mantra of the procrastinator, there's always tomorrow.

Fortunately for me, I still had half a mile to talk myself out of quitting, and to re-invigorate my own resolve to plow ahead. Just to be sure I would hold true to my purpose, I even cut short a little bit of the loop to keep myself from going too near the parking lot. In the end, I decided to hold my Sunday walk sacred and renewed my commitment to stick with the plan (barring major injury, of course). I did manage to complete my 12 miles, or at least 11.6 or so. And, despite the fact that my blisters and chaffing are way more painful than if I'd stopped, the damage I avoided doing to my pride and sense of commitment far outweigh the temporary physical pain.

It does leave me thinking about that evil little rationalizing voice in my head. The one that can undermine my sense of purpose and allow me to talk myself out of something I've committed to. It's true that sometimes this voice helps me take care of myself when I've over-committed, and helps me sort out my own needs from the needs of others. But there are times when I've set a goal for a reason, for myself, and that cunning little voice talks me out of doing what is healthy or right anyway.

It's no small task, confronting your most automatic and familiar thought processes, and challenging yourself to think differently. I get the sense this is going to take some time.... I guess that's one more good reason to take those Sunday walks.

Advice from the Alphabet Lady

Today I read this interview with Sue Grafton - the author of the alphabet murder mystery series, "A is for Alibi," etc. - and she was responding to questions about her life as a writer. It's fascinating to me, because she's been working on the series since 1982, publishing a novel every two years. At the rate she's going, she'll be finishing up with "Z for Zero" (or something like it) when she's nearly 80. I admire her dedication to the process and her struggle through the challenge and structure that a 26-part series presents.

What caught my attention was a question about retirement. Here's the first part of her answer:

I can’t wait to retire! Everybody I know is retired, and they go on these lovely trips, and I have to sit here struggling with the next book.

What struck me with this was my reaction. I'm mildly embarrassed to admit that my first thought was, "WHAT?!? It takes two years to write each book and you can't take a stinkin' trip whenever you want?" My apologies to Sue Grafton, by the way, in case she should come across this posting in what I like to imagine is a regular habit of googling her own name during fits of insomnia coupled with writer's block.

I think that reaction reveals quite a bit about me. Here I am, raising an almost 10-month old, finishing up grad school, working two days a week, and working on multiple writing projects at once. And I'm still hoping for at least a short family vacation this year. My writing is wedged between changing diapers, completing assignments, working on my therapy practice, keeping up with our often-out-of-control social schedule, and - oh, yeah - trying to keep my marriage happy and healthy. Not to mention the almost-weekly blog entry. Or training for a looooong walk. ;)

And here's Sue Grafton, about whose personal habits I have no idea, but I can only assume that after making it from A through U of successful mystery novels, she probably can devote herself more or less full-time to writing. And I'll hazard a guess that she gets some help with some of the daily tasks that consume my spare time (or would consume it if I had any). And still, she talks about writing as though it were not just a 'full time job,' but a full time job.

This really made me realize how much I'm expecting of myself; and by extension, what a tremendous challenge I have before me. Is it realistic to think I can do everything I want do to, writing-wise, with everything else I have going on in my life? Maybe. Can I finish a novel or another major project when writing is like the putty I use to fill in the little cracks in my schedule? Well, honestly.... Probably not.

Later in the interview, Grafton says that her biggest gripe about new writers is that they don't "put in the time." When I read that, I thought about the self discipline it will take in my own life to finish a single major project. But she went on to talk about how a first book is hardly worth notice, and to her, putting in the time means writing several books before your talent is developed enough to be worth reading. That's a daunting point of view, and I'm trying to simultaneously respect it and take it with a grain of salt.

Everyone is different, of course -- every writer, therapist, mother.... and we all have to create our own paths to whatever we define as success in our lives. But there's no doubt that to be successful at anything, you have to dedicate yourself to it, every day. I do this with my son, regularly responding to his needs before my own. And I would never consider frivolously missing a class or not showing up for an appointment with a client.

So, how to translate that same kind of dedication and structure to my writing, a pursuit in which I am only accountable to myself? Well, I haven't quite figured that out yet. But I suspect realigning those crazy expectations, harnessing a bit of old-school discipline and working like mad are all key components. Maybe after that, you just start with "A" and take it from there.

Grateful Woman Walking

I'm in my second week of training for the walk (and I promise that not every blog for the next 10 weeks will be about this). It's going pretty well, though I am realizing how much I'd been neglecting my exercise routine lately. Walking five days a week and cross-training on the other two is a huge step up from where I'd been on the exercise spectrum for the last several months, so it's definitely been a challenge -- from a time management perspective, if nothing else.

But, it does allow me more time for one of life's little luxuries: listening to audiobooks. I just toss my rickety old click-wheel ipod into the stroller pocket, and we're off to another world while my feet keep the beat and MLM coos and points at the scenery.

