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Preparing
for the Holidays
Quote
of the Day: "At Christmas play and make good cheer, For Christmas comes but once a year." Thomas Tusser
OK.
Thanksgiving was wonderful, visiting with family and sharing
fun stories and adventures; laughing around the dining room
table,
enjoying favorite stuffing and pies; watching parades and
football games; and counting your many blessings.
It is
now time to turn our attention to the many preparations for
Christmas. Coming from a Christian perspective, I can speak
for
the anticipation which we all feel to celebrate the birth of the
Christ-child. It brings us wonder each and every
year, and the
time and energy we put into its celebration never wanes. As I
watch my Jewish friends prepare for Hanukkah,
I sense, too, the
joy with which they prepare celebrations with loved ones.
The gift of sacrificial love is the
true essence of Christmas.
Teaching your children to give generously and to give cheerfully
models the life of Christ.
Our God, who created each one of us
with more love than we can imagine, desires this same outpouring
of love to others,
and it is at Christmas that we likewise share
our love through gift-giving and through acts of generosity and
hospitality.
We are buoyed by the "Christmas spirit" because it
is through giving--rather than receiving--that we receive the
most
joy. Pausing to think about others, about their needs and
desires, and extending yourselves to their benefit, brings deep
inner
satisfaction not found any other way.
Have you made your list of those people with whom you want to
share the Christmas
spirit?
Consider giving small, inexpensive gifts to a large list, rather
than more extravagant gifts to a very few
loved ones. When I
think of the model of giving I want to pattern for my own family,
I cannot exclude from the list
those folks who cross my path on a
daily basis--in one way or another--who may or may not have yet
reached into close
friendship with me. And so I am always
thoughtful for small yet kind ways in which I might extend
generosity.
Extend
your circle of concern. Think not only of what members of
your own family would appreciate at Christmas. Think of cousins
and
aunts and uncles, and of closest friends. And don't stop
there. Extend your circle. Think of your mail carrier, pet
groomer,
your pediatrician's office staff, the folks at your gym,
your neighbors, friends of your children, office workers at you
or
your spouse's place of work, your manicurist, the
landscaper....think through the flow of your typical week and
those
people who enter your life on a regular basis. If they are
serving you in some capacity, isn't it kind to remember them
now?
Many people refrain from practicing generosity to those outside
their small circle of concern because of the
lack of money with
which to do so. But inexpensive gifts can be handmade for pennies
if we will only stretch our imaginations
and put our hands--and
those of our children--to good use.
Look to nature and to materials right outside your front
door,
free for the asking and the picking: a fresh bouguet of greens--
evergreens, magnolia leaves, and berries, tied
with a gorgeous
silk ribbon--would be cherished by any receiver.
Tiny bird nest ornaments fashioned from spanish
moss, filled with
speckled beans and a silk butterfly, and with a wooden clothespin
glued from underneath, make delightful
gifts for children and
adults alike. (My own tree is filled with them.)
Collect pinecones and make an arrangement
with them. Your
thoughtfulness will be appreciated and it will have cost nothing
more than a walk in the woods.
Homemade
candies or cookies wrapped in inexpensive cellophane
bags look elegant tied with ribbon and make perfect gifts for
virtually
anyone on your list.
Miniature baskets filled with one tiny, simple gift, are perfect
for your children's friends.
Homemade
"snowglobes" make our list every single year: simply
use a baby food or other small jar and fill it with water and a
small
bit of glycerine (found at your local drug store) and
white glitter; add a few plastic toys--Legos, Barbie doll
shoes,
jacks and balls, plastic bugs--and then squeeze a think
line of silicone sealant around the lid before screwing it on
to
prevent leakage.
Homemade glycerine soaps filled with tiny plastic toys are
adorable, and will delight your children
as they spend a few
hours making them for all of their friends.
Consider making homemade wrapping paper or handmade
gift tags. I
buy inexpensive tags at office supply stores by the hundreds.
They cost about a penny apiece. I also use
twine instead of
expensive ribbon. One bolt lasts several years and costs a couple
of dollars.
And mail those
out-of-state gifts early to avoid long lines at
the post office as well as the extra expense of priority mail.
Model
a generous life...at Christmas and throughout the year.
Give faithfully and give cheerfully. You will be blessed
beyond
measure.
Celebrating the Holidays Amidst Winter's Glories
Quote of the Day: "They eat, they
drink, and in communion sweet Quaff immortality and joy." John Milton
From where I sit, three foot snow drifts stare at me from my back
patio. Melting snow drips
from the rooftop, and trees bare of any
sign of yellow, red or gold engulf my home with a surprising
stillness. The
blizzard has ended. Recovery begins.
The storm that blasted the northeast proved too much fun for my
husand and
four kids as they hiked down our driveway, shoveled
under starlight, and enjoyed snow cream by the fire. I missed it
all, being in Lexington, Kentucky over the weekend for a book
signing for ROCKET MOM!
But
I was thrilled to learn that they once again frolicked in
winter's downpour, and threw care to the wind throughout the
long
weekend which found them stranded at home.
Re-create simple winter childhood memories for your own kids:
Build
snowmen of course--and don't forget to inject your own shot
of creativity into their design. Have a good old-fashioned
snowball
fight--as did all the neighbors at the bus stop this
morning. Make snow angels or just lie on your back and gaze at
the
stars. Enjoy snow cream: Dump ice into a large pot, add
evaporated milk, a tiny bit of sugar and a touch of vanilla for
a
delicious--and rare-- winter treat.
Need a great cocoa recipe? Here's my favorite: Mix together 4
cups powdered
nonfat dry milk, 1/2 cup cocoa, 1/2 teaspoon salt,
1 cup sugar, and 1 cup nondairy creamer. Use 1/4 to 1/3 cup for
each
cup of hot water. Stored in an airtight container, it can be
kept for several months. Makes a fabulous Christmas gift!
Don't
forget whipped cream and fresh marshmallows.
Want a super-easy cookie to go along with that cocoa? My long-
time
favorite: Ritz-cracker-peanut-butter-sandwiches dipped in
melted dark chocolate. Semi-sweet chocolate chips melted in an
oven-proof
bowl in the microwave or in a double boiler work
great, too. I use two forks to both dunk the sandwich and to
retrieve
it. Lay them out on waxed paper to dry, shaking a few
festive red and green sprinkles on top while the chocolate is
still
warm. The best...
Quick wrap idea? Put those cookies in a cellophane bag tied with
a holiday bow. Use mailing tubes
from the post office or UPS
store, slap on a mailing label and you're set.
Made your gingerbread houses yet? Don't
despair. Use my shortcut:
Glue graham crackers--using white icing--to the sides of a small
box. Decorate with candies
and let your imagination go wild.
Create a whole village of them. They make an adorable centerpiece
for your dining
room or kitchen table. Use the round cardboard
from your local pizza store as your base, cover with gobs of
white icing,
and add extras such as plastic mini-trees, figure
skaters, reindeer, dogs and cats...go crazy.
Set out bowls of
candy canes and peppermint sticks. Make gumdrop
topiaries. Create a home that sings during the holidays.
Eliminate
Common Time Busters
Quote
of the Day: "Life offers two great gifts: time and the
ability to choose how we spend it. Planning is
a process of
choosing among those many options. If we do not choose to plan, then we choose to have others plan for us."
Richard I. Winwood
Performing redundant tasks, putting your time into ridiculous
activities, and wasting minutes
here and there all add up to
significant amounts of unproductive time over your lifetime.
Consider statistics, recently
reported by time-management
experts, that the average American wastes over his or her
lifetime:
eight months
opening junk mail
seventeen months drinking coffee and soft drinks
two years on the telephone
five years waiting
in line
nine months sitting in traffic
four years cooking and eating
a year and a half grooming
a year and a half
dressing
seven years in bathrooms
twelve years watching TV
three years shopping
one to two years looking for misplaced
objects
24 years sleeping
(1) Aslett, Don. (1996) How To Have a 48-Hour Day. Pocatello: Marsh Creek Press, p. 39.
We
could come up with some pretty fun statistics on how much time
mothers waste doing redundant tasks:
picking up stray
toys
wiping kitchen countertops
scouring the sink
washing the dishes
doing the laundry
folding clothing
putting
the laundry away
cleaning bathrooms
mopping the floor
collecting the garbage
changing diapers
changing crib
sheets
wiping runny noses and dirty bottoms
getting little ones out of car seats
blah blah blah...does the list ever
end?
In order to eliminate common areas of wasted time, you need to be
constantly on the lookout for ways in which
you might use time
more effectively.
A few tips:
Stop watching TV...or severely restrict your tube time.
Allow
yourself to watch the evening news for one hour after the kids
are in bed. Eliminate morning "fluff" TV and afternoon
talk
shows. They are minor on content and major on commercials and
pure nonsense. Unless you're sick in bed or need
to spend the day
on the sofa, give them up.
Keep a lot of irons in the fire. Remember the old saying: "If you
need
something done, ask a busy person to do it." The busy person
is always ready because she has momentum. Doers always have
multiple
irons in the fire, so new projects are always ready to
be tackled when boredom or fatigue sets in with her current
project.
Don Aslett calls it "ship jumping." When enthusiasm wanes, a project gets boring, or we need to put a temporary freeze on
a
project for one reason or another, we jump ship, leave it, and
move on to something else. Working this way, you become
fast,
efficient, motivated, and highly productive.
(2) Ibid., p. 114.
Lastly, think ahead. Moms who "stand ready" always thing ahead to
the next probable scenario. Red traffic
lights are not stops;
they are pauses for reflection about the next intended thing.
Carpool lines are not monotonous
waiting lines; they are times to
write or read or do one's make-up or nails or plot out the next
intended thing. Ditto
for doctor's office waits, grocery line
queues, and gas station fill-ups. Rocket Moms use these as
intentional "mental
moments"--always taking in opportunities for
action, planning the next intended event, organizing the rest of
the day,
or reviewing activities lined up for the kids.
Critically examine the ways in which you spend your time. See if
you
might find yourself surprised to find extra hours in your
day...to take a bubble bath, write a letter, paint a picture,
or
read a great book.
Creative Thinking in the Midst of the Mundane
Quote of the Day: "For a parent, it's hard to recognize the significance
of your work when you're immersed in the mundane details. Few of us, as we run the bath water or spread the peanut butter
on the bread, proclaim proudly, "I'm making my contribution to the future of the planet." But with the exception of global
hunger, few jobs in the world of paychecks and promotions compare in significance to the job of parent." Joyce Maynard
We cannot escape them. The mundane realities of motherhood
present themselves
at every turn.
Upon rising, it's blast off! We're faced with cooking and serving
breakfast, washing resultant dirty
dishes, wiping countertops,
sweeping floors, packing lunchboxes, checking and signing school
papers, and initialing
bus passes or driving carpool.
Barely over, laundry stains rear their ugly heads and our next
campaign of the hour
screams for our attention. Once attacked,
three loads of laundry morph before our eyes to four, stray socks
and underwear
mysteriously jump to the stairs instead of the
hamper.and more washing, more drying, and more folding goes on ad
infinitum.
Grueling
grocery-store queues, bewildering bills, and time-
consuming phone tag continue to fill our mornings.
And all before
9 AM!
Get used to it. The mundane-oftentimes dreadful-realities of
motherhood have been with moms since time began,
and likely will
stay with us for, well, the rest of our lives. There's no sense
despairing, no need to wring your hands,
no time for wishing
them away.
But take heart. There are tricks to conquering the mundane to
keep you from going
completely insane.
First of all, use your time when doing mundane, everyday chores
to think creatively. Mindless,
repetitious motions like ironing,
soaping down dirty dishes, folding t-shirts.things we could do
with our eyes closed
in the middle of a tornado, present perfect
opportunities for us to think of creative solutions to present
day dilemmas.
My hunch is that not many of you take the time out
during the day to just sit in a chair and think; indeed, the idea--
credited
by Nobel Prize-winning physicist Luis Alvarez, who took
a half-hour every day to ponder what he knew and what its
implications
might be--is highly impractical for ROCKET MOMS!
Nevertheless, the idea is pure gold. How can you translate it
into
your everyday reality? Use that time, when you are
performing repetitious tasks, to ponder dilemmas, think through
frustrations,
sort out ill-feelings, and organize your day.
Secondly, use an "Open Road Strategy" to think creatively. Drive
times
with sleeping children-buckled securely in car seats and
nodding off happily to Raffi tunes and Mozart for the Mind-are
great
opportunities to think without distractions. This practice
is endorsed by John Rogers of the University of Illinois, who is
developing microfluidic optical fibers, and needs this time to
think
creatively. Don Arnone, a leader in t-ray technology, also
employs this strategy, calling it "an inadvertent bonus of the
realities
of modern life."
Lastly, use times doing repetitious exercise as your "Physically
Energizing Strategy" to think
creatively. As an avid lap swimmer,
I often get my most creative insights while swimming monotonous
after monotonous
lap. I almost never think about the physical
part of the swim, such as the way I move my arms or the way I
breathe;
I've been swimming so long that the mechanics are second-
nature. Rather, I purpose to use this time to sort out problems,
figure
out solutions to perplexing issues, and mentally test out
different angles to dilemmas. I always emerge feeling both
mentally
and physically refreshed, and that I have moved forward
creatively.
Climbing the Learning Curve
Quote of the Day: "If one is master of one thing and understands one thing
well, one has at the same time insight into and understanding of many things." Vincent van Gogh
I don't know about you, but I tend to be a rather impatient
person.
I want things when I want them, how I want them. And I
expect other people to do things I ask them to do for me when I
ask
them, how I ask them.
It took me awhile to realize that the world doesn't work that
way! Kids get out-of-line.
Projects get off-schedule. Noses get
bent out-of-shape.
Early on in motherhood, I had an overwhelming desire
to get
things right.and quickly at that. To figure babyhood
out...quickly. Get through the mysteries of toddlerhood.very
quickly!
Get through each new stage with an easy grasp. I
wanted to figure things out quickly and brilliantly and achieve
nearly
"instant mastery," even though I hadn't yet put in my
time. I never had any idea of the overwhelming nature of
motherhood,
nor did I allow myself the luxury of adopting the
appropriate insight into just how complex it all was. I never
counted
on climbing a learning curve that went up like a
rocket.that is, nearly straight up for nearly two decades
before it
leveled out a little!
Everyone remains dazzled by the "overnight success" story, the
boy-wonder, or the golden
child who apparently never stumbled
along the way. Consider 21 year-old Andy Roddick, America's
darling and top-seeded tennis player going into the 2004
Australian Open. His rise to the top appears
to be "overnight."
Contrast him to 22 year-old Taylor Dent, whose progress on the
pro tour has been methodical rather
than meteoric. He finished
2003 ranked No. 32 after capturing three titles. Even for a
player pegged for greatness since
his teens-his father, Phil, an
Australian, was a finalist there in 1974, and his mother, Betty
Ann (Grubb) Stuart, was
a top-10 player in the USA-it hasn't
always come easy. Said Dent: "I'd be full of it if I said that I
wish I hadn't
had the early success that Andy did. That's what I
want more than anything. But I'm happy for Andy. For me, I really
needed
this learning curve to understand my game."
(1) Robson, Douglas. "Serve-and-volleyer Dent fitter, playing smarter." USA Today, 2004 January
21; p. 2, http://www.usatoday.com.
Exactly.
And what happened is that his net-game improved. Serve-and-volleyers-Dent's claim to fame-typically mature later. But this
Newport Beach, California resident elevated his game by raising
his
fitness level during the last year-including cutting back
on
junk food-and focusing on what he does best: attack.
(2) Ibid.
U.S. Davis
Cup captain Patrick McEnroe said of Dent: "He's playing
smarter.which makes his attacking game more
effective.he's
playing more judiciously."
(3)
Ibid.
And veteran Todd Martin said: "Dent finally seems to understand how his 6' 2" frame and athleticism are suited to dominate
the net. I think with a lot of young players that's the most important thing to realize, is how you're supposed to play, how
do your talents and skills best fit into the game. Taylor's figured that out."
(4) Ibid., p. 2, 3.
Excusing my analogy to tennis-the only competitive sport I've
ever played-the lesson, though seemingly
simplistic, is critical
in our journey of motherhood. As Todd Martin asked: "How do your
talents and skills best fit
into the game?" As you approach
motherhood's creative challenges on a day-to-day basis, how are
you attacking the "game?"
Are you using your God-given talents
and skills to best suit the way you spend your day? And are you
exploring your
children's talents and skills so that they
flourish in a lifetime of creative abundance? Or are you trying
to imitate
someone else's vision for your own life.or for the
lives of your children?
Recognize that life is filled with
setbacks, struggles, and
strife.and that God's timing doesn't necessarily coincide with
our own. But recognize, too,
that our learning curve is steep.
That there are no overnight successes in motherhood. That getting
a handle on the
scope of the job takes more energy, more
understanding, more strength, more passion.and requires more
sleep!....that
we ever dreamed possible.
And when your kids seem to flounder on their own learning curves,
be patient. As the
kid in front of me at the line in McDonald's
(where I dashed in for a cup of coffee yesterday) fumbled through
his order,
first ordering chicken nuggets, then changing it to a
cheeseburger, forgetting his fries and Coke until after the
change
was given only to re-order for the third time, I laughed
out loud, and thought to myself: "This kid's got a long, steep
learning
curve to climb."
Moving Beyond the Fundamentals
Quote of the Day: "Formal learning can teach you a great deal,
but many of the essential skills in life are the ones you have to develop on your own." Lee Iacocca
I made a frustrating discovery at my painting class this week,
only to make
another startling one an hour or so later. Fairly
new to this class-this was my fourth lesson-it dawned on me that
everyone
had a formula for organizing their palettes. Each
student had a color scheme that he followed very precisely, and
each
one laid out paint onto his palette in exactly the same way.
I didn't make this observation until this particular class,
because
I had never allowed myself the liberty of walking around
the painting loft at the beginning of class before. This class
had
been going on for many years. Everyone knew everyone else,
and Clyde,
our instructor, had known his students for years, too.
They
lunched together after class, joked around during painting
time, and in general, were one big happy family. But I was
intimidated
by them. They were all very New York artsy.
Most were
much older than I, each with ten to twenty years painting
experience. I was the baby of the class. The one
with a dozen or
so paintings under my belt. No one really asked me my name. No
one particularly cared. So when I garnered
enough courage to ask Clyde about this palette technique, he responded that yes, there
was
a precise way, with very precise colors, that one laid out
his palette in preparation to paint.
That's not how I had been taught. Two previous teachers had done
it much differently. My original instructor,
Luisa, is Colombian.
A brilliant painter, she painted with a Latin flair. With
boldness, yet with precision. We students
painted casually,
poolside, with frequent interruptions by Luisa's Colombian
housekeeper, who refreshed us weary painters
with piping hot
espresso at the snap of Luisa's finger. We made up our palettes
by laying paint onto Styrofoam plates,
and we laid out only those
colors that we thought we needed for our painting that day. My
second teacher taught me only
six lessons. She hated the plate
idea, and when I showed up for my first class with a stack of
Styrofoam, she relegated
me automatically to the neophyte bin.
She insisted that I go out and buy a proper palette, and enlist a
glass cutter
to custom-cut a rectangular piece of glass to fit
inside. That was the proper palette---and don't I dare come to
class
without it! And again, we laid paints as needed for our
particular painting of the day.
So by the time I got to
Clyde's class at the famous Silvermine
Art School in New Canaan, with proper
glass-lined palette in
hand,
I was feeling fairly confident. Several canvases tucked
under my arm, my enormous art bin loaded with tubes, brushes,
charcoal, Liquin, turpentine, and the like, I settled in quite
easily. And Clyde had never discussed my palette with me. So on
this
fourth class, I finally asked Clyde about this
palette
thing. He immediately walked over to Alex's easel and brought
back a chart-very official looking-of oil colors
arranged in a
precise order around a rectangle, with no variation and with
exact oil colors spelled out. We were to
lay our colors around a
rectangular palette every week when we arrived, in exactly that
order, regardless of what we
were painting. And he hated the
glass idea. He wanted me to use disposal paper palettes masking-
taped to a tray table.
Hmmm.
A couple hours later, I went to our local
library to look up the
paintings of Wolf Kahn. No luck. But I did read the latest issue
of American Artist magazine,
which had an inspiring article about
John Asaro. I drooled over his work-he has an unusual palette of
glorious, sun-bursting
colors and a fresh, bold stroke-to get to
the bottom of the article and see that he had a very precise
palette, which
the writer spelled out to a fault. It was
different than Clyde's.
Why all this fuss about my art class and palette? Most of you
don't paint
in oils anyway!
The lesson is this: All three of these art instructors were
extremely accomplished. All were prolific
painters. All had
exhibited in shows. And John Asaro has received international
acclaim. But they had all learned the
proper fundamentals. Then
they went on to discover their own technique. Their own style.
Such is motherhood. There
are certain fundamentals that you must
learn. You must learn proper care of a newborn. How to clean out
her ears, suction
her nose, bathe her. There are fundamental
principles of good hygiene that you must not only practice
yourself, but
teach to your children. You must learn the
fundamentals of good nutrition so that you can provide nourishing
meals for
your family. You must learn the fundamental principles
behind aerobic exercise and of strength training, so that you can
be
a model of fitness for your kids as well as help them begin a
lifelong commitment to exercise. You must learn about certain
classical
readings, so that you can help develop your children's
minds. I believe it is fundamentally important that you nurture
your
children's souls by providing them instruction in religion,
and that you guide your children to have faith, reverence,
and
love for God. It is fundamental that you inspire your children
with gorgeous music that transforms their souls and
instills in
them appreciation of the giants who have come before them.
But the techniques with which you do so can
be as varied as there
are moms and kids. For I might instill proper fitness by having
my daughter perform classical
ballet; you might let yours tap
dance on your kitchen floor. I might teach my kids music
appreciation by having them
play classical violin. Yours might
fiddle, or bang on their drum set in your garage.
It's important that we learn
from each other. Through direct
observation, and from reading good articles and books on
creativity and on motherhood,
we can gleam great insights into
how to do our job even better. I learn a lot from my readers, who
send me emails with
priceless stories and anecdotes, whose
perspectives have blessed me and have helped me grow as a mom and as a person. I
would not have learned the "palette lesson" had I
not directly observed other students. If I did not ask questions.
Motherhood
is not a science. It's an art. As you lay down your
colors, make sure you have the right fundamentals. But then
release
them with your own style. Your own technique. Dare to
paint your days with your own fresh, bold stroke.
The Ultimate in Creativity
Quote of the Day: "To
me it seems as if when God conceived the world, that was poetry; he formed it, and that was sculpture; he colored it, and
that was painting; he peopled it with living beings, and that was the grand, divine, etenal drama." Emma Stebbins
One
need look no further than at nature for glorious examples of
creativity. The many species of flowers, their multi-faceted
colors
and designs, their various scents.all prove magnificent
creations and perfect examples of God's handiwork. Look at birds,
as
well. Or at any creature of the air. Their various morning
songs, feather patterns, and nesting habits all reveal design
work
so brilliant that they force even the most casual observer
to consider their Creator.
But spectacular as these
creatures are, and as gloriously
beautiful as are flowers and other things in the natural world,
man was the only creature
in all of God's magnificent handiwork
with whom He intended to have an intimate relationship. As our
Creator, He desires
fellowship with us, his ultimate creations.
When God brought you into being, He intended for you for find out
that
reason for which you were created. You didn't have to have a
place in history. But you do! You were designed to be on this
earth,
at this point in time. God had a wonderful idea in mind
when He created you. He gave you special gifts and abilties. He
arranged
for you to be born in a unique place in time and
history. He arranged your family in a unique and wonderful way.
And
He orchestrated circumstances that would further mold and
shape your character.
When God brought you into being,
He intended for you to make a
unique contribution to the world. Not just to your family, not
just to your community,
but to the world at large. Have you
discovered the special purpose God has planned for you?
You children were
likewise so beautifully and uniquely designed.
And each one of them has a unique life purpose as well. It is one
of
our privileges as mothers to help our children find their life
purpose. At some point in our lives, we each must ask the
question:
"What on earth am I here for?"
Find out what life expects of you and your children by being
intimately acquainted
with them and knowing what their gifts and
talents are so that they can begin making their mark on the
world. If you
know that your child is destined for a life in the
creative arts, then point her in that direction. Invest time and
energy
and money into music lessons or dance lessons, voice
lessons or acting lessons. If your child has the dexterity and
fine
motor skills required for brain surgery, encourage your
child to explore the sciences. Perhaps she will become the
world's
most renowned neurosurgeon. Maybe you notice a socially
gregarious personality in your child, or natural leadership
traits.
Prepare her for situations where she can make others'
lives better with her natural gifts. Careers in sales and
marketing
might really inspire her; or perhaps she will become a
fabulous public speaker, where she can combine her natural
charisma
with a message that will change the world!
Nurture potential! Don't leave the development of their potential
to
chance. Your benchmark in excellent motherhood is not simply
intellectual advancement or creative achievement. You have
the
responsibility of nurturing their hearts and souls so that they
are fully prepared to meet the world head on, offering
along the
way their unique perspective and God-given talents so that all
the world will benefit. Begin this life journey
with your
children today. Commit to looking at them as wonderful children of
God, divinely created and uniquely shaped
for His glory.
Visions of Spring
Quote of the Day:
"Order gave each thing view." William Shakespeare
Looking out my office window at 6 inches of fresh snow, it is
hard for me to imagine the delights of Spring. Daffodils
poking
out of green grass? The scent of hyacinth wafting through my
dining room? Chocolate eggs in sterling candy dishes.
Not
quite yet.
Just back from our Spring Break with a ski vacation in Vermont,
it is impossible for me to imagine anything of the kind.
Vermont
received a wonderful late winter squall, dusting the mountaintops
with
the most gorgeous powder I'd ever seen. It snowed everyday
of our brief stay, providing us with perfect skiing conditions
and
one last winter frolic before the season officially ended.
I realize that Spring is officially here. But before
I can leap
into it wholeheartedly-physically and emotionally-I need to get
my duckies in a row and ceremoniously wind
down out of Winter,
getting all things in order, cleaning out, packing up, and
storing winter wear properly for next
year. Today's Newsletter
will attack the official exit of Winter so that visions of
Spring dance freely in your head.
Clear. Uncluttered. So that
you're ready to face it's pleasures with the energy and optimism
that it deserves.
So
let's take a realistic stock of our homes. How's your home
looking these days? If it looks like it's time for Spring
cleaning,
well.join the club. Mine does, too. Harsh New
England
winters do
heavy duty dirty work on floors, laundry rooms, mud
rooms, and closets. But rather than throw up our hands in fits of
frustration,
let's use the exit of winter as the perfect excuse
to attack our homes with a vengeance. Let's roll up our sleeves
together.
I'm doing this too-all week long!
o Start with bedroom closets. Go item by item through the hanging
clothes and
pull out anything that no longer fits or that you
haven't worn for two years. Lay items in a pile on the bed and
sort
by size. Commit to making a run to your favorite charity or
consignment store by next Monday.
o Wash and dry all
winter coats and snow wear: winter coats and
ski jackets, snow pants, ski socks, hats, gloves, scarves.if they
were
worn heavily this winter, give them a good soak. Sort
accessories into baskets and store 'til next year; hang up coats
and
jackets in your out-of-season closet.
o Look in the under-the-sink storage cabinets in your kitchen and
bathrooms.
Pull out everything and give the surfaces a good swipe
with a strong disinfectant. Put everything back in the most
orderly
fashion imaginable.
o Attack your laundry room. Using a strong disinfectant, wipe
down all the crud that's accumulated
on the inside of your washer
lid. Ditto for the tops of your washer and dryer. Open up those
laundry room cupboards.
Clean out and organize the shelves in a
brilliant fashion. Toss half-used cleaners, dingy rags, and
products you no
longer need or use.
o Sweep the fireplace areas of dust and debris. Organize kindling
and change the fireplace scenery
by removing pinecones and other
signs of winter and replacing them with a decorative fire screen
or a basket of silk
flowers.
o Now walk room by room and examine areas with fresh eyes. Does
your dining room hold vestiges of winter?
My own dining room
table holds trays of pinecones, as does the sideboard in my entry
hall table. By tomorrow, they will
be history. Pinecones will go
into bags and stored on my gardening shelves in the garage tool
room; containers used
for winter's greenery will be cleaned out
and stored away as well.
o Change out your candles. If you replaced white
or ivory
candles with red ones for the Holidays, change them back now.
Many retailers and design catalogs are holding
sales right now
on candles of all sizes, shapes, and colors. Take stock of
your needs, make a list, check it twice,
and buy new candles
as needed.
o Go through stacks of paper, magazines, and catalogs. Tear out
magazine articles
that you intend to refer to later and file
appropriately. Pitch old catalogs and old magazines and store
those you wish
to save vertically on shelves or tucked away in
closed cupboards.
o Ditto for CD's, videos, and DVD's. Are they
all in their proper
boxes and cases? Do that now, while you're in a cleaning frenzy.
o Bookshelves and books in
order? Clean off nightstands and
children's chests where books accumulate. Put them away in their
proper category. Check
all library books and return due books and
pay all fines. While at the library, check out new magazines for
Spring decorating
ideas to help you start visualizing a fresh,
clean, nature-inspired home.
------------------------------------------------------------
You're Almost Done
Now that you can see clearly, and your home is cleared
out, de-
junked, and well-organized, give it a good cleaning.
Disinfecting your kitchen and bathrooms is not only
a healthy
"end of winter" thing to do; it will make you feel better
emotionally. There is, after all, nothing like a
good scrub! Use
lavender water in spray bottles and liberally wash down
countertops with this lovely little scent. Ahhh!
Spring is on
it's way! Peek inside your oven. Does it need a quick clean, too?
Dust and vacuum.or vacuum and dust,
depending on your cleaning
philosophy. But do both.
Mop the floors, using a freshly scented cleaner.
------------------------------------------------------------
Now
Go Treat Yourself
Be it a cup of Joe at Starbuck's, a rich dark chocolate bar (I'm
there), a trip to the
gym for a swim and a steam bath, or a
manicure.allow yourself the dizzying exhilaration of a clean,
sweetly smelling,
organized home-and the accompanying well-
deserved treat after a job well done. Spring cleaning is hard
work, but well
worth the effort. Attacking your living spaces on
a frequent and regular basis is the secret of organizational
success.
It prevents messes from getting completely overwhelming,
and from dust and dirt build-ups from getting past the point of
no
return. Your home and your possessions deserve good
stewardship. Use this end of winter time wisely, and enjoy your
home
with the satisfaction that you are living fully, artfully,
and..with all spaces clean and orderly.
Happy attacking!
Finally. Spring is here!
Quote of the Day: "Spring
in the air! And all things are made new." Richard Hovey
Ahhh! Spring is in the air!
While it certainly
hasn't left much evidence here in New
England-no crocuses popping up, no morning birds waking me up, no T's and capri's
showing up-there are sure signs that Spring has,
indeed, arrived. The snow has melted. New life is on its way!
Spring
celebrates, like no other season, all nature "rising
again." It is the ultimate symbol of resurrection from death.
Many
of the traditional symbols that we accept as mere
association to Spring have roots in the natural cycle of the
earth,
and as such it is helpful to appreciate their significance
when we celebrate Easter.
Baby bunnies, chicks, and birds
all symbolize newly born
creatures and remind us of the new birth in Christ. The pastel
colors of lavender, pink, yellow,
and blue are traditional
colors of springtime, but they also shout forth that "life
springs eternal." Eggs are the quintessential
symbol of new
life: new life hides under a shell until it literally bursts
onto the earth. In the Jewish tradition,
eggs also symbolize a
free-will offering, or of giving more than is demanded. And
even the tradition of a new "Easter
outfit" symbolizes the
putting away of winter and the bringing forth of freshness and
vitality. As Christ burst forth
from the tomb, we too become
"clothed" in newness.