I just finished The Broken Teaglass by Emily Arsenault (which was at least superficially intriguing, if somewhat unsatisfying) and I'm now working my way into A Winter's Tale by Mark Helprin. I've really enjoyed Helprin in the past: his novels demonstrate amazing historical thoroughness combined with subtle and imaginative plots. It's been slow going so far, but since I've "read" two previous books of his and really enjoyed them, I'm willing to be patient while the exposition gets off the ground.

Meanwhile, the donations continue to steadily trickle in, and I'm continually awed by the love and generosity of my friends and family. Even though I was a professional fundraiser for years in Austin, I never cease to be amazed by how generous people can be when they feel inspired to help out with something important. Even though times are hard right now, people have given much more generously than I would've expected.

And even those who haven't been able to contribute as much as they'd like financially have offered me incredible emotional support, just by telling me that they're proud of me or support what I'm doing. So as I walk the trail almost every day, I'm kept company not just by a gurgling baby and a narrated novel, but by the encouraging spirit of everyone who has reached out to me in this daunting (but worthwhile) venture. I feel really fortunate to have so much that is positive and encouraging in my life. So, thanks!!

First Steps (Mine, Not the Baby's)

I felt I needed to clarify the title, to keep people from getting all excited that MLM might be walking and read on, hoping for adorable "Bambi-on-the-ice"-type video ending with my son falling on his adorable little baby butt. Well, sorry. Not yet, anyway.

Now that you've presumably recovered from the disappointment that this is just a blog about me walking, I can tell you that I start training this week for my big walk for breast cancer in June. I'm doing the prescribed program to prepare for my marathon-and-a-half in twelve weeks, a big uphill from where I am now.

One notable part of this process is that the training walks -- pretty mild for the first couple of weeks -- are certainly a benchmark for comparing my pre- and post-pregnancy fitness levels. Before MLM came into my life, I was managing 12- to 14- minute miles with a combination of running and walking nearly every time I covered a 5K distance. Today that number is closer to 20 minutes per mile [even after I discovered that the flat tires on the stroller were creating way more resistance than I realized, which has sped me up substantially].

Now, I know it may be dangerous territory to start comparing myself to my past abilities (hardly fair since my body has undergone one of the most difficult tasks of the human experience). I am where I am, and all that matters is that I keep taking the next step. Right?

And if I shouldn't compare myself to myself, I certainly shouldn't compare myself to other people. I've always tried to maintain this philosophy over the years, since comparing myself to others inevitably leads me down an unpleasant road, particularly if I'm working out in a college gym where half the girls on the treadmills are approximately the size of my pinky finger.

Still, it's hard not to take note when I see other stroller-wranglers out on the trail. I always look to see who's pushing which stroller, how old the little one appears to be, how fast they're going, etc. Naturally, some of this is just a natural affinity for and interest in people who are experiencing the same stage of life that I am. It's also partly because we made a big investment in our completely badass stroller and looking around affirms that we made the right choice.

But I'll own it, part of me can't resist comparing myself to women who are around my age and have babies around the same age and how well they seem to be "bouncing back." Of course, I would probably do well to remind myself that the women at the trail aren't exactly a representative sample of the entire new-mom population, but anyway...

Today, my first official day in the long journey to June, this particular sensitivity really came back to bite me. I was rounding mile 1.5 when I began to hear the distinctive sound stroller wheels coming up behind me. A few short moments later, they were definitely closer, calling attention to the fact that my pace had slackened. So, I sped up and turned my attention back to my audiobook.

But it wasn't long before I heard the stroller wheels creeping up on me again, and I began taking longer, quicker strides to stay in front of them. Soon I was working pretty hard at it, and still losing ground. In my peripheral vision, I saw the wobbly little plastic wheels of a typical all-purpose stroller coming up behind me. I was kind of annoyed -- I don't mind getting passed by cyclists and joggers and walkers who are unencumbered by little wheeled companions, but by another stroller mom? Me, with my super-duper running stroller with the bike tires, getting passed by transportation designed for the mall?!?

I fought it for as long as I could, but just before the 1.75 mile mark, she cruised past me. Already feeling a little defeated, I was even more annoyed when the woman turned to chat with me, and to comment sweetly how my adorable little boy looked so much like her grandson. Yep, that's right. Outclassed by the grandmother with the mall stroller.

So, unless I get passed by an actual turtle next time, it seems I have nowhere to go but up.

I think it's good to be humbled by this type of experience, but I really am trying not to be terribly hard on myself. It's so easy to get injured after having a baby, and pushing myself too hard has only backfired in recent months. This really is one of those situations in which I simply have to set my pride aside and just focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

Of course, keeping in mind the larger reasons for doing this really helps, too. Thanks so much to everyone who's supported my walk with a donation or encouragement or both, (and to those who were planning to donate and just needed this blog as a reminder)!

And to stroller-granny, watch out -- I'm coming for you!!

The Breast Blog of the Year - Part Two

You know you want to. You do. You're going to do it.

You're going to click this link and make a donation to the Avon Foundation for Breast Cancer in support of my 39.3-mile walk in Chicago this summer. The fact that you're going to give isn't in dispute. What might be up for discussion is how much.