If you finished spring cleaning your home-as I discussed in last
week's
Newsletter-you should be ready to bring Spring's freshness
and vitality into your home as you decorate for the season.
Bring
Nature Inside
Celebrate Spring's glory with fresh flowers. Gather all your
beautiful containers
and load them with tulips, hyacinths,
crocuses, and daffodils. Set them out all around your home. Put
some in the living
room, others in the kitchen, more in the front
hallway, the children's bedrooms.and don't forget the powder room
or
most-used bathroom. They add an exuberant splash of color and
an intoxicating aroma to your everyday world.
Treat yourself to a new wreath or a basket of flowers or your
front door. The minute I put
mine out, my whole house takes on a
different look. Visit your local florist, or check out new
arrivals from Williams-Sonoma
(www.williams-sonoma.com) or Smith & Hawken (smithandhawken.com). Gorgeous wreaths and posies can be found for less than $50. Their freeze-dried flowers used on wreaths not only
look fabulous; they will last for years even
under the harshest of elements. And how about an ivy laced bunny
topiary?
Or pink hydrangeas in a watering can by your side door?
Arrange them yourself, or buy online for wonderful splashes of
Spring
color and whimsy.
Plant flower boxes at your front windows. Have fun experimenting
with different
combinations of flowers and colors that not only
bring you a visual kick, but with varieties that can withstand
the
heat and sunlight that hits your front yard.
Decorate an Easter tree. This year, I used pussy willows,
whose
buds make perfect nooks from which to hang miniature "ornaments."
A dozen stems look fabulous in a tall, sleek
glass vase.
Typically, the kids and I go on a nature walk to find the perfect
branch. We put into a pretty blue-and-white
china container,
cover it up with dirt, and sprinkle in a few rye seeds to grow
real grass. Either way, it looks fresh
and delightful decorated
sparsely with tiny ornaments and with teensy yellow fuzzy chicks
and baskets hung on the delicate
branches. Surrounded by our
family of Easter bunnies, each one named after a family member,
the arrangement makes me
smile every time I walk past it.
Dye eggs with your kids. Children of all ages love dyeing eggs.
Whether
you buy the dyeing kits from your drug store or you use
imaginative painting techniques of your own, be sure to add this
to
your "must-do's" during the Easter season. Plant grass seeds
in your loveliest container and let the kids water every couple
of
days. You should have grass tall enough to hold your dyed
eggs by Easter. If that puts you into a panic, go to your local
health
food store and buy wheatgrass. It will look fabulous in
your container. Or place some wheatgrass inside beautiful china
teacups
and, along with a few sprigs of fresh, delicate flowers,
you will have gorgeous place settings for your Easter brunch.
Add
a tiny white chocolate bunny as a favor for your guests to
take home.
Start planning a neighborhood Easter
egg hunt now. Make up
colorful invitations and let your children hand-deliver then to
all of your neighbors
and friends. Plan a simple brunch menu with
plenty of coffee, tea, and OJ. Let your kids start stuffing
plastic eggs
now, so that by the time your hunt rolls around,
you're all set.
Next week: Details of my family's
Easter Egg Hunt, with
brunch ideas, and treats from the kitchen. As always, it will
be delivered on Monday morning.
Watch for that in your Inbox
on April 5.
Happy decorating!
Celebrations of
Spring
Home all cleaned and freshened
up? Clusters of cheerful flowers lovingly placed around your major living areas? Bunnies and chicks peeking out from kitchen
corners?
While Spring is not yet
evident here in Connecticut, rumor has it that crocuses are popping up south of the Mason-Dixon line; I did, in fact, see
a couple of blue jays the other day. Yes…Spring is here! With Good Friday just four days away and Easter six, it’s
time to make final preparations so that the joy of the season is fully evident in your families and in your homes.
If you haven’t yet
dyed eggs, be sure to indulge in this wonderful tradition before the week is over. Set out your prettiest basket or bowl and
load up with real grass (did you plant a few rye grass seeds last week?) and arrange your dyed eggs for your children’s
enjoyment. Add a silk butterfly or favorite chick or bunny for a delightful centerpiece.
Indulge in chocolates
during this week’s shopping, making a special excursion for pink and yellow marshmallow chicks, crème-filled and malted
speckled eggs, and oodles of brightly colored jelly beans. Have fun picking out
the prettiest chocolate—or white chocolate—bunnies you can find…one for each child and a few extra for special
friends. Looking for dark chocolate? Fret not. Dove makes wonderful little eggs just for you.
Hopefully you’ve
started a collection of baskets, and choosing just the right one for each child may have become a tradition unto itself. Heaven
forbid I would mix up the baskets in our household. They were assigned in toddlerhood and will likely follow each child into
old age.
Start a tradition of hiding
the baskets the night before Easter or early on Easter morning. In our home, the hunt for the baskets is the first event of
Easter morning. And as my kids have gotten older, the hunt has become an impossibly frustrating event. My kids scavenge until
almost the “I’ve-given-up-point.” It is, after all, no fun getting completely discouraged before one has
had her morning orange juice. So when I sense that one of my kids just can’t figure it out, I begin to offer clues,
holding out for that last “Ah-haa” that still brings me such pleasure.
Bake a few Easter treats
with the kids this week to create happy Springtime memories. Special Easter cakes, cupcakes, and cookies go a long way to
brightening up the family atmosphere. We make our favorite Christmas cookie, changing it slightly to evoke the freshness of
Spring. Again, it’s just a Ritz cracker peanut-butter sandwich dunked in
chocolate. At Easter, we buy white chocolate melts already colored in Springtime pastels: pink, yellow, blue, and lavender.
With a few colorful sprinkles on top, they become “happy sweets” that still put smiles on my kids’ faces.
And working on them together ensures great bonding time as well as permanent memories of a happy childhood. Arranged in little
Easter tins, they make sweet gifts for friends and family. Or put them into cellophane bags and tie with a bright green or
hot pink bow.
Last but not least, if
you are planning a neighborhood Easter egg hunt, be sure to let the adults in on the fun, too. Help the hostess stuff a few
dozen plastic eggs, and bring a few goodies yourself. Typically, we do a Saturday morning hunt, with OJ, coffee, cupcakes,
breakfast cakes, and egg casseroles. This year, I was surprised by my new neighbors with their own “block party”
tradition; the hunt is held at a house down the street on a late afternoon mid-week, just before the Seder dinner. So my favorite
brunch recipes just won’t do. Instead of hosting a large hunt and brunch, I’ll be cooking Easter dinner at our
new home this year. Nonetheless, I want to pass along a few of my favorites recipes for both brunch and dinner.
Wishing you all the blessings
of Easter!
Favorite Easter
Brunch after “The Hunt”:
Breakfast Strata
Cheese Grits
Sour Cream Streusel Coffee
Cake
OJ
Coffee
Overnight Breakfast
Strata (from Creating a Stir Cookbook)
Yield: 8-12 servings
Prepared the night
before, it frees you up to enjoy your guests.
2 pounds mild pork sausage
9 large eggs
3 cups milk
2 teaspoons dry mustard
2 teaspoons salt
3 white bread slices,
cut into ¼” cubes
3 cups (12 oz) shredded
cheddar cheese
Brown sausage in a skillet
over medium heat, stirring until it crumbles and is no longer pink. Drain.
Whisk together eggs, milk,
mustard, and salt; stir in sausage, bread cubes, and cheese.
Pour mixture into a greased
9 x 13 x 2” baking dish. Cover and chill overnight.
Bake at 350 F. for 1 hour
or until golden.
A Traditional
Easter Feast
Baked Ham
Pineapple Bake
Glazed Carrots
Biscuits
Cheesecake
Best
Pineapple Bake (from The Silver Palate Good Times Cookbook) Yield:
6 servings
A very moist and delicious
bread pudding—perfect with Easter ham.
8 thick slices day-old
bread, cut into 1” cubes
2 cups drained crushed unsweetened pineapple
½ cup (1 stick) unsalted
butter, melted
¾ cup packed brown sugar
4 eggs, beaten
Preheat oven to 350 F.
Grease a 1 ½-quart baking dish.
Combine the bread and
the pineapple and place in the prepared baking dish.
Mix the butter, sugar,
and eggs and pour over the bread mixture.
Bake until puffed and
golden, about 40 minutes. Serve immediately.
Little Victories
Quote of the Day: "Our noisy years seem moments in
the being of the eternal silence." William Wordsworth
Early every morning,
years ago in Lexington, Kentucky, I worked out at the "Y," first riding a stationary bike and then enjoying
a vigorous
hour-long swim. Morning after morning, the same folks
exercised together, all of us getting in our workouts before our
workdays
began. One gentleman rode the bike more furiously than
anyone I had ever seen. He was a rather stocky guy, with enormous
leg
muscles-certainly from all that biking-and through the
grunting and heavy breathing, with sweat rolling off his forehead
in
almost disgustingly heavy amounts, he always managed a quick
"Good morning, how are ya?" when any one of us walked into
the
room. None of us in the group ever really engaged in heavy
conversation; I stayed focused on my little routine,
others on
theirs. But a quick nod to acknowledge everyone's presence was
always given as a polite morning wake-up.
I
overheard this hard-riding-cyclist casually mention to one of
the others in our group that he had been having stomach aches,
particularly
in the middle of the night. It was suggested that he
have that checked out. Several weeks later I saw this cyclist
friend
of mine in the waiting room of the hospital. I was there
for reasons long forgotten; he was having some tests done for
his
stomach problems.
He still came to the gym, but his energy for cycling had clearly
dropped a notch. Turned
out he had stomach cancer. His diagnosis
put him with just a few months left to live.
Towards the end of that
time-with pain now etched on his face and
with his stockiness a thing of the past-he came and spoke to our
Sunday School
class at the invitation of another class member
unbeknownst to me. It was difficult to sit there and watch this
once
vigorous athlete surrender to his devastating illness. Yet
he left us with a powerful life message: celebrate the little
victories.
He
told us that for the first time in his life, he came to
celebrate the nightly sunsets. That each one was a little
victory
for him. Each sunset signaled yet one more day that he
had survived.
That message has stayed with me this half
-dozen years since I
last saw him. He passed away a couple weeks after that talk.
Fortunately, I had been able to talk
with him briefly that
Sunday, to let him know just how deeply his life message had
impacted me. If I had been the only
one who had been touched
by it, I believe he would have thought that sharing it had
been worth it.
In motherhood,
especially, we get caught up so frequently-and so
miserably-in the mundane responsibilities of our job that we fail
to
recognize the small, simple things as little victories. I have
come to view simple everyday acts as little victories. When
my
children make their beds, I view that as a little victory. For
after years of role-modeling the morning discipline
of tidying up
rooms and making beds before coming down stairs for breakfast, it
is a little victory when they do this
on their own. Without any
prompting from me. It is a little victory when my kids eat a
messy snack and clean up the
kitchen without having been
reminded. It is a little victory when one chooses to curl up in
his favorite chair and read
a great book. A little victory when
she writes a letter to a friend, or instant messages someone she
hasn't heard from
in awhile. It's a little victory when an adult
calls me to tell me that my child used good manners. Or did
something
kind that I might otherwise have never heard about.
It is a little victory when a child has learned to put vowels
and
consonants together and to recognize that as a word; when
she can put up her fingers and tell us that those have numbers;
and
when underwear with cartoon-characters replaces pull-ups.
It is a little victory when teenage drivers pull into the
driveway
at curfew; when they confess to dishonesty and
rebelliousness; and when they replace selfish behavior with
selfless
acts of kindness.
It is a little victory for me when I hold my tongue; when I get
through my daily chores without
whining; and when I chauffeur my
kids through rush-hour traffic cheerfully. It is a little victory
for me when I finish
a painting; when I entertain friends; and
when I remember someone's birthday.
We celebrated the largest victory
in the history of the world
yesterday at Easter. Nothing could ever compare to the victory of
Christ rising from the
tomb. In motherhood, we hardly ever get
the privilege of participating in large victories. We need to
accept the reality
that progress doesn't usually come in huge
leaps and bounds. With loud bolts of thunder and lightning. It
comes-almost
always-in little victories.
Celebrate them.
A Mom Grows Up
Quote of the Day: "Love is that condition in which
the happiness of another person is essential to your own." Robert A. Heinlein
Our harsh winter appears to have left us for good-at least until
November-and the veritable heat
wave we're experiencing now has
left us with a supreme case of Spring Fever. Folks are outside
gardening, children are
scootering, and shoppers are-once
again-strolling throughout downtown.
And Little League has officially begun.
We
are brand new to Little League, my husband and I. We've got
the soccer thing down pat, and the basketball, lacrosse, and
tennis
thing, too. But none of our kids have ever played
baseball. My oldest expressed interest some ten years ago-and
actually
played a season's worth of T-ball-but having never been
one to enjoy sitting on hot bleachers while pregnant-as seemed
to
be the case every other Spring-we never particularly encouraged
the sport. But funny how mellow one becomes with
the fourth kid.
Call it him needing to discover a sport tackled by no older
sibling, call it him trying to carve a unique
niche in the
family. or call it late fortysomething parents who are letting
the fourth kid practically raise himself:
we have become Little
League parents now whether we like it or not.
And what a glorious celebration of the sport
we had this weekend!
With temperatures soaring into the 60's, blue skies, and none of
the rain we've endured all week,
several hundred moms and dads
arrived at our high school stadium early on Saturday morning to
experience Little League's
"Opening Ceremonies." Kids met their
coaches and team managers on the parking lot ramp to assemble
into teams; parents
made their way into the stadium, finding
shaded bleachers to enjoy quick chats with neighbors and friends,
their early
morning Starbucks and-if they were lucky-a brief read
of one section of The New York Times.
In true New
England small-town style, we
rose for an invocation
led by a local minister, patriotically recited the Pledge of
Allegiance, and stood awestruck
as a Little League mom sang one
of the most magnificent renditions of the National anthem I'd
ever heard. All in the
name of America's favorite pastime.
Teams paraded onto the field,
one by one, with coaches' and
managers' names announced via megaphone, kids waving to moms and
dads in the stands, and
parents cheering wildly for their hometown-business-sponsored-
kid's team.
But if the kids were cute at the
kick-off, they were utterly
adorable at their games. These little boys, unable to run
upstairs at bedtime, ran quickly
and aggressively from base to
base as if their little lives depended on it. These same boys,
who couldn't run a comb
through their hair in preparation for
church on Sundays, had their heads all figured out with perfectly
situated caps,
proudly worn, as if a badge of American honor.
Some of the boys, having played for a couple years, handled the
ball
with finesse well beyond what one would expect from 8-year-
olds. Batters hit home-runs, mid-fielders-with mitts facing
skyward-caught
well-hit balls, and little boys, barely able to
recite their times tables, recited the number of runs by each
team perfectly.
It
was with middle-aged wisdom that I watched dads shouting out
commands to their sons. "Thumbs up!" or "Steal to third!"
screamed
the guys next to me. Still trying to get a baseball head
on my shoulders, I would only humiliate myself confessing to you
my
lack of knowledge of the game. Don't get me wrong: when Victor
batted a great ground ball, I screamed like every other
mom:
"Run.run!" But as an older-O.K., perhaps the oldest-parent in the
stands, I brought not knowledge or experience
to the game. That I
certainly didn't possess. I brought to this fourth child of
mine's game the ability-finally-to sit
and revel in his enjoyment
in playing a sport. In learning something new. With no
preconceived notions of how well he
should perform. Or how he
stacked up to other kids his own age. Of how coordinated or
uncoordinated he was. Or of if
he'd ever be able to get into
college on this.
I brought to this game the quiet resignation that this was going
to
be my life for possibly the next ten Springs. But I also
brought to those bleachers joy previously encumbered by baby's
nursing
schedules and toddler's nap schedules. Joy that never
fully blossomed with my other kids because I was too busy for it.
This
weekend I was able to see it exactly for what it was. And
allow it to take hold of me. Exactly how it was supposed to.
I
brought to my other kids' sporting events exhaustion,
frustration, and apprehension. But for this fourth and youngest,
I
was able to bring pure unadulterated delight. And that, for me,
is growth.
Happy spectating!
Be Wary of Misplaced Passion
Quote of the Day: "Before every action, ask yourself:
Will this bring more monkeys on my back? Will the result of my action be a blessing or a heavy burden?" AlfredA. Montapert
It’s that time of year again. Plans are underway for end-of-year recitals, end-of-year concerts,
and end-of-year teacher appreciation brunches. I’m in the midst of them, getting ready for violin book graduations,
three orchestra concerts, and a middle school graduation. The high school has already phoned asking for my contribution to
Teacher Appreciation Day.
These are exciting times, but unfortunately they can also be times of unnecessary stress. One reason:
misplaced passion.
One of the things brought to my attention over and over again in my ROCKET
MOM! seminars is the misplaced passion amongst some very well-intentioned moms. Many of us made the decision to jump off
the career track onto the mommy track in an effort to bring some level of sanity to our home lives. And indeed, there is a
huge shift in the family paradigm occurring before our eyes. As early as 1994, the “experts” noticed significant
changes. James Dobson called it when he said: “Large numbers of women are leaving the workplace and making the sacrifices
required to stay home while their children are young. “ Barron’s called it in their March 21, 1994 cover story a
"demographic sea change.” And noted trend analyst and author Faith Popcorn called it when she identified this as a “huge
trend.” (1) Economist Howard Hayghe called it in 2000 when he reviewed
the drop off in working married mothers with a child less than one year old from 59% in 1997 to 53% in 2000, and proclaimed
the shift “huge.” (2) Lisa Belkin called it in her October 1, 2003 New York
Times Magazine feature story: “The Opt-Out Revolution.” And Time Magazine called it in their March
22 cover story: “The Case for Staying Home.”
Bright, highly educated women are consciously jumping off the career track. 1
in 3 women with M.B.A.’s are not working full-time. (3) Of Harvard Business
School’s women graduates of ’81, ’85, and ’91—women currently in the fortysomething
crowd—only 38% are working full-time. (4) 26% of women at "the cusp of the most senior levels of management" do not
want that next promotion. (5) And 51% of GenX moms are home full-time, most who –after first-hand observation
of the personal sacrifices made by their own moms in the family-work-balance-equation—decided that the sacrifices were
just not worth it. (6)
Much of the passion previously reserved for corporate life is being re-directed into home life.
The “brain drain” on the American economy is cycling itself into the American home. I am included in those statistics,
having made a similar choice. But I am not interested in pursuing the unfortunate dichotomy of the typical “working-versus-stay-at-home-mom-debate.”
That’s not my point.
It’s this: many of today’s women who have previously poured their passion into their
careers are now looking for outlets in which to re-direct it. In most cases, this passion is being invested with energetic
doses into the health and well-being of children and families. And that should be applauded of course.
But in a number of cases—which, unfortunately, are always painfully obvious due to the frustration
and downright pain inflicted onto those of us in whom it has been misplaced—women are directing their passion into arenas
which have no long-term impact on the health or well-being of the child, no long-term impact on the health or well-being of
the family, and no long-term impact on the health or well-being of the community at large.
Let me give you some examples:
- a kindergarten class is having
an end-of-year party and the room mom calls all the other moms asking for goodies. One of the moms says she’ll be glad
to bring sandwiches; the room mom replies that they must be a certain type, cut into fourths and individually wrapped and
delivered by x-date and time. The volunteer mom states that she can’t do quite that and cheerfully offers to bring something
else; the room mom blows her completely off.
- the room mom asks for sweets for
the end-of-year party; a mom volunteers to bake and bring brownies (with Ghirdadelli chocolate no less!) and the room mom
tells her that she is not accepting brownies…only home-baked cookies. The contribution is denied.
- another room mom tells all volunteers
that if they bring cookies they have to be sprinkled with the school colors or they will not be accepted.
- another mom hosting an end-of-year
middle school reception tells a volunteer contributing mom that the two large bouquets of flowers brought in for the reception
(purchased from a local florist) aren’t good enough, and slams the mom—in the presence of other moms—for
her effort.
I’m not making these stories up. The flower incident happened to me just last week. Others
were shared by disheartened moms in my seminars; many more could be listed. I
know you are nodding your head…because every single time I do a seminar, this issue comes up…and every single
mom in the room is nodding her head!
This is nothing less than misplaced passion. With some ego thrown in for good measure. These unfortunate
moms have lots of energy which they need to use up…but it is mis-directed. Just because one thrived with superb organizational
skills in the corporate world does not necessarily mean she will thrive in the naturally chaotic world of families and home
life. And managing those working for her on the business organizational chart is an entirely different task than organizing
volunteer efforts by the willing and able hands of fellow moms frantically attempting to get through the frustrations of their
24/7 job.
As the end-of-school-year approaches and you are asked to lead a volunteer effort—or to just
have one small part in one—please check to see that your passions are appropriately directed. If you are asked to lead
an event which requires that you posses the “gift of hospitality,” please do not volunteer to head it up if you
have the “gift of Attila the Hun”—even if you have the organizational skills of a Fortune 500 CEO. Hosting
events requires someone with a pleasant spirit, rather than a competitive or mean-spirited attitude. Before volunteering for
anything, make it your firm rule to run it against your life message and your life passions. Is there a natural fit? Or are
you volunteering for something because you feel a sense of obligation? Is there
any selfish pride or ego going on here? Are you fearful that the efforts of others might reflect unfavorably on you? Does your effort make you tense and highly irritable? If so, you are probably not
serving in an area which matches your natural giftedness.
Please be painfully aware that the moms whom you are asking to contribute are undoubtedly sleep-deprived,
toddler-fatigued, or carpooled-out. Giving must always be from the heart. Giving should always be done cheerfully and generously.
It should never be forced. Be sure that your level of involvement matches your level of passion. If baking cookies for your
child’s school doesn’t float your boat, don’t feel guilty about it; volunteer your gifts in a more appropriate
way. If organizing luncheons isn’t your cup of tea, don’t waste another minute thinking about it! Politely decline
and offer to serve in another area.
If you have not yet determined your life purpose and your life message, then you have some discernment
to do in the days and weeks ahead. Consciously begin thinking about what you were put on this earth to do. Start figuring
out where your natural gifts are, and areas where you can best serve others.
And keep a healthy perspective. Keep a cheerful attitude. Most importantly, keep those eyes focused
upward. It’ll help you put your passions in exactly the right place for service.
Onward and upward!
NOTES:
(1) Jones,
Rachel, “Some working mothers finding they enjoy return to home track.” Lexington
Herald Leader, May 10, 1996,
p. 3.
(2) Wallis,
Claudia, “The Case for Staying Home.” TIME, March 22, 2004, p. 53.
(3) Ibid.
(4) Belkin,
Lisa, “The Opt-Out Revolution.” New York Times Magazine, October 26, 2003, http://nytimes.com, p. 3.
(5) Ibid.,
p. 4.
(6) Wallis,
p. 54.
Making a Mother's Day Memory
Quote of the Day: "Of all the rights of women, the
greatest is to be a mother." Lin Yutang
When Anna Jarvis stood at her mother’s gravesite nearly one hundred years ago, she vowed
to establish a day to honor not only the mother in her own life—but to honor mothers everywhere. The activism she observed firsthand in her mother’s fight to improve the living conditions of those
battling poverty motivated her to carry on an activist project of her own: celebrating mothers who had come before her, mothers
in her own lifetime, and mothers whose times had not yet come.
The
tradition of giving white carnations to mothers was started just a couple years later, and within nine years—with the
U.S. Congress passing a joint resolution—Mother’s Day was officially established to celebrate a woman’s
role in the family.
The holiday was never to have been made into a commercial brouhaha. Indeed,
Anna Jarvis would be rolling over in her grave with the success of Hallmark’s Mother’s Day revenues alone. For
she desired that the day be celebrated with sentiment rather than with profit; that flowers and hand-written notes of appreciation
be given away.
So just how can we celebrate Mother’s Day as a holiday with
those we love—and yet honor the wishes of its founder? How can we encourage others to express loving sentiments
to us—rather than encourage them to purchase loving sentiments? And where does chocolate fit into the Mother’s
Day equation for crying out loud?!?
Get started:
Encourage handmade. I have saved every one
of the handmade cards my children have ever made me. Cute as they are upon presentation, they are downright priceless a decade
later. Call me a sentimental schmuck: the same hand that wrote my first Mother’s Day card is now
filling out college applications. Don’t ever let your kids buy commercial Mother’s Day cards. Make sure they know
where the stamps, ink pads, stickers, glitter (I know I know), glue, colored markers, art pencils, and blank stationery are
stored in your home. And encourage their creativity.
Encourage home baked. There is, after all, nothing quite like breakfast in bed. Especially
on Mother’s Day. It reads: “I adore you, my love. Stay in bed awhile. Relax. You’ve worked so hard.”
Or something like that. You get the idea. Encourage your entourage to treat you me baked coffeecake, cinnamon
rolls, biscuits, or buttered toast; they’ll be special because your hubby and children made them just for you. Even
if they whacked the can against the kitchen counter to produce those little tasties, go with it and relish the moment.
Encourage home cooked. But only if he can do
it. I mean, seriously, if the guy can’t boil water, don’t expect him to produce a gourmet six-course dinner. Much
better to go to your local diner. But if he becomes inspired to cook for you—as
mine did only once in twenty-two years—then go for it. Relax on your favorite upholstered chair and let him go crazy
in your kitchen, if just for a day.
Encourage hand picked. Ok. It’s a stretch. But expensive roses are not for everybody,
you know. While a bouquet of hand-picked wild flowers may or may not cut it for
me, a bunch of daffodils would. As would a single lovely hyacinth. If the scent
of spring flowers wafting through your home arouses your aesthetic sensibilities, then tell hubby that this year, you’d prefer sprouted bulbs.
Get brilliant:
For those of us too addicted to our society’s conceived notions
of the proper care and feeding of mother on Mother’s Day, here are a few more options.
Go fancy. Leave the kids at home and let hubby treat his queen to the most exquisite restaurant
he can afford. Mother’s Day comes but once a year, after all. Get gussied
up, dressed up, and psyched up for a night out on the town. Splurge big-time. No holds barred.
It’ll fill your tank for months.
Go custom. Encourage hubby to treat
you to something that you really really want. Granted, the elm wood Venetian
easel with a lovely oil finish that I’ve asked for might not turn you on, but it is what I really really want
for Mother’s Day this year. My oil paintings have taken over our major
living areas and I need another easel. But the survey would say: you could probably care less for that. What do you dearly
desire? Put a bug in hubby’s ear and encourage him to surprise you on Mother’s Day. A spring outfit? Cute handbag?
New perfume? Pedicure? It’s easy. Just let your kids figure it out and they’ll pass it on to the wallet-holder
in no time.
Go chocolate. It’s always the answer. I don’t care what the question is. The predilection
for chocolate is nearly universally human—as proven by at least seventeen university studies—and carries back,
by some estimates, to more than 75,000 years. Early explorers in South America used it as currency and sold it in solid bars.
My favorite is as bitter and dark as you’ll ever find, with 85% cocoa. Yours might be sweet milk chocolate. Indulge. But be careful. You don’t want to die from chocolate-induced coma on Mother’s Day.
Go easy. Most of all, you need a break on Mother’s Day. Put your feet up. Get comfortable. Relax with a book. Or a magazine.
Allow yourself the dizzying liberation of being downright lazy for just one day.
Most
importantly, love the ones you’re with. My guess is they are the very ones who made you a mommy in the first place.
Happy,
happy Mother’s Day!
The Cost of Beauty
Quote of the Day: "For attractive lips, speak words of
kindness. For lovely eyes, seek out the good in people. For a slim figure, share your food with the hungry. For beautiful
hair, let a child run his/her fingers through it once a day. For poise, walk with the knowledge that you never walk alone.
People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; never throw out anyone. Remember,
if you ever need a helping hand, you will find one at the end of each of your arms. As you grow older, you will discover that
you have two hands; one for helping yourself, and the other for helping others." Audrey Hepburn
When you wear your hair short—as I do—you’re well aware of the exact day you need to get it
cut. It’s the day when you wake up and it lays flat on top of your head. When your usual tricks don’t work. When
extra root lifter or mousse or control gel have all lost their power.
Friday was my day. But I couldn’t get to my salon at the mall, so I knew that Saturday would
be haircut day whether I liked it or not. My twelve-year-old daughter had slept over at a friend’s house the night before;
I got the brilliant idea to take her and a fellow sleepover buddy with me. She needed to be picked up anyway, so I had to
be out and about early. And it was one Saturday when we had little schedule conflicts: just a couple of sporting events easily
handled by my hubby. “You do the girls; I’ll do the boys,” he ordered.
Got it.
Being mall professionals, these two girls, I knew I had to take official control of the day, lest
they seize it and become the boss of me. So on the drive over, I clearly laid
out the plan: we would first check on the availability of my hair lady, and then we’d map out the mall. Lunch. Ice cream. Whatever. I go to one of those
“no appointment necessary” haircut places. You know: the kind where you just walk in and get the next available
hairdresser. My friends think I’m nuts. But at $14 a haircut, you can’t beat it with a stick. I always ask for
the same cutter…and I always get her. She knows my hair as well as any of my fussier friends’ hairdressers know
their clients’. I also color my hair with stuff from the drugstore; it costs about $6 a month. Contrast that with the $50-80 haircuts around here—not to mention the upwards of $200 ones in NYC—plus
those $100 coloring-highlighting-streaking jobs…and, excuse me, but who are the nutty ones?
Cedia, my Brazilian cutter, couldn’t see me for forty-five minutes, so it was off to the
food court for lunch. It was uneventful; I ordered my usual blackened chicken strips with sautéed green beans; the girls ordered
pizza and donuts. I started doing the carb count on that one and got too whigged-out to add it all up. Then it was on to our
master-mall-game-plan, with a divide-and-conquer scheme befitting an organizational guru and two faithful apprentices. The
girls would quickly scatter to their favorite shops while I got a haircut, and we’d meet at the Lancome counter at Macy’s
one hour later.
My haircut went as usual: Cedia did her thing, we small-talked, and fifteen minutes later I was
outathere. I got the hankering to splurge on some new lotions and potions, so I headed for the shop famous in malls across
America for such things.
It was “beauty day” after all, what with me just having had a haircut and feeling perky and well-groomed. A new
organic line had been introduced, and everything looked and smelled wonderful. New salts for the face, new anti-age wrinkle
oils, and new firming-up-the-butt creams all containing olive oil, ginger, rosemary, mint, fig, or vanilla. Who could resist? But the maze was complicated. Did I want to go with the all-fig thing…or was I
more mesmerized with the ad claiming that ginger had been used for its medicinal and beauty agents for centuries? Or should
I let the fresh scent of rosemary and mint filtrate my master bath? And would those salts clog my shower drain, as they did
in our Miami home, costing me $150 in plumbing bills to snake them out?
Just when I gathered up a handful into a basket, I looked at my watch and realized that I needed
to meet the girls. Dumping them out, it was down to the other end of the mall, where I quickly found the Lancome lady at Macy’s
who was very eager to sell me a “ready glow” line for summer. “C’mon,
it’s only $50,” the girls pleaded as they met me there with a quick “Sorry we’re a little late; we
got stuck at Abercrombie.” I passed, with a “Let’s ride the elevator upstairs and see what’s on sale.”
They happily agreed and wandered around looking at bikinis while I scoured the clearance rack at the Ralph Lauren corner.
We left the mall with nothing but my haircut and three full tummies. Call it “I wasn’t
in the mood to buy.” Or call it mid-life sensibility. As we walked upstairs
towards the parking lot, both girls giggling mightily as they clunked their sandals down onto the steps in perfect unison,
I did some mental gymnastics on our short-lived shopping experience: lotions and potions almost purchased but put back on
the shelves due to time constraints saved me at least $80; bikinis almost purchased by the girls that never materialized because
their MasterCard holder was at the other end of the store saved me another $72; and a fabulous spring top that I “had
to have” never made it out of the store because they didn’t have it in my size, saving me another $40. And, oh yeah…I passed on that $50 “instant tan.” Did I mention all that money saved on
my cheap haircut?