It's so hard to know what amount is appropriate to give for something like this; and having been in that dark and indecisive place myself, I decided to create some suggestions for you. Aren't I helpful? I know, I am!

Here are some options:

• Contribute $12 in honor of Madonna -- Queen of the Cone Bra. That's $1 for each Number One hit.
  
• Give $1 each for all the healthy, wonderful women you're grateful to have in your life. In fact, since this is all about good things that come in pairs, better make that $2 each.
• You could go with the classic $1 per mile. An oldie but a goodie. That's $26.20 for the marathon on Saturday, $13.10 for the half-marathon Sunday, or $39.30 for the whole sha-bang.
  
• In the Jewish tradition, the number 18 symbolizes life - so give life by giving $18. If you choose this method, you should toast a glass of your favorite beverage and say "L'Chaim" as you click the donation button. Or, give $36 and toast twice. At $54, make sure you have a designated driver!
• How about $1 for each year we've known each other? I'm quite blessed to say this could get expensive for some people!
• Give a penny for each number in the year your all-time favorite movie was released. So Casablanca would be $19.42; Pulp Fiction $19.94; The Godfather $19.72; LOTR Return of the King $20.03..... (Personally, I wouldn't put Tombstone on this list, but who am I to judge? And I'll be happy to take the $19.93 anyway).
  
• Count the number of women in your Facebook friends list and give 10 cents for each of them. If you've ever wondered why there's no "cents" key on the modern keyboard, add an extra dollar.

Whatever you decide to donate, or even if you just decide to contribute encouragement, please know that I deeply appreciate your support -- both of my personal undertaking and the cause of breast cancer awareness & treatment. As always, thanks for reading!!

The Breast Blog of the Year - Part One

Boobies. Ta-tas. The Girls. Cleveland. The Good China....

Our affectionate nicknames for them are endless and often hilarious. And our breasts serve many purposes in our lives: from that awkward moment when they signal the onset of puberty and we try on our first training bra, to trying desperately to direct the attention of men in our lives up to our eyes (ahem), to breastfeeding and nurturing our children, and finally to that stage of life where our constant companions are less like perky balloons and more like fried eggs hanging on nails. It seems that no other part of our anatomy is such an obvious barometer for where we are in life, and to some extent, how we perceive ourselves and even our sexual identity.

There's probably an entire essay that could be written (maybe even a book) about breasts, social norms, and the psychosocial development of women. You'll be relieved to hear that I am not planning to write said essay. Or, at least -- this isn't it.

But I have noticed in recent years that breasts serve another purpose for modern women -- they are a rallying point around which we have organized ourselves for battle: for the fight against breast cancer. As a caveat, let me say that I'm aware both that (a) men also get breast cancer (though in far, far smaller numbers); and (b) that many more women actually die of lung cancer than breast cancer -- making it just as worthy of our collective attention.

That said, it's amazing what the fight against breast cancer has done for our community and our collective awareness of women's health issues. You can't swing a cat in October without hitting a store display of pink items designed specially to raise money and awareness [we'll talk later about why you're swinging a cat in a store]. Sometimes just the commercials of women running, walking and bonding in search of a cure leave me teary-eyed.

It has also brought men and women together in a way that I find really touching: seeing professional athletes in every major sport wearing pink in honor of the women in their lives, for example, is a gesture I find amazing and beautiful even outside of the good it does for the cause of breast cancer awareness.

The breast cancer bit matters, too, of course. I think pretty much everyone knows someone who has been impacted by this scary and (too often) deadly disease. For me personally, I've lost two wonderful former colleagues to breast cancer in the past two years -- one of whom died very suddenly just last week. I've also had friends who lost mothers and sisters to breast cancer far, far too young.

All this exposition is to say that, this summer, I've decided to get off the sidelines and be a part of the solution. My dear friend Dara and I are lacing up our walking shoes (and of course, the requisite sports bra) to walk 39.3 miles in 2 days this June in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer in Chicago.

It's going to be quite an undertaking for me. I've been struggling to get back into shape since my little man came along, and the thought of walking a marathon one day and a half-marathon the next.... well, it's pretty darn daunting. The training schedule itself looks pretty grueling, particularly when you consider that I'll be pushing 40+ lbs of stroller and baby on all the endurance walks.

And of course, there's the fundraising requirement, which is substantial. but at least with that part, I know you'll be able to help me. More on that in Part Two....

This is my laptop. There are many like it, but this one is mine....

Some bonus, baby-free downtime came my way today, so I indulged in a little "directed surfing" (which I guess is my way of rationalizing that avoiding work by reading blogs is okay as long as they are about writing, as opposed to celebrity gossip). While wasting time, I read some really great tips about writing here then here; also here, and oddly enough, here. Lots of different perspectives on the writing process, told in many voices, but the two main themes I picked up on are that successful writing is about (1) confidence and (2) discipline.

I wrote last week about the many ideas that have churned up during the recent tumult of my life; and now it's time for me to start putting some work into those ideas and figuring out which ones will fly. And while very little of my writing/working energy is spent on fiction (most of my work is of the non-fiction, self-help variety), the creative process is still largely the same.