Call it “I have four kids to put through college.” Or “We have summer vacation
to think about.” Or “I need to buy some shrubs for the yard.” And
“Ben’s room still doesn’t have blinds on the windows.”
Or call it much, much more. Call it visiting indigenous tribes 200 miles from the outskirts of
civilization in Panama in need of textbooks and language instructors—not to mention shoes, clothing, or clean drinking
water. Call it listening to the challenges of friends seeking adoption in China—and of the needs there that make
any of my personal financial challenges pale by comparison. Call it a commitment to tithe so that others might live more fully,
and scaling back our lifestyle to ensure just that.
It’s not a lecture on living a “sackcloth and ashes” existence. It’s not
denying good hygiene and a fashionable, up-to-date wardrobe. Hardly. That stuff adds color to life. It’s about finding
balance in this culture that continually seeks to convince us that we need more, more, and even more to be satisfied. It’s
a lesson, learned over this past decade and verified yesterday by hanging out at the mall with two happy-go-lucky pre-teens
who were just happy to be together, that the cost of beauty has less to do with product than it does with spirit. For beauty doesn’t exist in expensive haircuts and color jobs, or in the youth dew in the bottle,
or in the outfit hanging on the mannequin in the shop window. Beauty exists in a heart grown old enough to know when she has
everything one needs and then more. When she would rather see kids buoyed up with laughter rather than burdened down with
shopping bags. When she can leave the mall without more stuff to hang into her closet and line up on her bathroom shelf. Beauty
has more to do with going without so that others may go with. Beauty might just mean being happy with clean skin, clear eyes,
and freshly shampooed, efficiently cut and styled hair. Simple things. Without a lot of the other stuff.
Because the cost of beauty can never be measured by the price of stuff anyway.
Growing in My Garden
Quote of the Day: "If seeds in the black earth can
turn into such beautiful roses, what might not the heart of man become in its long journey toward the stars?" G.K. Chesterton
I woke up today with achy muscles and hamstrings that felt
stretched to the max. Too much time
at the gym? Too many miles
on my bike?
Nope. Just lots and lots of gardening.
This week I joined
hundreds of others who, pulled by Spring
Fever, sunshine, and fresh air, flocked to nurseries and garden
centers in
search of the perfect annuals, shrubs, planters, and
garden ornaments. And boy oh boy, did we find them. We came in
droves,
fellow gardeners and I, driving way too many miles in
this gasoline-crisis-environment of ours, looking for the best
prices,
the best selection, and the best accessories.
And you know what I mean by garden accessories, right? It's a
business
reaction as befitting this gardening frenzy as hot dog
buns are to hot dogs. And we're not just talking planters,
birdhouses,
and birdbaths anymore, either. We're talking benches,
arches, baker's racks, shutters, statues, sundials.with bunnies
and
roosters in all shapes and sizes to boot. Do you want those
in bronze, black or antique white? Distressed? Shiny? Whatever
your
fancy, they're yours for the buying.
And buying them we are. What with cocooning becoming the "in"
lifestyle
of the 90's, it's no wonder that we've attacked our
yards with passion. And our wallets. Americans spend just under
$40
billion-yes, that's a "b"-on lawn care annually, according to
the National Gardening Association. And the annual rate of
growth
in the industry has been at 8% for the last five years. In fact,
eight out of ten households in the U.S. actively
participate in
indoor and outdoor lawn and garden activities of the do-it-
yourself nature in one way or another, a
degree equal to the
highest level of participation in the last five years. Sales of
bulbs to consumers have nearly doubled
within the past five
years, too. And retail sales of floral products come in around
$13 billion.
We can hardly
help ourselves. Researcher Mike Steven established
in a research project in Australia entitled "The Congruent
Garden:
An Investigation into the Role of the Domestic Garden in
Satisfying Fundamental Human Needs," that gardens have the
potential
to satisfy nine basic human needs, including, in
addition to subsistence, affection and creation, which resonate
most
closely with my own experience there.*
Gardening allows me to forget the troubles of my everyday world
and become
immersed into creating something of beauty. Gardening
allows me, as I mindlessly pull weeds, arrange potting soil into
containers,
and pat dirt gently around freshly planted flowers,
to sift my thoughts through a filter energized by sunshine and
fresh
air. It gives me the freedom to enjoy the wild songs of the
birds, the bubbling of the brook....and the humming of the
lawnmower
of a neighbor I hadn't previously recognized.
Gardening forces me out of my comfort zone behind the computer
screen
at which I stare seven days a week, and into the world of
perennials and annuals, the names, sunlight requirements, and
bloom
cycles which continue to escape my memory. It forces me to
get my hands and fingernails dirty (I hate wearing gloves) and
celebrate
the tactile pleasure of running damp soil through my
palms and pressing it into the earth. Gardening stretches me. It
helps
to illuminate my innermost thoughts. It forces me out of
the cerebral nature of the work that I do, and pushes me into
the
physical nature of work in which I feel so incompetent.
As we celebrate Spring....and fight the Fever together...engage
in
work of your hands by working the earth beneath your feet.
Allow yourself to become intoxicated by the beauty and aroma
of
flowers. For as it was so aptly said in the TV show A Gardener's
Dairy: "What grows in the garden, so lovely and
rare? Roses and
Dahlias and people grow there." Yes. People grow in gardens.
Robert Ingersolll wrote: "Every flower
about a house certifies to
the refinement of somebody. Every vine climbing and blossoming
tells of love and joy."
And
growing in love and joy is, after all, what growing in one's
garden is all about.
*Note: Mike Steven, Lecturer
in Landscape Studies, University of
Westen Sydney, Australia
------------------------------------------------------------
"He
who is born with a silver spoon in his mouth is generally
considered a fortunate person, but his good fortune is small
compared
to that of the happy mortal who enters this world with a
passion for flowers in his soul." Celia Thaxter
A Day to Remember
Quote
of the Day: "All that is necessary for evil to triumph is that good men do nothing." Edmund Burke
The kids will eat burgers
and hot dogs. The adults will have steaks and salad. Ice cream will be our dessert, and strawberries, blueberries and vanilla
yogurt will make a celebratory appearance as a side dish. Seems a little funny that we remember the fallen by eating outside,
throwing Frisbees, and drinking lemonade in the shade.
Yet this is one way we
Americans have come to honor our heroes.
What began as Decoration
Day after the Civil War in 1866, has evolved into a National holiday, celebrated across this great land of ours with picnics
and barbeques. It all started with activist concern: Henry Welles, a resident of Waterloo, New York, felt that the soldiers who had died in the Civil War should be remembered and honored. His fellow
citizens agreed, and everyone banded together and paid their respects by placing crosses and floral bouquets on each patriot’s
grave. The town flag was raised at half mast. Local veterans held a processional through town.
Waterloo honored the fallen the next spring as well, and two years later, General John Logan officially
proclaimed May 5 Decoration Day. It was officially observed on May 30, and the tradition began—after World War I when
the South joined in honoring their patriots as well—in 1882 when the name was changed to Memorial Day. By 1971, it was declared a national holiday, and now our entire nation looks forward, every year on this
last Monday in May, to a day off from work, a day off from school, travel soccer tournaments out-of-state, gardening and all-day
honey-do projects, extra coupons at the mall, and last but certainly not least, the aroma of beef cooking on the grill.
We have taken a day set
aside to honor our heroes and turned it into one big, happy, American playdate. And
I am as guilty as the next one.
So as I reflect on what
sense of history and due respect I want to impart to my own kids, it boils down to the little things. (And isn’t that
the case with most things in life?) It requires that we instill in them respect for the principles upon which this great country
of ours was built. It requires that we inject into them a healthy shot of patriotism
when many hate everything for which we stand…while yet others risk life and limb to cross into our borders.
It requires that we impart
to them the names of some of the tall shoulders on which our freedom stands. It
requires that we remember.
So just how do we do that—hamburgers
and Frisbees aside?
- Have a healthy discussion—even if it’s over hot dogs on your deck—about the hardships
our country has had to endure to maintain our freedoms. Share with them stories of family and friends whose freedom has been
jeopardized, or who never tasted its sweetness in the first place. My own in-laws sent their four kids on two separate planes
to America without the knowledge that they’d ever see them again. They sacrificed everything in the
name of freedom and democracy.
- Commit to read—sometime this year—a book on American history or on one of the wars
in which our citizens fought. Even if it’s not your “thing”
and you’d rather curl up on the sofa with The Secret Life of Bees. Become painfully aware of the cost in human
life of those freedoms which you so thoroughly enjoy.
- Watch a war movie together with the older children in your family to help them get a realistic
picture of the horror of war. Gruesome scenes can be fast-forwarded for those children not old enough to handle it; for many,
seeing is believing.
- Participate in a local parade—or attend as a cheering bystander. Show your enthusiastic support
for those who have personally fought for your freedom. Flag-waving and applause for our country’s heroes go a long way
in fostering national pride.
- Take time out today to pray for our president, his closest advisors, and other world leaders. Maintaining
strong leadership in wartime is an arduous task; offering up prayers for their endurance, emotional and physical strength,
and wisdom to make the right decisions will go a long way towards binding us in our large circle of brotherly love.
- Pray for families who have loved ones serving our country in the war, as well as in strategic positions
around the globe in efforts to preserve democracy. Pray for peace for spouses and children left behind, and for the brave
service men and women who long to be back in their loved one’s arms.
Above all, be thankful.
Be thankful for each one of the freedoms—large and small—that you enjoy every single day because others were willing
to sacrifice on your behalf. Never, ever take their actions, or these freedoms,
for granted.
Enjoy this Memorial Day!
Going
Out on a Limb
Quote
of the Day: “Never say ‘no’ to adventures. Always say ‘yes,’ otherwise you’ll
lead a very dull life.” Commander Caractacus Pott in Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang
Invariably, when I conduct
a parenting seminar, a rocket mom in the audience raises her hand and asks me to define what my instruction on risk taking
has to do with nurturing creative genius in children. “Can you give me
a specific example of what you mean by that?” is a question I can count on.
First you must know that
all creative people, throughout history, have been risk-takers to one degree or another. They began journeys and projects
with no control of the outcomes. They put themselves in uncontrolled settings. They allowed themselves to be open to new experiences.
One of the defining characteristics of creative geniuses is that they take risks. Period.
Because I put myself in
a high-risk situation this past week, I thought I’d share my experience to see how you might translate it into higher
levels of creativity in your own family.
Book Expo America, the largest nationwide event for
the publishing industry, took place over the weekend in Chicago. A friend of mine was planning on going, and so during the course of the last four or five months,
I had toyed with the idea of going myself. But about three weeks ago, I told
my husband and agent that I had ruled it out; it was just too complicated. I thought it best to wait until next year when
it was scheduled for New York City. As I live about 60 miles from Manhattan, it seemed like a more reasonable option for both me and my family. (That translates: less risk).
About the same time that
I ruled it out, my seventeen-year-old son asked if one of his friends could spend the night with us, as his mom, a cookbook
author and single parent, was doing a cooking demo and book signing out-of-town and had no one home that weekend to watch
him. I told my son that would be fine, on the condition that she told me her secret for getting featured on the Today
show. (All authors recognize that as a dream setting for sharing their message.)
My son never followed up with that, so when he called me from her home to finalize
the weekend’s plans, I said: “Put her on the phone. I need to talk to her about my one condition!” Silvia
got on, and we shared a good laugh. (And I learned her secret, too!) We met for coffee that next week, meeting each other
for the first time and discussing both the book business and our passions, delighted to have each made a new friend.
Five days later, I invited
her to go with me to a writer’s class in the city. While there, the instructor invited us to a pre-Book Expo seminar
he was conducting. Silvia and I dissed the idea immediately, but thanked him anyway. I had, after all, a lot of bases to cover
before I could even give it a second thought. End-of-school activities, an orchestra
concert by my daughter (who is concertmistress), baseball and lacrosse practices, and a tennis lesson…not to mention
figuring out what to do with the dog. And my husband was also traveling on business
that week. My budget offered yet another constraint, as I had already committed some pretty serious funds to an upcoming project.
And Silvia had a cooking demo out-of-town that would keep her out-of-the-picture until midnight of the first night of the three-day
Chicago seminar. (That translates: too much risk).
As you probably guessed,
Silvia and I went to Chicago for Book Expo.
Working out a last-minute
deal with the hotel; last-minute air fare; last-minute tickets to the expo, and last-minute admission to the seminar, we also
covered all of our bases at home by covering them with prayer. I arrived in Chicago with no earthly idea of what I was going to
learn, who I was going to meet, and where it would all lead. I just had the sense that I was supposed to be there; Silvia
had it, too, and we flew together, roomed together, ate together, and expo-ed together.
That I wound up meeting
editors interested in translating my book for both the Spanish and Asian markets
is exciting, and I remain expectantly optimistic; that I formed new relationships is downright thrilling and I stand in amazement
at the people who have just entered my world. A father, who witnessed firsthand the devastating yet triumphant battle with
his young son’s acute leukemia, is my new friend. So are four writers passionate
about parenting who have asked me to join them in their work. Consultants came alongside me to fill the gaps in my knowledge
base. A recording studio owner shared his fascinating story. And I met my first film critic. Yet I never did catch up with
my friend who went and who got me interested in the first place.
I would have never crossed
these people’s paths otherwise. But my intuition told me to go, and I remain invigorated with the knowledge that I was
supposed to be there.
Taking risks requires
that you reach beyond your comfort zone and into the arena of the wildly uncomfortable. It expects that you will lose sleep
by dreaming of possibilities, and that you will become energized in the process. Taking
risks forces you to expand your circle of concern. It demands that you keep your eyes wide open for new faces, new voices,
and new ideas.
As summer quickly approaches
and you start thinking of ways in which your family might move out of your rut and into the sublime, think of reaching out
in new directions. Consider traveling to a spot in the world where your feet have never trod. Consider moving through a country
where the people don’t speak your language, serve your food, or dress like you do. Consider visiting a place that does
not command a comfortable climate. Enjoy walking its streets—as I did in Chicago—where fresh sights, fresh smells, and
fresh wind will smack your soul into a fully awakened state.
Travel has always offered
one of the foolproof ways to nurture creative genius. Whether your trip is planned to the nth degree or designed for infinite
opportunities for serendipity, go out on a limb and watch your creative spirits sour!
A Tribute
to Ronald Reagan
Quote of the day: “During his career, Ronald Reagan passed through a thousand
crowded places, but there was only one person, he said, who could make him lonely by just leaving the room.” President
George W. Bush of Former President Ronald Reagan at his funeral service at the National Cathedral, Washington, D.C.
President Bush was referring—of
course—to Nancy. Ronald Reagan loved Nancy like no other person in the whole wide world. Meeting on a blind date and enjoying more than fifty
years of marriage, he remained her faithful and very much in-love husband until the end. Ronald and Nancy Reagan modeled,
to me, the quintessential ideal of marriage in American culture. Through numerous trials, tribulations, toils, and snares,
their love emerged stronger—and their passion for each other remained vibrant. Full of energy, they made each other
glow, as does a bride as she greets her groom. As does a pregnant mother as she dreams of the life inside her. All are full
of hope. Charity. And love.
But most of all, of love.
Nancy Reagan writes in
the preface to the paperback edition of I Love You, Ronnie: “I loved Ronald Reagan, and being his wife was then,
as it is today, the most important thing in the world for me.” And how clearly we witnessed that as we embraced her
during last week’s mourning for our beloved former president. Until the end, Nancy remained his most enthusiastic supporter, most
devoted caregiver, most protective partner, and most compassionate helpmeet. Their legacy of love is one in which we cannot
help but admire. It is one that I cannot help but seek to emulate in my own marriage.
It’s not that his
other character qualities are not worthy of admiration and emulation. Who among us would not want to be described as was Ronald
Reagan by these world leaders who spoke at his funeral: “grace under pressure” by Lady Thatcher; “inspirational
conduct” by Mr. Mulroney; “hopeful,” “big-hearted,” “decent,” “strong and
gentle,” by former President George Bush; and “optimistic”
by President George W. Bush. Indeed, “eternally optimistic”…with “never an unkind word about anybody”
were overriding themes of commentators all week long.