Whether it's the chick-lit novel I've toyed with writing in my spare time for the last five years or the new parenting seminar I thought of last week, many parts of the process are similar (or at least can wear the same labels). Brainstorming, outlining, note-taking, research, collaboration, drafts, revisions, new drafts, re-revisions, opinion-seeking, overhauling, and eventually starting over despite the outcome... You get the idea.

All these activities require risk-taking and dedication, which in turn require confidence and discipline. Whenever I sit down to write anything -- even this blog entry, which seems innocuous enough -- I'm putting something on the line. It could be my reputation as a writer or therapist, my vulnerability as a person, or even just the 47 minutes I'll spend doing this as opposed to knitting or some other activity that might eventually help keep someone warm and would therefore be less disputably useful.

I have to be really honest here, sometimes when I look at my decisions to return to graduate school, take out obscenely large student loans, become a therapist, incorporate writing into my career, and then to be a (mostly) stay-at-home mom in the middle of it... well, I sort of wonder if it's not my own head I should be examining. Who the hell do I think I am to try to choose my own path in this way? And to risk my family's financial well-being to boot? Wouldn't it just have been better to stay in marketing, quietly earning a respectable income in a way that isn't offensive or scary to anyone? Maybe.

The truth is, the voice in my head that asks those very questions is always present and often loud. (You'll be interested to know she sounds a bit like Candice Bergen). This voice tells me I'm stupid for thinking anyone would care what I have to say on any topic, and I might as well just throw in the towel now and start playing the lottery -- because I have about the same probability of winning PowerBall as I do creating the next NY Times Bestseller or becoming the next Tony Robbins. Tony Robbins? Suze Ormond? Oprah? Someone cool, anyway.

And when I look around, there are lots of people who agree with me (having made the safest possible choices themselves), and about 10,000 ways I can picture myself failing and falling flat on my psychobabble butt.

Somehow, I've got to tune out Candice Bergen and look past the 10,000 paths to failure to find the one path to success. I have to be willing to take a chance on me -- confidence -- and I have to allow that confidence to drive into lots and lots and lots of hard work. So, discipline. And it's amazing to me how intertwined the two are. If I'm really honest, about half the time I don't get any work done, it's not really for the reason I state.

I might say "I'm tired," or "I'm bored," or "I'm legally required to file an income tax return," and those things may be true... but the truth is also that when I'm not working, it's often because I don't believe that what I'm doing is worth doing at all. What sounds like a time management issue is really all about confidence.

My first e-book was a great idea that everyone loved. It was also a colossal failure. No kidding - I sold three copies, and two of them were to my friends. (Thanks, friends!). Then, due to a misunderstanding, I accidentally bounced two checks on the bank account I set up just to keep that income separate from my personal income, which means I managed to end up in the red for a project that had no hard costs. That doesn't even include the hours I spent actually writing the damn thing.

Does that experience flit through my subconscious mind when I sit down to work on one of my newer projects? You're darn-tootin' it does. Probably more than I can even acknowledge now, in my smugly self-aware blogging persona. Besides, avoidance is so..... safe.

Just as my inability to run a mile without vomiting keeps me out of the military and the danger of being killed in service to my country (aha! so that's the reference), my inability to "squeeze in" time to write between diaper changes and folding laundry keeps me out of the line of critical fire, or maybe worse, quiet and obscure failure.

So the dangerous thing to do -- at least, in my own little world -- would be be buck up, get over myself and get busy. And to hope I don't meet Vincent D'Onofrio in the bathroom.

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!!

Churn, Baby, Churn

I don't know about you guys, but it's a month-plus in, and I am sick of 2010 already. It's been a wild six weeks for our family: the hacker fiasco, a busted water heater, craziness at work (for both of us -- and I'm not referring to my clients!), a death in the family, resuming graduate classes after two semesters off with the baby, drama in both our families and with a couple of important friendships..... And in the middle of that, teething, crawling, baby-proofing, growth spurts, crazy cold weather, etc. And there's more snow coming this weekend.

It's all leaving me with that "stop this thing, I want to get off" feeling. You know that feeling? Like the fun roller-coaster ride that you waited in line for three hours for, is actually just going to jostle you around and leave you with an upset stomach and a sore neck? [Or some far better, more articulate analogy.]

What's amazing is, all this turmoil seems to be churning up the old creative juices. In the last few weeks, I haven't had more than two complete nights' sleep, but I have started three major creative projects (one with my best friend -- a long-awaited opportunity for us to work together); and I've sketched out thoughts on two or three more. It seems that the best ideas come to me when I'm busy putting out fires in my life; maybe because I lose my tightly controlled grip over everything and all those dormant ideas see their opportunity to escape through the gaping holes in my consciousness.

So be on the lookout for my crazy ideas in the next few months, running around with pants on their heads like escapees from a mental institution. And in the meantime, note to the Universe: Thanks for the jolt of stimulation. I'm good now. Really.

Sometimes it takes a crying baby to tell you about the leaky water heater

When it comes to my night last night, the title pretty much says it all.