But most of all, we saw
love.
We knew of Ronald’s
love for Nancy. Never was it made more public than in her charming bestselling book, which is a compilation of his letters to her.
And they are incredible! Full of sparkle, of wit, and of passion, they serve as a wonderful peek into this couple’s
intimate love story. And we saw a loving Nancy act out selfless love for Ronald. For more than half a century, she remained always by his side,
or in his arms, or walking hand in hand. Never was that love exhibited more tenderly than during the past ten years when she
served as his caretaker. One of her closest friends described her daily caretaking schedule as so full that she rarely had
time to even run out for lunch.
Does their marriage picture
match yours? Do you feel lonely when your spouse leaves the room, even when you are surrounded by a hundred other people?
Do you write your spouse love letters when you travel? Do you greet your spouse with open arms when he or she walks through
the front door at the end of each day? Or start the morning with a kiss? Have you vowed to never let the sun go down on your
anger? That you will talk things through rather than painfully argue or disagree? Do you care for each other with unerring
devotion? Have you committed yourselves to a legacy of love? And of charity to each other?
I encourage you, as you
seek for tangible ways in which to grow in love with your spouse, that you emulate the romantic love displayed by Ronald and
Nancy Reagan. With unapologetic optimism for the goodness of marriage. For its sanctity. And its divine ordination. Pick up
a copy of I Love You, Ronnie by Nancy Reagan. Read it from cover to cover. In it you will find a very clear picture
of their marriage, and of their mutual admiration. For their unerring devotion. And of their gratefulness for being so blessed
by each other’s love.
My prayer is that your
marriage will be blessed beyond measure, as was theirs. That you will grow in love for each other. And remain committed through all of life’s difficult up’s and down’s. That your marriage will offer each other love, hope, and charity.
But most of all, love.
Crowning Him King
for a Day
Quote of the Day: "The best thing a mother can do for her children is
to love their father." Anonymous
While Father’s
Day has come and gone, I realize that these sentiments are, indeed, “a day late and a dollar short.” But they
are heartfelt, nonetheless. And given the events which unfolded last week, I felt that honoring the memory of Ronald Reagan
and of his marriage to Nancy deserved a tribute. So while
I sit at my desk on the evening of this Father’s Day, I can’t help but reflect on its celebration, late or not.
We seem to
treat fathers—our own as well as the father of our children—differently on their Special Day than we do mothers
on Mother’s Day. Perhaps it’s because we’re wired differently. (I mean, seriously, when was the last time
the man in your life requested flowers, chocolate, and dinner out? And do men even eat chocolate?!?) But breakfast in bed,
be it simply piping hot coffee served up with The New York Times, equates with that pastry and whipped-cream-topped
strawberries that we asked for on our mommy-tray. I have found that men are profoundly
appreciative of any simple loving gesture made on their behalf. The little morning romp my kids made with their dad today—with
coffee, handmade cards, poems, and wrapped gifts—did more to get him going than any thing else we could have done. It
read: “We didn’t forget you this year, dad.” (We honestly did forget him a couple years ago…)
Father’s
Day has its origins in Mother’s Day. When a thoughtful Sonora Louise Smart Dodd listened to a sermon on Mother’s
Day, she felt that fathers deserved every bit as much appreciation and attention—if for a day—as do mothers. She
approached her minister in Spokane, Washington in1909, with her idea of a special Father’s Day sermon in memory of her own father, William Smart. Widowed during the birth of their sixth child, William single-parented that newborn baby as well as the
couple’s five older children. Now an adult herself, Dodd appreciated all too well the personal sacrifices her father
made during those many child-rearing years, and she desired to honor him in June, the month of his birth. As her minister could not respond quickly enough to honor his exact birthday (June 5), he scheduled his
father’s appreciation sermon for the 19th, or the third Sunday in June.
And so the
first Father’s Day sermon was preached on June 19. Other historians claim that Dr. Robert Webb celebrated the first
Father’s Day at Central Church in Fairmont, West Virginia in 1908; still others claim that the inscribed gold watch with “Originator of Father’s
Day” belonging to Harry Meek earns him claim to the holiday. Nevertheless, by 1916, President Woodrow Wilson officially
approved the idea, by 1924 President Calvin Coolidge officially endorsed it, and by 1966, President Lyndon Johnson officially
issued a presidential proclamation marking the third Sunday in June as Father’s Day. But it wasn’t until 1972
that it was declared a national holiday. And, interestingly enough, it is a uniquely American holiday; other countries celebrate
it, but only in America is it placed on our national calendar.
How we celebrate
the day is as unique to each family as dads are to their own kids. For while Mother’s Day has its own set of expectations:
flowers, chocolate, and gifts, Father’s Day offers more spontaneity. Just like Dad himself. Oh sure, there’s the
proverbial necktie. Or socks. But because fathers have hobbies and sports interests ranging from one end of the spectrum to
the other, the day is celebrated with a myriad of activities. Golf? Fishing? Relaxing with coffee and a good book?
My husband
and I went into the city today. The weather was as perfect as we’d ever seen: blue skies and 78 degrees with no humidity.
We attended worship services in midtown, followed by lunch al fresco on a patio right on 7th Avenue. A long
walk through Central Park was not only exhilarating; the picture-perfect sky served as an umbrella to the hundreds of New
Yorkers throwing Frisbees, playing volleyball, canoodling with their honeys, and basking in the warmth of the sun on blankets
stretched across the open expanse of lawn.
I was very
mindful throughout the day of the unique role my husband has in our family, as well as in shaping our children’s vision
for fatherhood. He is our provider and our protector. Yet he is so much more. He is fellow nurturer. Not necessarily the first
one my children would run to with skinned knees, but the one who would run to them when emergencies hit home. He is the one
who took our three-month-old baby in to the hospital for an initial biopsy (without anesthesia) when we found out he needed
an emergency colostomy; the one who took the phone call when one child ran (a mile) away from home and was discovered by our
local police; the one who stood by me just this week when I had a brief medical scare. He is our rock.
He shoulders
the financial burden of our family, the direct result of decisions we made jointly almost twenty years ago. And when the going gets rough, he gets going. Up before the sun, commuting through suburban New York City traffic, he fights
for bottom-lines, quotas, and margins all day, everyday. With rarely a word of
complaint or frustration.
Most fathers
have learned to deal with the harsh realities of everyday life. They’ve had to. My own seventeen-year-old son came downstairs
a couple weeks ago, wandered into the kitchen and said: “I’ve figured it out. You go through school, make good
grades so you can get into a good college, get a job, work yourself crazy, and then you die.” Hardly the happy-go-lucky
outlook I would have preferred, but an assessment of part of the reality of being a man.
On Father’s
Day—and everyday—we need to be more mindful of the generous efforts that the fathers in our lives make on our
behalf. We need to be mindful of the sacrifices to their personal time that they make on a daily basis. That they rarely have
time for lunch with the guys, a morning tennis match and sauna, or afternoon bridge. That they have accountability issues
which we may never fully appreciate. That they have superiors to honor, subordinates to lead, and colleagues to inspire. That
they have bottom-lines, quarterly quotas, profitability measures, and shareholder responsibilities. That they fight traffic
on empty stomachs. And catch early morning airplanes on very little sleep.
The fathers
in our lives would no doubt travel to the ends of the earth for you and his kids…if they knew they would be greeted
by several pair of open arms on the other side of the front door.
Let’s
hope that fathers everywhere understand the unique role they play in our lives, in the lives of their children, and in today’s
culture at large. Let’s hope that on Father’s Day, father’s everywhere felt special. That they know, deep
down inside, that their efforts on our behalf are fully acknowledged, truly appreciated, and deeply cherished.
Celebrating
the “Day of Deliverance”
President John Adams wrote to his wife in 1776: “The second day
of July, 1776, will be the most memorable epoch in the history of America.
I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival. It ought to be
commemorated as the day of deliverance, by solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with pomp and
parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of this continent to the other,
from this time forward for evermore.”
While we
Americans do a great job of celebrating with pomp and parade, I can’t help but be struck by Adam’s wishes for
the day to be commemorated as “the day of deliverance, by solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty.” I can personally
confess to falling way short on that. Games? Got it. Illuminations? Really got it. Picnics with burgers, hot dogs, and ice
cream. Oh, yeah.
But this
“solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty ” mandate has thrown me into a public statement of guilt. Oh sure, I
do pray solemnly and reverently for those who came before me, who threw themselves into the line of fire to give me freedom.
And liberty. And of course the ongoing pursuit of happiness of which we are so addicted. But celebrating July 4th
with solemn acts of devotion has never been ingrained into my thinking about the day.
I love what
Paul says about freedom in the book of Galations: “It is absolutely clear that God has called you to a free life.
Just make sure that you don't use this freedom as an excuse to do whatever you want to do and destroy your freedom. Rather,
use your freedom to serve one another in love; that's how freedom grows. For everything we know about God's Word is summed
up in a single sentence: Love others as you love yourself. That's an act of true freedom. Gal 5:13-14 (The Message)
As July 4th
is celebrated throughout this great country of ours, I will be celebrating my freedom and liberty with my family in another
land. We will be vacationing in South America, where, ironically enough, the personal freedoms we have so enjoyed here in the United States are in scarce
supply throughout many regions there. Whether or not we will even have access to “illuminations” is in serious
debate. The probability of enjoying hamburgers, hot dogs, and ice cream is downright miniscule.
Wherever
you happen to be this July 4th, I hope you take some significant time out of your day to honor John Adams’
wish: commit to spending some portion of your day to “solemn acts of devotion.” Take time out today to pray for
our country. Pray for the soldiers on the other side of the world who are currently fighting for others’ freedoms. Pray
for their families…that they have peace about their loved ones’ safety and mission there. Pray for our leaders…that,
while keeping the courage to stand up for their convictions, they would continue to keep the interests of others at heart
as well. Pray for the safety of our citizens…that we be protected from random acts of terrorism and violence. And pray
for those who came before us…those men and women upon whose tall shoulders our personal freedom and liberty rest.
Enjoy the
day with your family and serve one another with love. Gather with neighbors for a bike parade. Enjoy your favorite barbequed
foods, run through the sprinkler, catch fireflies with your kids, suck ice cream out of the bottom of a cone, and watch fireworks
on a blanket in your local park or in your own backyard.
And promise
to be ever mindful today, of your personal freedom, your liberty, and your rights. Be
thankful. Pour out a blessing on behalf of those to whom you owe it. Love others.
Hug your kids. Hug your spouse. And pat your dog.
Happy Independence
Day!
Cherishing
Freedom
Dear Carolina:
I just read your newsletter
and was reminded once again of how very precious our freedom in Christ is here in the US, and how right you
are: how most people take it for granted. For me, it's as important as Christmas... a day of thanksgiving.
July 4th always takes
me back to when I was 11 yrs old. Mom and Dad, after spending a few years being
persecuted by the Communist regime, (including being thrown into prison), made the decision to send their four kids to a foreign
land. Can you imagine sending your four kids to a land you've never seen, and where none of you spoke the language? Can you
imagine putting your kids on a plane with the thought that you might never see them again? On
top of that, they knew from witnessing the horrors of the era, that many husband and wife couples were being executed for
taking any part in protesting against the regime. Removing your children from the country qualified as a very visible form
of protest!
Yet such was the price
paid by many Cuban parents—all in the name of seeking personal and spiritual freedoms. Several of Dad's associates were
imprisoned. He was always fearful for our lives. In Cuba, we were not allowed
to lock the doors. The soldiers would barge in unexpectedly and take away our "stuff." By the time I left the house, all that
was left was the living room, dining room, and bedroom furniture. They walked out with the TV, silverware, chandeliers…and
whatever else they felt like taking.
My dad loved to tell this
story: One day when my brother and I were in elementary school—one run
by the Presbyterians and supposedly free from government intervention—some military men in Army uniforms came to our
classrooms and told us to put our heads down and pray to God to bring us a candy bar. No candy bar. "Now... put your heads
down and pray to Castro's government to bring you a candy bar" and, guess what??? A candy bar appeared on our desks while
we had our heads down! My brother was so excited about this that when we got home, he rushed to tell our parents about this
wonderful new man who was going to provide for our country. That was the last day we attended school. Mom and Dad sent us
to hide at a great-aunt's farm in the country (since it was mandatory for kids to be in school) and began the process to send
us out of Cuba. We stayed at the farm until our visas came through; we didn’t see nor speak to anyone during
that time. I can't remember the time frame, but it seemed like it was forever.
Then, in the middle of
the night, who knows how many weeks or months later, a car drove up to the farm and someone whisked us out of bed. I can’t
remember any of the people in the car, but I do remember that our grandmother was there. We were told to duck on the floorboard
of the car, but every once in a while I would pop up and look out the window to see fields upon fields burning in flames.
The flames were so high that I could feel the heat inside the car. Of course these were sugar cane fields, and they were set
afire by the counter-revolutionaries who were revolting against Castro.
We ended up in Havana in an apartment which Dad
had set up as if we had been living there all along. It was really weird to see our pictures on the walls! Mom, Dad, and my
little brother and sister were already there waiting for us. By the next morning, we were at the airport ready to be shipped
to America. I recall being put into a room—our grandmother was allowed to be in there with us but Mom
and Dad were not—and my kid sister was crying on Lela's lap; my little brother just sat there, looking his most serious.
But mostly I remember feeling terribly confused about looking at my mom and dad on the other side of the glass wall—my
brother still remembers that and refers to it as “the fish bowl”—wondering why they were not in the room
with us kids and Lela. I can still remember Dad pressing his face against the glass, holding his hand up to shield his face
from the glare. I could see tears streaming down his face and couldn't understand why he was crying; Mom was probably hysterical...
I couldn't see her face as it was buried under Dad’s arm, his shoulder offering a stronghold of protection the need
for which I can only imagine in my worst nightmare. Mom was 33 yrs old; Dad was 41.
Before we knew it, we
were on a plane, our destination and reason for flying still a mystery. (My brother remembers people on that flight singing
the Cuban National Anthem as soon as we cleared Cuban airspace.) We were not told anything until we landed safely in Miami, where once again we were
to be separated. My little brother and sister, aged 4 and 3 at the time, left for California to live with Aunt and Uncle. Meanwhile, my oldest brother and I went to Uncle and Aunt’s home in Kentucky. It was then that I remember
being told that we might never see our parents again. My brother recalls a different take: he recalls being told that we were
on one big, happy, extended vacation to Aunt and Uncle’s. He does remember Aunt’s troubled expression, though,
when he asked her when we would see Mom and Dad again. How Mom and Dad re-untied with us a few months later is yet another
miracle story.
I have always personally
celebrated July 4th with much thanksgiving. I thank God for answering my prayers. I promised to say 10 “Our Father's”
every night if He would get our family re-united. I thank my parents for being incredibly brave, bold and wise, and for
keeping the faith when things looked so bleak. I thank them for making those sacrifices for the sake of our freedom. And I
am so thankful for this country, which has always allowed us the opportunity—and privilege—to be free in every
way!
My oldest brother writes
this as we reflect: “I see how great God’s love is in all of this. How
He can pull good out of evil every time. I see how our lives have evolved in the US… the families
of my brothers and sisters, their spouses, and my nephews and nieces. (Not to
mention one who is about to graduate from college and the lovely lady by my side). Can’t
help but wonder what it will be like in the house He spoke of, with many rooms—one for each of us—after our exile
here is done. Gonna gotta be great! “
I pray alongside you,
Carolina, for all those people throughout the world still suffering under oppression. Let us be ever mindful to never take
our liberty and freedom for granted.”
With love,
Edie
Carolina’s note: The littlest brother she wrote of is my husband. My sister-in-law sent this to me
within minutes after receiving last week’s newsletter.
Enjoy your liberty. Cherish
your freedom. God bless.
No Artificial
Ingredients Indeed
Back from our family's vacation to Costa Rica-followed by a trip
to the beach with my
oldest childhood girlfriend and four of our
kids-I am left feeling extremely grateful for not only the well-
received
rest and relaxation with family and friends; I enjoyed
exhilarating experiences previously unimaginable.
Costa Rica's ad in this Sunday's New York Times includes the
tagline "No Artificial Ingredients." I'll
say. What with monkeys
offering our singular wake-up call swinging limb to limb just
outside our hotel balcony, to iguanas
joining us on our walk to
breakfast, to a highly venomous snake slithering right before our
eyes on our drive to dinner,
to native raccoon-like critters
sharing the bar under the grass-thatched hut where we dined for
most meals.nature called
out loud and clear. Everywhere.
We watched the volcano erupt at Arenal and watched with delight
when we saw
it played again on the national news that night;
patted the frogs which resident caretaker Valencio sheltered and
raised;
glared at the crocodile swimming in the same water where
we white-water rafted; and enthusiastically spread mud on our
faces
while we sipped organic coffee at a mountaintop café. (I
never thought I'd be wearing a volcanic mud mask in the middle
of
Costa Rica in front of strangers.but then again, I figured I'd
never see these people again, either.)
I
have to admit: my more frequent attire, when traveling south,
looks a lot more like it leapt out of a Lilly Pulitzer closet.
A
couple of loudly colorful capris, coordinating Jack Rogers
shoes, and cute straw bags can usually get me about anywhere
in
the summer.
But not in Costa
Rica. It was the place for hiking boots, surfer
shorts, and fanny packs. I was totally out of my element.
Risk
taking is one of the things I heartily recommend for
creative living. It is one of the secrets of creating creative
genius.
All creative people take risks. They live outside of
their comfort zone. They engage in new activities, surround
themselves
with different types of people, and deliberately put
themselves into foreign surroundings. They create situations over
which
they have little or no control over the outcome.
Such was the case with my family on our summer vacation. I was
in
totally foreign territory. I don't speak Spanish, and my feeble
attempts at putting an "el" in front of every word
with an "o"
behind it (i.e. "el guido") were only met with side-splitting
laughter by my fluent husband and kids. "Por
favor, club soda
with lemon" became another mealtime joke.
I also don't hang out in surfer shorts and those
tight-fitting
surfer tops. I can't surf. My husband and kids took lessons
everyday while at the beach, but because of
my mangled right leg
(car accident twenty seven years ago), I can't even think about
it. Everybody at the beach in Costa Rica surfs. I was odd-man out
there, too. I had no particular affinity for night hiking in
the
cloud forest, though my husband and sons found that to be one
adventure they would not go home without experiencing
firsthand.
Nor did I desire a night trek beyond the "No Trespassing" signs
at the erupting volcano, (can you even imagine
what might lurk
out there in the dark?) but my husband and sons found that
irresistible. When we stopped for lunch at
a local "soda" on the
side of the road (literally) I announced that I wouldn't eat
there for fear of catching malaria.
But I was hungry. I ate
there. It was good. I didn't catch malaria. But I did get laughed
at-once again-by my husband
and kids.
We traveled by SUV on paths that could only be described as just
that. To call them roads would be
incredible overstatement. Boulder-
studded and dirt-lined, they were beyond anything I had ever
seen-except when traveling
to Panama. Signage was, well,
confusing at best
and non-existent at worst. We figured it was
the native's conspiracy against US tourists.
But we're already
anxious to go back. Costa Rica's national motto
is "pura vida." Simply
put, it means "the pure life." Or "life is
good." And when all was said and done, I was very glad to have
lived for
a couple weeks with no artificial ingredients. No make-
up..only volcanic mud on my middle-aged skin. No clothing
labels..just
cotton t's and baggy shorts. No jewelry..except for
the green cat's eye cross-and-beaded-trinket I bought from a
native
craftswoman on the beach.
I walked on the most incredible beaches I'd ever seen, rode
horseback through the
woods, paddled down white-water rapids, and
witnessed the cloud forest from 400 meters above ground level. I
came back
home sore and exhausted, but exhilarated and happy.
My biggest challenge now is figuring out how to translate all
of
Costa Rica's charm-and "pura vida" mantra-into my New England
culture, family life, and schedule. All ideas are welcomed. But
no artificial ingredients? Now that's a tough one.
I
hope you're enjoying your summer as much as I am. I'm on a
whirlwind East Coast college tour with my seventeen-year-old
son
as I write. Looking forward to chatting with you again
really soon.
Pura vida!
Ode to Julia
It's not like I ever took up French cooking. I'm not sure I could
make a soufflé if I tried.
And I'm not one for sauces, either. I
prefer very simple, easily prepared foods. And good gracious: our ideologies are
worlds apart. I have a feeling that if we were to ever have debated politics, our discussions would have been lively and heated
past the boiling point.
But I have to admit: I was saddened to hear of the passing of
Julia Child. It's not
that I ever really watched her on TV, de-
boning a chicken or whisking up hollandaise. I understand she had a collection
of over 80 knives-while mine consist of less than a handful. And while her countertops displayed gleaming sauce pans and pots
beautiful enough for the rich and famous, my countertop is punctuated most frequently by my crock pot, slowly cooking a rump
roast or a family-sized chicken.
It was her exuberant spirit that leaves me in admiration. And I
appreciate
all too well the significant in-roads she made into
bringing the culinary arts into the homes of average American
housewives.
(Like me.)
To be totally frank, I'm still annoyed with the French. What with
the war and freedom fries and the
ban amongst some of us on all things French. But I don't really want to get into that right
now. I want to applaud Julia
Child for writing "Mastering the Art of French Cooking." More importantly, I want to applaud her for doing something that
has eluded me as a mom of teenagers: getting dinner on the table.
I don't remember my mom much struggling with
this-even though she was a young widow with music students in our home at that bewitching dinner hour nearly every night of
the week. And I didn't much struggle with this when my kids were little. In fact, I rather enjoyed the lovely little nighttime
ritual. Just when they were clinging to my legs begging for graham crackers and milk (the "5:00
Barnacle Syndrome"), I'd pull out a cookbook and whip up something quite passable. My husband never complained, and the kids
were happy to just get food into their bellies. It was simply a non-issue.
Ah, yes.back in the good 'ole days.
The days before soccer
practice, lacrosse meets, and student government meetings.
The days when they were all underfoot-and
too little to
complain too much.
During the school year, I am regularly under-the-gun to get a
healthy, hearty,
beautiful dinner on the table every night. And I
especially struggle to get everyone sitting down to enjoy it at
the
same time. (Yet dining with my family every single night-all
together-was one of the highlights of our summer vacation.)
And I have a feeling that Julia Child had this down to a "T."
I yearn to present beautiful meals to my children.
On linen
placemats with linen napkins. With sterling flatware and crystal water goblets. Candles lit. With classical music
playing quietly in the background....sparkling conversation....
It used to be that way. Back in the days when I
had more control over my schedule, my household, and my kids.
But my present everyday reality paints quite a different
picture. Dinnertime is met with drives to and from school, to and from sports practices, and to and from out-of-town violin
lessons. Pick-ups at the library. Drop-offs at study groups. A husband's schedule out-of-sync with mine and the kids'. The
demands of homework...and of housework and laundry. And with exhaustion setting in around 5:00, the dinnertime conundrum looks miserable at best and impossible at worst.
I'm looking
to someone like Julia Child to inspire. me. For
crying out loud: she inspired a whole country! She got mothers looking
past Jell-O and into crème brulee. Out of meatloaf and into chicken fricassee. Why can't I do that?!?
My cousin
claims that one cannot know about everything. That if you collect antique majolica, you cannot grasp the complexities of the
new 2005 automobile line-up, for example. That if you know the backroads of your town as well as all of the towns around you,
that that precludes you from understanding how to put together a French meal. It's simply too much for your brain to absorb.
But
I have to respectfully disagree. I am convinced...and I am on a personal journey to prove...that getting dinner on the table
is well within our grasp. That the ability to paint in oils does not mean that one cannot sauté with oils. That to engage
one's eyes or ears in aesthetic delights does not preclude engaging one's mouth in culinary delights. I am convinced that
if I can write a book, I can cook dinner. That if I can read The New York Times, I can read a recipe.
I am determined
to get dinner on the table this year!
Be it "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" or "Simply
Sauteeing," this
will be the year my kids eat...no...dine. With
hubby and I. And placemats, linen napkins, and candles.
Just
like in the good ole' days.
Practical strategies on how to do that-with teenagers-are
welcomed.
Bon
Appetit!
Getting Back Your
Groove
For those of you living
in the South, you have undoubtedly been back into the swing of things for a few weeks now. You’re already back in the
groove whether you like it or not! For us Northeasterners, though, we still have a few more days of unhurried bliss. My kids
start school mid-week, and ease back into it with half-days.
We’ve spent the
last couple weeks thinking about and planning our groove for the New Year. And that process always reinforces the definiteness
with which kids define the New Year. To them it is absolutely “The First Day of School.” No dropping of the ball
and staying up past midnight watching Dick Clark.
No…it’s early to bed, with new clothing and freshly-smelling shoes laid out, backpacks organized by the front
door, and lunchboxes or lunch-money tucked safely inside a zipped-pocket. It’s calling all of their friends to see which
homeroom they’re in, checking bus schedules, and comparing teams.
In trying to get back
our groove, I am trying to put myself into my kids’ heads. I find myself consciously disengaging from the mindset of
planning my New Year (writing down goals, hosting some parties, and celebrating with friends) and trying to put myself into
their shoes by remembering what it was like each and every year of my own childhood on that “First Day of School”…or
the official start of their New Year.
So it’s with renewed
enthusiasm that I have been driving my daughter to the mall—again and again—searching for just the right tops
to go with those perfect new jeans; to the sporting goods store for sturdy sneakers—and cleats, pads, and cups—for
my boys; to Target for new lunchboxes; and to furniture stores in surrounding towns for a new sofa for our newly finished
basement “dugout.” It’s with the hops of creating happy memories that I drive my kids to their friends’
homes to hang-out “just one last time before school starts”…or to let them enjoy “just one last sleepover,
Mom, pleeeease!” (And I have to admit that my daughter and her two
friends who spent last night here were too adorable—clothed in bikinis, all three of them, in a bubble bath, with my
volcanic mud from Costa Rica spread all over their faces and shaving cream squirted all over their legs…..tonight my
son is camping out with a friend in a backyard tent)….
In trying to get back
our groove, we have become convicted to get our act together: to get all of the kids prepared physically for school with new
clothing and new school supplies—which means first cleaning out their closets; organizing bags for our local thrift
shop, consignment shop, and friends whose kids might enjoy our hand-me-downs; and taking those energy-draining excursions
to the mall. (If truth be told, the mall has taken on a whole new meaning with a soon-to-be-teen girl. Clothing shopping with
her is exhausting, to be sure, but honestly, some of these new girl clothes are so cute that I’m actually getting “into
it.” And shopping for the best bargains has not only excavated my hunting
instincts; my dusty MBA is actually being put to use here. The teen-girl-clothing-paradigm is as complicated as any I’ve
seen: “Mom, I have two skirts on hold at Abercrombie and I saw four new tops at delia’s but one top needs a different
color jean and you hate Abercrombie so what am I supposed to do because I really need some cute skirts to go with these tops
I like?”)
In trying to get our act
together as a family, I have been on a warpath about finishing and organizing our basement so that we gain some square footage
for a teen “dugout.” So we’ve put our oldest boys to work, sanding, painting, and hauling. We’ve de-junked,
re-grouped, and reinvented that space so that it will serve as our kids’ friends new hangout spot. Or hopefully anyway.
(After last weekend’s harrowing experience, we are determined to keep our kids closer to home!) We gave up on
any dreams of creating beauty down there (no light, no windows, no doors) and opted instead for space where form meets function.
The “teen toys” arrive this week so that by the “New Year” our kids can get back into the groove—mentally
and physically—knowing that their new space is clean, organized, and filled with things to help them entertain themselves
when they feel the need for some down-time.
So in getting back your
own groove:
· Shape Up:
whip all those closets and kids’ rooms into tip-top shape so that your kids can start their New Year on a clean, fresh
note, without the distractions that a chaotic environment inevitably brings. Organize closets, chests of drawers, toy shelves,
videos, DVD’s, and CD’s.
· Freshen Up:
spray sheets with a new linen spray (treat yourself to something that rings “Fall”), wash windows, vacuum your
van, and plump up your pillows.
· Lighten Up:
get rid of junk and clutter. Donate it to charity or give it away to a friend who could put it to better use.
· Dress Up:
let your kids have some fun picking out a few new things for their school wardrobe. The rite of the New Year certainly includes
new shoes and some fun new clothes.
· Ease Up: allow
the kids to plan some fun into their everyday reality, as they mentally engage into all that hard work they are about to endure
in this New Year.
Happy First Days!
You
Gotta Laugh
Quote of the Day:
She
is not fair to outward view As many maidens be;
Her
loveliness I never knew
Until
she smiled on me;
Oh! Then I saw her eye was bright,
A well of love, a spring of light.
Hartley Coleridge
After failed plans to get into the city over the Labor Day holiday, we wound up spending the long weekend at home.
Resting some on Labor Day Monday, we worked diligently on Saturday finishing up the basement (“The Dugout”); pulling
weeds and shaping up our garden; catching up on art projects; and taking long bike rides through the mountainous terrain of
Ridgefield and New York
State.
It was after one of these long and glorious bike rides that my husband announced we were going to our neighborhood
family restaurant, Dimitri’s, for a late lunch. For those of you living up here, you know Dimitri’s. We all know
Dimitri’s. They just celebrated their ten year anniversary yesterday by inviting the entire town over for a party! It’s
the best family diner in town. Very low-key. Very very casual. One of the owners is Greek; the other is Guatemalan.
Most of the servers are from Mexico or South
America…and we’re on a first-name basis with
almost all of them. When they come to take our order, I always tell them I’d like”the usual,” and most of
them know what I mean (its Cajun-grilled chicken Caesar salad with the best homemade dressing on the planet.) Going to Dimitri’s
is not a big deal per se, although it’s something we look forward to every Sunday after church. Both the diner’s
budget, as well as our own family’s, has a line item for the Fernandez’ Sunday lunch at Dimitri’s.
So it caught me as quite a surprise when Nick, our seventeen-year-old, looked at me, fresh from my hour-long-bike ride,
and told me I was not going to Dimitri’s looking “like that.” I looked him in the eye—rather incredulous—and
then looked at myself, starting at my waist and moving down to my shoes. I thought I looked rather, well, cute. I had adorable
little hot pink athletic shorts on, which make my chubby thighs look kinda muscular; my navy blue polo shirt peeked out from
under my favorite grey sweatshirt, which some would call “ratty,” but to me, it was more of a Ralph Lauren-meets-Lance
Armstrong-meets Martha Stewart kind of a look. On top of that, I had on my brand-new
hydro-engineered tech shoes, fabulous for mountain-biking as well as for hiking the rain forests of Costa Rica, for crying out loud! I was no frumpy biker!
But
Nick silently looked at me looking at myself and then met my eyes again with a single “No. “
Then
Cristina, our twelve-year-old-going-on-thirty-two, bounced down the stairs and looked at me and said, ”Mom, you’re
not going to Dimitri’s in that, are you?!?” Forever the fashion commentator, it took one twisted facial expression
for me to read the signal—loud and clear—that my “cute and casual” biker look was already embarrassing
my kids to death.
Go
figure.
These
are the same kids that wear motley t-shirts hanging out of their shorts, jeans below their “natural waistline”
(I could get cruder here but I won’t), tank tops with bra-straps showing through, and athletic socks waaaaay past their
natural lifetimes. Oh please.
But
I do make a bit of a brouhaha about looking your best when you go out in public, and so my kids did have a point. After all,
impressions do mean a lot and first impressions mean even more, right? We should all make sure our faces are freshly scrubbed,
deodorant and body spray (or cologne or perfume) are adequately spritzed on, teeth brushed, and clothing (and jewelry) looking
cute and casual before stepping out into the world.
So
are there exceptions? I mean, just where do you draw the line? Do we need to wear make-up when we drive the kids to school
in the morning or meet the other moms at the bus stop? When we make a quick trip to the grocery to pick up the milk? Or run
into the pharmacy to grab a readied prescription?