Our little monkey has been more or less sleeping through the night for the last six to seven weeks (so my brain is JUUUUST starting to recover from chronic sleep deprivation -- apologies for stupid things I've said during that time period coming soon...). It's that happy period of time every parent looks forward to from, oh, about the seventh month of pregnancy.

And unlike some miracle children, apparently, our little man did not get to this status "naturally." It took some agonizing on our part, waiting for his digestive system to develop to the point where we felt comfortable letting him go all night without nursing. And then there were those really painful nights at the end where we endured two-plus hours of screaming (typically from 3 a.m. to 5 a.m.), broken by one of us periodically going in to soothe -- but not feed -- our insistent and noisy little boy.

All the while, I could hear the stories of moms who had it easier echoing in my head "Oh, yes, it was HORRIBLE. He cried for thirty minutes straight one night!" Ha. Thirty minutes. I scoff at your thirty minutes. My kid is PERSISTENT (anyone surprised? no? really?).

That was all in December, all in the past.... until teething took over last week. Now, this, as any parent can tell you, is a special brand of late-night torture. It's actually worse when the old sleep disruption pattern re-emerges after you think you're finally done with it. Plus, your sweet little kiddo is not just fussy, he's in pain, and that hurts your heart as much as it does your sleep-deprived head.

So, last night, when we heard the insistent cries at 2:30, we started doing our parental dance: try a bit of teething pain gel, then the pacifier, and wait 5 minutes. Try the belly rub and soothing words, wait 10 minutes. Then, as we were tossing and turning, debating whether to go back in and stop the tears with a feeding (which would be a setback, and potentially lead to more nights just like this one), I convinced MDH to try one more time with the pacifier. On his way back from the nursery, amidst the tears and screaming, he heard an unexpected sound: drip, drip, drip.

Oh, dear. And oh, yes. Busted hot water heater, crazy leak, potentially ruined Turkish rug. The one I actually bought in Turkey. All bad news at 3:00 a.m. But the good news is, the news could've been worse. If it weren't for a teething baby, instead of two sleep-deprived people buying a new water heater, we'd be two well-rested people buying a water heater, a floor, new hallway carpet, and maybe replacing some sheet rock and/or doors.

So I guess little man actually helped us out last night. We'll take this into consideration when setting the amount of his first allowance.

Unsociable. De-networked.

The dust has all but settled after this past week's Adventures in Hacking. The only remaining fallout has been that Facebook disabled my account on Tuesday and has yet to reinstate it.

On the one hand, I'm sort of annoyed about this, because I followed the recommended steps and sent an e-mail right after the account was disabled, and then a follow-up three days later, and I still haven't heard a word back from them. Not so much as an automated "thanks for your inquiry, we're looking into it" e-mail. I think it's poor customer service at the very least.

On the other hand, it's a little bit of an eye-opener for me being cut off from my "social networking" world. Until this week, I don't think I realized how often I used Facebook as a time-killer or tool for procrastination. As much as I enjoy finding out what my friends are up to at all random times of day, and I truly have enjoyed reconnecting with some folks I don't otherwise interact with very often, I don't know that the time I spend on Facebook could really be considered quality time.

My days tend to be divided into chunks. I work at least part of two or three days each week outside the home, and I have lots of little tasks to complete in support of that work in between. I go to class one or two nights a week, with reading in between. When I'm home, I take care of MLM when he's awake and do some minimal housework while he's napping. And as for writing and reading for pleasure, taking care of myself, and relaxing.... well, it all happens in between.

So given that most of my life occurs in the "in between," it's not hard to see why the appeal of Facebook is so irresistible. MLM falls asleep mid-day and I find myself with an unknown quantity of time in front of me -- it could be ten minutes or an hour and a half. It's hard to plan when you don't know how long you have, or it's the end of the day and you're totally drained, so I often cruise for the low-hanging intellectual fruit: checking e-mails and invariably following some link into the world of Facebook.

The next thing I know, it's thirty minutes to two hours later and I'm sitting in the same spot on the couch, lost in a sea of updates, funny videos, vacation photos, Bejeweled Blitz scores, etc. Which would be fine, if that were what I'd set out to do with those thirty minutes or two hours. As it is, the feeling that most often washes over me is a sort of resigned regret. I've done it again: passively given over my time to the world of social networking and forfeited another opportunity to work on those other things that more often than not would rank far higher on my list of priorities.

So, along with the drawbacks of being locked out of Facebook, there's some benefit, too. I have noticed this week that instead of killing time on FB, I have been able to "waste" my time in more interesting and stimulating ways -- like brushing up on The Charge of the Light Brigade. (Don't ask me why). And once or twice, I've actually been inspired to close the computer and do something else entirely. Imagine that.

More Specifics on the Hacking Thing

Now that I've recovered from some of the panic from earlier today, I thought I'd try to distill down as much as I know about what happened to my account(s) so that anyone reading this can be on the lookout for similar problems in their own e-mail accounts.

This was NOT, as I originally thought, a virus. The problem was never on my computer (at least as far as I know so far - and thanks to my awesome brother-in-law for helping me diagnose that). What happened to me today was online identity theft, and my hope is that it was more a huge hassle than any actual destruction.

That said, the hassle DID take up my whole day, and I'm still concerned that someone may have lost money because of this garbage, or that some personal information of mine might've been compromised. Anyway, enough people have been thoroughly shocked at the depth and cunning of what seemed like a simple virus at first, that I thought a more thorough warning might be helpful.

So, here's what happened:

• Early this morning, someone hacked into my gmail account. I've never given out my password, and I didn't fall for a phishing scam. There was some kind of security breach with my gmail password.
  [I should point out here that I made the careless mistake of keeping the same password for a very long time, and that I do use the same password for lots of non-financial accounts, like gmail.
  Someone more knowledgeable than I in this arena has pointed out that since this "London Scam" has been around (I've seen accounts of it as early as last May) some technorati fingers have been pointing at Facebook for the security breach, which Facebook apparently denies. According to my internet-wise friend, the theory is that the scam artists stole a whole bunch of passwords from somewhere, and have been holding onto them and slowly meting out this lovely lesson ever since. So, if you are reading this and haven't changed your e-mail password in a month or so, go do it now. Go ahead. We'll wait. Done? Good.]
  
• Once the hackers were in my gmail account, they changed my password to lock me out. Then they sent out an e-mail to many of my contacts, claiming to be me, and claiming that I'd been robbed at gunpoint in London and needed money. I've noticed as the day wears on that they mostly contacted people who are not on my "most frequent contacts" list, the ones who I e-mail daily and would obviously know I'm not in London.
• While in gmail, they also used my gmail-based Instant Messenger to contact friends of mine who were online, still pretending to be me and claiming to be in a library in London with only a passport. I find this especially creepy.
• The hackers then created a fake e-mail address using my name at "OperaMail.com" and put it in my gmail account as the 'alternate' e-mail. They set my account to forward any incoming e-mails (like those of concerned friends wanting to help, for example) to this fake account and to delete them from my gmail. So, when I used google's account recovery system to get into my gmail account, it almost looked like nothing had happened - they deleted all the sent e-mails and any incoming e-mails were being automatically forwarded.
• They also changed my security settings and put in a Nigerian cell phone number as my "password recovery option" - so when they locked me out of my gmail and I tried to use the automated system to reset the password, they received a text message notification so that they could jump in and beat me to the punch. I don't know about you, but these aren't things I immediately knew to look for when I got back into my e-mail the first time (instead, I started trying to send out warning e-mails to my contacts).
• In addition to trolling through my gmail contacts, they also found all the other e-mail addresses I have connected to that account and tried to hack into those as well. I got a notification from yahoo asking me to confirm that I'd added a new e-mail address (which I hadn't), and fortunately I was quick enough to get in and fix that before they did too much damage on that account. They did, however, manage to change my contact information!
  
• In the meantime, they used their access to my gmail account to get to my facebook page. I use a completely different password for facebook, but since they had access to my e-mail, all they had to do was go to facebook, click to reset the password, and then change it to their own.
• They also created another e-mail account in my name, this one just like my yahoo account, but with one extra letter before the @. They added this fake account to my facebook page; and then deleted the e-mail that facebook automatically generates letting you know that changes have been made to your account. If I hadn't trolled through my gmail trash later, I never would've known that they did this. As it was, I was locked out of Facebook all day until I found that e-mail (and of course they were not only e-mailing my FB friends but also instant messaging with those who were online --- asking for money).

That's what happened. I've put it all in, step by step, so that my dear readers can get a sense for how clever (and thorough) these folks were in trying to extort money from my friends and colleagues. Not only did they hack in, they created two brand new e-mail addresses designed to mimic my own and spent lots of time tracking down my friends. They also had to be attentive to when I was attempting to recover and reset passwords. This was not just a random phishing scam, these folks really made an effort to steal my identity and represent themselves as me.

So, here's what I did:

• I used Google's account recovery form to get back into my account (twice) via my yahoo account, and the second time, I waited for the first possible chance to get in and then quickly: changed my password to one much harder to duplicate, deleted all alternate e-mails from my profile, and deleted the Nigerian cell phone number from my password recovery options.
• I changed the passwords on all my often-used social/e-mail sites, and on the sites for my financial institutions
• I updated my friends and family via social networking, blogging, phone calls and (when possible) e-mail
• Did a "deep scan" on my computer (again, thanks to my brother-in-law) to make sure I am virus-free
  

And here's what I am still working on:

• Going through my e-mail accounts looking for passwords and/or login information that might have been vulnerable while the hackers had access to my email account. Deleting those e-mails once I've updated the information elsewhere.
• Exporting my seldom-used contacts to a spreadsheet so that I can delete them from my e-mail account but still have them if I need them again.
  
• I'm considering decentralizing some of my e-mail functions - while it's convenient having everything in one place, it also makes me pretty vulnerable
• Credit freezes: since I don't know how far this "identity theft" actually goes, and I've seen how determined these bad guys are, we're calling the credit bureaus to have them freeze our credit. Clark Howard says it's a good idea anyway, and this little incident is just a good reminder....
• Counting my blessings. I have to say I felt pretty violated today, but watching the news reports about the devastation in Haiti reminds me to keep even major annoyances like this one in perspective.
  

Some changes I'm hoping to make in the future:

• Changing passwords more often
• Deleting more e-mails (instead of just archiving), especially those with any kind of login information
  
• Creating an offline, protected list of login names and passwords that I can maintain and update frequently
• Stop using the same or similar passwords when I register for new websites or shop online. I've always done this because it makes it easier to remember, but I'll just have to go with a different system instead.
  

And.... what else? I'd love to hear suggestions from those more expert than I.

Be careful out there!

Hacking Scam (I Just Wasn't Myself Today)

Well, I guess the Universe noticed my hubris in my last blog entry this morning and decided to take me down a notch... Right after I posted, someone hacked into my gmail, yahoo and facebook accounts. Someone claiming to me and claiming to be stuck in London needing money just spammed my entire address book and changed all my passwords for me (wasn't that nice?). They also not only put in a fake backup e-mail that looks like mine (at OperaMail.com), but they changed my security settings to alert a Nigerian cell phone whenever I tried to reset my password, so they could beat me to the punch.

The first time I thought I had gotten in and fixed the problem I was able to e-mail some of my contacts to let them know about the problem, but then the hackers reset my password again, kicking me out and taking over my e-mail. The only way to fix it (I think) was to use google's account recovery form and a secondary e-mail address, then IMMEDIATELY get into the account, delete the phony e-mail address & cell phone and change my password to something much more difficult to hack.

[I was relieved and annoyed to find that I'm not the only person this has happened to; you can read here how this happened to a business, as well. ]

I'm still sorting through the wreckage these unholy bastards have created in my techno-life. I can't get into my facebook account, for example. In the meantime, if you follow this blog or we've corresponded by e-mail, please go and update your e-mail security settings immediately. If your e-mail password is outdated or easy to figure out, change it. If you get an e-mail saying that a new address has been added to your account, change your password immediately and delete any e-mail address you don't recognize; you should also check your address & phone number to make sure they have been fiddled with.

And, if it's not obvious, please don't send money to me in London. I'm not there, I haven't been mugged, and if you really want to give me money, please come do it in person so I can thank you properly. ;)

When the hackers had control of my IM, my friend Rob also had a brilliant way of figuring out something was up - he just typed, "How is _____?" with a made-up name of someone we don't know, and the hackers of course responded that _______ was fine -- demonstrating that they weren't me! I thought it was pretty clever for a Monday morning and I'm glad he (and others) know me well enough to sense when I'm not myself.

I'm writing all this so that everyone else can be on guard for these horrible, pathetic excuses for human beings and their miscreant behavior. If only we could harness the intelligence and cunning of these jerks (not the word I want to use, but you get the idea) for something productive and useful in the world. Sigh.

On the flip side, I can't say how touched I am that some people actually were willing to help me when they thought I had an emergency in the U.K. I also got lots of phone calls and e-mails from people who figured out something was wrong and wanted to make sure I had a heads up. It is really nice to know that we're all looking out for each other.

So, that's my silver lining. And if you'll excuse me, I need to go make sure I've closed all the loopholes and then let off some steam. URRRGH!

I'm on a Roll, Baby!

Today I am Superwoman. I'm feeling totally empowered, focused, and ready to take on the world. For some reason, I've been up since 5 a.m. (Hint: think 16 pounds of drool and happiness); and in those three hours my mind has somehow landed in a random groove of productivity. I think it's that "in the zone" feeling I always hear people talk about. Either that or it's the third cup of coffee!!

Either way, I have been planning like a maniac, not just for the week but for the whole dang year.

Last week was a little overwhelming for me, especially in my professional world; but I am totally going to rock this week! I can feel it!! Happy Monday!

What I Would Say if I Could

If my mom were alive, she'd be 62 today. Anyone who's lost someone close to them knows that birthdays and holidays take on extra significance when you are missing someone important in your life. Days like this I often imagine what things might be like if she had lived.... and I always come to the conclusion that we'd still be driving each other nuts.

It seems we never really appreciate people until they're no longer around. I guess that's because all the friction of actually being in a relationship with another human being is taken away and we are left to enjoy and long for the relationship itself.

So sometimes instead of imagining what it would be like if she were still alive, I imagine what I would say to her if the gap between our two planes of existence (whatever that means) were temporarily bridged... if I could talk to her again from right here and now, or even send a letter to the proverbial Other Side. That letter changes daily, of course. Here's what it looks like today.


Dear Mom,
It sounds obvious to say that I think about you all the time, but I do. I miss you. I have always missed you, even when you were still alive but unable to be really present with me. But now that I am a mom myself, I long for you in a way that makes my heart ache with loss and missed opportunities.

You must know, from wherever you are, that we have a little boy now. He's named after your dad and has a funny, laid-back spirit just like his namesake. I imagine that you look in on him from time to time; and sometimes, when he laughs in his sleep, I think I can almost see you there, hovering around the edge of my reality, holding him in a way that only the two of you can know.

I know you are laughing when you watch me struggling with my new role -- especially at those frequent moments when I realize I haven't the foggiest idea what to do next. You'll be glad to know that the little guy has humbled me -- I've come to appreciate all you did for us in ways that I never did before.

So today, instead of just saying "I miss you," I'd also like to say "thank you." For loving me and making sure that I knew it, regardless of how hard life was for you. For singing to me with your beautiful voice (I try to sing to your grandson daily, but I didn't inherit your talent -- it won't be long before he's begging me to stop). For teaching me to be a part of something greater than myself. For doing everything you could to make me feel incredibly special and valuable. I didn't realize until long after you were gone what a tremendous gift that was, and what joy you took in giving it.

Thanks, Mom, for teaching me about love and inspiring me to share it. Happy Birthday.

A Decade in the Life: Part Three

Yep, Just Like on 'Sex in the City'

When I left Austin, I closed an important and treasured chapter of my life. My experiences there changed me forever; and frankly, I didn’t know what to expect on returning to Atlanta. As it turned out, a whole new era was about to begin.

Looking back, I know I met the man who is the love of my life once before I even moved back to Atlanta. I’d come home for a visit and to do some work for my friend’s company, where he happened to be working. I remember we had a nice conversation about New Orleans and I thought he was really cute, but that was about it.

Once I did move home, however, and we began working in the same place and hanging out with the same group of friends, it didn’t take long for me to figure out that the cute boy in the lab was a really incredible person himself. I could go on for a while about what makes him so special to me (and lots of other people), but that would embarrass him and bore everyone else.

As we began spending more time together, the primary tension in our relationship was that MD-future-H had always envisioned himself marrying someone Jewish. Someone born Jewish, actually. And so he only dated Jewish women, which obviously I was not. So we oscillated for a few months between dating and not dating [I think he broke up with me three times during this period]. And in the meantime, I found myself reading “Judaism for Dummies,” among other things.

I’d been on a path of spiritual searching for years (far longer than this blog covers), and my close-up experience with Catholicism in Austin had piqued my interest in ancient and ritual-focused religion. So as a relationship with a nice boy spurred me to learn more, I found myself drawn to Judaism at the deepest levels of my being. After further education and mutual soul-searching, MD-future-H and I decided that someone willing to consider conversion and someone willing to consider marrying a convert could make a go of a relationship.

From there, we just followed the path that seemed to be appearing at our feet with each step. We took a Derech Torah class as a precursor to my conversion, where we met lots of great people – some of whom were in the same situation we were, and many who have been our friends ever since. Soon I began studying with Rabbi Analia, one of the most wonderful and wise women I’ve known. She and her husband Mario lead the congregation where we’ve found our spiritual home.

We got engaged in February 2006; MDH knew how much I love Jane Austen, so he took me to see “Pride and Prejudice” at the Alliance Theater, and proposed at a quaint little Italian restaurant before the show. His wonderful family accepted me warmly, and they have never treated me any differently than they would a born Jew.

In May, Rabbi Analia decided I was ready. The Bet Din (conversion panel) and my submersion in the Mikvah (ritual bath) were incredible experiences that marked a whole new era in my life as a Jew-by-Choice. I’m honored to be part of the Jewish community. I am still learning, day by day, what it means to be Jewish, and particularly how to help lead a Jewish household. It will be a lifelong journey and I’m cherishing every moment.

In September 2006, our beloved Rabbis Mario and Analia presided over our beautiful garden wedding. When Analia talked about how my mom and Sam’s dad (who had also died suddenly in April 2002) were both with us in spirit, a sudden breeze blew the white tulle walls of our chuppah high in the otherwise calm air. It was chilling and lovely.

The last three years of my decade have been decidedly different from the first. There have been more losses – both grandmothers, my brother’s best friend, my first boss at the Catholic school (who was always really kind to me). But there have also been tremendous joys, achievements, new friendships and the deepening of old ones. I went back to grad school, completed my Master’s in Counseling and am enjoying the challenges of a new career, one that constantly drives me to reflect and question myself.

For me, the impulsive choices and perpetual newness of the early 2000’s have been replaced by a whole new kind of adventure. In June 2009, we expanded our family with the long-sought addition of our beautiful baby boy. He's an amazing little kid with a funny personality that is already beginning to emerge. Difficulty getting pregnant and the experience of undergoing fertility treatments has helped us -- if at all possible -- to treasure him even more.

I no longer characterize myself as a world traveler – though we did take a fantastic trip to Ireland when I got my counseling degree – but being a mother to our six-month-old son takes me to new places every day. And while no marriage is fail-proof, MDH and I work hard to secure ours to something larger than ourselves, so that we’re not left alone during those inevitable hard times.

And Two the cat is still hanging around, letting us know when the kiddo is crying (as though we can't hear him). She's a decade older than when she came into my life, but not too much worse for the wear. Our family has lots of big plans for the coming months and years; but if 2010-2019 is anything like this past decade, we'll mostly just be holding on tight and trying to enjoy the ride.