Only
you can say. But whatever, here are four ROCKET MOM Quick Tips for getting ready to walk out the door, all doable in
ten minutes flat:
·
Scrub your face. Use olive oil soap and a loofah or washcloth for a fast exfoliation.
Rinse with cold water and quickly apply a fabulous moisturizer. Your face will be radiant!
·
Do mascara and lipstick. Use inexpensive
brands (like Maybelline) that make lashes fuller or darker or longer…but use it to make your eyes sparkle a little brighter.
And keep a handful of lipsticks in “ready position” by your vanity sink so you can grab one for an instant color
pick-me-up.
·
Spritz on something wonderful-smelling. Snatch something from your “perfume wardrobe,”
even if it’s an inexpensive body splash from Bath
and Bodyworks or Target. It’s just too fun not to….and it might hide unpleasant baby burble or kid dirt that you
haven’t yet had time to shower off.
·
Match your clothing. Even if you’re in scrubbies, make sure they coordinate.
You may opt for that raggedy grey sweatshirt (as I often do!), but let’s face it: that vintage look can be very exciting,
depending on what you match it with. If you woke up with very bad hair day and
you don’t have time to shower, grab a baseball hat or a visor. No apologies and no guilt! And don’t forget to
match your shoes to your whole look: it grounds you. (Remember: good mattresses, good books, good shoes)
Lastly,
as far as the kids and their very insightful comments go: best to stand there and take them like a woman. Your kids will wind
up saying the darndest things about you. And you just gotta laugh.
Archiving our Families
Quote of the Day: “We do not remember days. We remember moments.” Casare Pavese
A couple of weeks ago, a dear reader emailed me for help on documenting
her family’s life and history. For several generations, we knew this as “stuffing pictures in shoe boxes.”
If we were super-organized, we used photo albums.” Today, we call this “scrapbooking.”
The
fastest growing hobby in our country—with more than 25 million Americans, or 1 in every four households, participating—it
didn’t even exist as an industry eighteen years ago, when I first contemplated how I would document and organize our
own family photos…or “memories” as they are now called. Less
than ten years old as an industry, scrapbooking holds more than 52, 000 sites on the Internet; over 4,000 retail stores support
this multi-billion dollar industry and even traditional stores such as office supply giants, pharmacies, groceries, and gift
shops all carry a sampling of scrapbooking products. The maze is—to me anyway—completely overwhelming. To even
partially navigate its many avenues both exhausts and bewilders me.
When
you calculate the time and expense required to not only take quality photos (a high quality 35 mm camera, digital camera,
and video camera are all practically required paraphernalia), it boggles one’s mind to add in the additional cost of
documenting your pix once developed. The average “scrapper” spends
$50 per month on her hobby, or roughly $600 a year in supplies. Scrapbook papers generally cost anywhere from 10 cents a piece
to upwards of 50 cents a piece (while browsing online sites I came across some fabulous specialty papers for my “military
enthusiast son,” so I purchased papers with a military theme; they cost 45 cents a pop plus shipping) Add to that the
cost of stickers, brads, and trinkets…all totally adorable in their own rite…and your personal scrapbooking arsenal
just escalated another couple hundred degrees.
And
what about ink pads and rubber stamps? Gotta have those, too. At anywhere from a couple dollars to ten to twelve dollars for
a decent stamp…as well as several dollars per each ink pad (gotta have all those wonderful colors, you know!)…you’re
by now in this stuff too deep to escape fiscally unscathed.
And
we haven’t even gotten to embossing yet.
Oh,
geez.
So
what’s a rocket mom to do? Practically speaking, at what point do you jump onto the scrapbooking craze while maintaining
all of the other parenting strategies deemed so important in raising brilliant kids? I mean: can you really instill a musical
heritage into your kids, immerse them into sports and exercise, and shape their character and help them to become more spiritually
mature…and scrapbook all at the same time? Are there really enough hours in the day to get in a good workout at the
gym, get dinner on the table…and scrapbook? Can you add community service to your calendar as well as add colorful borders
to your family photos? And is it really possible to hammer in that decorative brad (which seriously requires a good whack
on the kitchen cutting board) and keep the baby down for a nap all at the same time?!?
OK.
Enough already. Here’s my advice on getting your arms around the whole scrapbooking/creative memories/documenting-your-family-history
thing:
·
Find an organizational scheme
that you think you can stick with over the next dozen years or so. Trust me: motherhood, while certainly easier in some ways over the years, does not get any less
demanding. You just shift areas in which you spend your time. Time, money, and energy are your three most valuable resources
today…and they will continue to be until the day you “go up.” So find a system to which you believe you
can reasonably commit. If the whole idea of scrapbooking each and every page
of your baby journals wears you out (as it would me), then switch to a system that is less creatively taxing. My personal
choice: photo albums from Exposures. (www.exposuresonline.com) They’ve been in business long enough that I trust they’ll be there
as long as we all still need their stuff. The last thing you need to worry about while selecting a system is the possibility
of changing it mid-stream. I researched their product line until I was nauseous. I wound up using over-sized, attractive three-ring
binders (offered in three different colors) that work perfectly for our family. I buy a few at a time so I know I’ll
never “run out.” I also buy their archival scrapbook paper, and use old-fashioned photo corners for every picture.
You might want to look for albums that are offered in a variety of colors, in case you’d like to color-code your family.
(see http://www.selfhelpcenters.com/family.asp#1 for my recent article “Color-Coding Your World”)
·
Decide if you want to be a “documenter”
or a “scrapper.” There’s a world
of difference here. “Documenters” organize their pictures once retrieved from the store (pharmacy, Costco, etc.)
and then put them into albums. Sure…you can add titles, captions, dates, and quick journal entries. You can even use
color! But you don’t spend an inordinate amount of time on each page. “Scrappers,” on the other hand, make
each page of photos a veritable work of art. They use artsy background papers; crop each photo; add beautiful borders; make
great use of sticker art, brads, and trinkets; and punch designs to coordinate with the page theme. You should decide which
path you’re likely to travel down as soon as possible. Like it or not,
you need to get your system—a system, any system—down before you take the plunge, as each system requires a hefty
financial commitment. (The only inexpensive alternative is to buy cheap albums
from a discount store (with those old-fashioned non-archival magnetic pages) and throw in your photos. You wouldn’t
do that, I’m sure…)
·
Start collecting art
and craft supplies. Regardless of which system you
use, your children’s happy childhoods require that you spend time “doing art.” Make regular art days part
of your family’s weekly schedule. Those rubber stamps and ink pads that you’re picking up on sale now will become
a wonderful collection down the road. Let’s face it: you need colored markers, pencils, pens, paints and papers anyway.
They all add to your children’s artistic development. So perhaps documenting or scrapping your family’s memories
will be part of your regular art day for the next few years. OK…so you’re not going to take up sculpting for awhile…or
oil painting, rug hooking, or knitting. That’s alright. Just stay on track, keep picking up supplies, continue to browse
art supply stores, and purchase fun stuff as you see fit. If you find yourself drawn to fancy papers and expensive stickers…go
ahead and splurge. You’re going to need some of this stuff anyway, so try to make thoughtful and purposeful buying decisions
rather than compulsive ones!
·
Try to stay on top of things.
But don’t beat yourself up if you fall behind. I always
tried to use holidays and summers to catch up with my albums, but with major moves in four of the past six summers, those
plans went to pieces. So I am terribly behind in organizing and documenting my family’s life. OK. So life goes on. I
just commit that when I have time I’ll renew my photo journey. It’s a process. It’ll never be finished…so
I don’t let myself get all whacky over it. If possible, though, you should come up with some system: perhaps you are
on the ball enough that each and every time you pick up pix from the developer, you immediately put them into albums. You’d
get an extra cherry in your sundae at my house. Perhaps after you pick up your pix you throw them all into a large drawer,
with the hopes of organizing them one day. (That’s been me these last few years.) OK. So that’s a system, too.
Just be sure that “one day” isn’t too far into the future, promise?!?
·
Figure out where this
all fits into your family’s direction. You
may be committed to too many things…professionally and personally. This may simply have too small a role in your family’s
“purpose.” The commitment of energy alone to the whole scrapping thing might wear you out, leaving you feeling
totally unglued and unable to do the other things in which you are truly passionate about! That’s OK!!!!! Maybe this
just isn’t your time!!! Stop beating yourself up. You may prefer to use your fingers teaching your child to finger-paint,
your lap rocking your newborn, and your energy driving your kids to music lessons. You might rather use your discretionary
funds supporting a missionary rather than spending it on pretty background papers for family photos. I can’t tell you
what’s right for you. I can only help do the heavy lifting. So I’ve done the research, evaluated some of the options,
and am presenting them to you for your ultimate decision. I can help to equip you—and encourage you—to propel
you to excellence. But in the end, this is your archiving. Above all, don’t
stress about this. Spend time your kids first and foremost…and these decisions will fall easily into place in due time.
Resources for the Exceptionally Creative Rocket Mom
www.scrapbooking.com Producers of a great-looking website, full of scrapping tips and a bona fide online magazine
of scrapping fun.
www.paperaddict.com Good papers at good prices. No need to leave your home.
www.stickerplanet.com A huge assortment. Anything you’d need.
www.mrsgrossmans.com My personal favorite. Toll-free: 800-457-4570. A wonderful site Full of twinkling stickers
and great visuals. Enjoy!
www.cropaholics.com Great albums! Choose 12X12 Colorbok in white,
blue, red, purple, and green.
www.jennibick.com Fabulous custom-made books; specializing in bookbinding, their baby books are probably some
of the best on the market. Click on “New Baby Scrapbooks.” Great
baby gifts…or for your own brood.
www.addictedtoscrapbooking.com The largest scrapping site on the Internet, and very well done, too. Great resource.
www.exposuresonline.com My personal supplier of most of my album needs. If you’re a “documenter”
like I am, this is the best place to look. Toll-free: 800-572-5750.
Motherpie and Applehood
The leaves are turning,
there’s a nip to the air, and the kids have settled into a routine. Kids are running around soccer fields, football
teams are practicing every day after school, and marching bands are rehearsing their drills. On my bike rides through the
Connecticut hills, I appreciate all too well the smack
of brisk air against my face, the sight of deer taking their final ventures out of the woods, and the visual aesthetic feast
of pumpkins and colorful mums lining walkways and front stoops. And one of my favorite Connecticut traditions continues
to bring a smile to my face each and every time I see it: front doors topped with a row of miniature pumpkins. Scarecrows
have taken their stands against lighting posts; wheelbarrows hold fresh-picked bounty; and roadside stands offer cider, caramel
apples, and home-baked pumpkin pies.
Ahh!!! Fall is finally
here!
And your home is waiting
to be invigorated with its palette. Let’s roll up our sleeves and take a good look around:
Arrange flowers
with an autumn hue: Golds, rusts, deep reds, and yellows always read “fall,”
with mums remaining the season’s flower of choice. Arrange them by your
front walkway and your side door, keeping them in pots or actually planting them. And
don’t neglect silk flowers while you’re at it. Long gone are the
days when they served as atrocious substitutes for the real thing; recent advancements in manufacturing have produced gorgeous
varieties, and they are being generously used by the most persnickety of designers and homemakers alike. I brought out several
arrangements from my “arts storage” shed last week, and also purchased another few gorgeous bunches. Arranged
in blue-and-white porcelain vases, cache pots, and antique watering cans…they make me happy every time I walk by one
of these arrangements. (Check out Michael’s and your local florists, too. They are already offering fall silk flowers
at deep discounts. I bought silk sunflowers this weekend that looked like they were literally just pulled out of the dirt—they
were even appropriately “aged” and…well, were just really quite wonderful. On sale for $5 a pop at my local
florist.)
Add the soft glow
of candles: Keep one burning at all times while you’re in your home;
make sure the kids walk into the house after school to the lovely aroma—and color—of “fall.” My candle
of choice: votivo. Hands down. I’ve tried most of the wonderful, expensive
brands—as well as the not-so-wonderful, inexpensive ones, too—and have become a loyal supporter of this “hand-poured
in the USA” classic. Priced somewhere around $20 (depending on what part of the country you live in),
they offer a nice value with burn times of up to 60 hours; their strong essential oils are available in the loveliest combinations.
Try Red Currant, Mandarin, Fig, Cinnamon, or Forest for fall. And don’t forget to change out your tapers while you’re nesting. Try adding
some in sage, pumpkin, or deep rust. Do a walk-through of your home and take note of candlesticks and sconces that need a
good change.
Indulge in a few
favorites from your own kitchen or from your local bakery or gourmet deli:
Pumpkin scones, pumpkin bread, and pumpkin pie come but once a year. No guilt, okay? An occasional small piece of pie with
a dollop of whipped cream never killed anyone—even those on Atkins or the South Beach Diet. And if you’ve never
tasted a pumpkin scone then you have no idea what I’m talking about. I do limit my carbs, but if I could get my hands
on a fresh scone right about now—well, the diet would have to wait! Let your kids enjoy a few fall favorites, too. One
caramel apple a year won’t get the carb police out in full force. And get out that slow cooker and stock pot. Wonderful
soups and stews simmering on your stove all day certainly lend a fabulous fall “read.”
Rotate your closets: If you need to put stuff in storage, this might be the time to do so. Rotate out summer clothing,
take things to the dry cleaners, and get ready to winterize. Put your favorite sandals back into their boxes and organize
them onto your high shelves; get out clogs, boots, and other heavy footwear. Make sure that before you put things into storage,
they’re clean and stain-free. Those extra precautions taken now will yield big dividends for years to come. If you haven’t already done so, arrange things in your closet in color sequence, and use hangars that
are visually appealing. And re-fold your folded stuff while you’re at it. Folded
edges out. Plant a few of your favorite sachets in between those cashmere sweater sets, too.
Get papers color-coded
and organized for the rest of the school-year. If you haven’t yet read
my article on “Color-Coding Your Family,” take a quick peek before it goes into Archives. (http://www.selfhelpcenters.com/family.asp#1) You need to make sure you’ve got your ducks in a row before the flurry of December hits with full
force. So go through school papers, sports schedules, music folders, travel brochures, and miscellaneous junk that has cluttered
up your work space. (I can hardly talk: my desk is at this very moment literally screaming for a quick “fix.”)
Start thinking “Holidays” now! Place your orders for address labels, shipping labels, and Christmas or Hanukkah
cards now. Don’t wait until next month, but instead, allow yourself
the dizzying liberation of having your ducks lined up in a serious row before you can say “trick-or-treat.”
Start buying Holiday gifts this month. Hopefully, you’ve been picking things up throughout the year. If not, don’t panic.
Just promise to start thinking about those on your gift list right now. For those of you who much prefer giving gifts made
with your own two hands, you better get crackin’. It takes a while to hook a rug, work up an original oil-painting,
needlepoint a belt or pillow, or crop a perfect scrapbook. If you prefer the bright lights of the mall, shop now before the
crowds hit. Could you think of a more perfect fall outing than a leisurely day at the mall?!? And don’t forget your
wrapping paper/ribbon/ gift tag scheme for this year. Design something special.
Until next week, enjoy
the colors, aromas, and brisk air of fall!
Protecting Our Priceless Heritage
Quote of the Day:”All
that is necessary for evil to triumph is that good men do nothing.” Edmund Burke
Whether you like it or not, you are shaping human destiny. Your children’s future…and
those of your children’s children…will be affected by the decision you make in the next three weeks. Yes: your
vote for your candidate for the Presidency of this great country of ours will impact generations in ways in which you will
never even see. You are smack in the middle of shaping the future of the world whether you realize it or not. Your decision
will impact policy, the interpretation of our constitution, all disenfranchised people within our borders, our national security,
the education of our children, your health and well-being, the level of commitment of our armed forces, the amount of money
you pay in taxes, as well as the general cultural climate.
Are you informed? And
I don’t mean superficially. I mean: are you thoroughly informed on the fundamental issues facing us today which will
impact the safety, security, and welfare of our country? Do you deeply understand the issues? Are you discussing them with
your spouse? And with your children? Exactly how do you feel about our national security and the level of commitment of our
troops? How do you feel about each candidate’s stance on the economy, on raising taxes, on funding programs that impact
American workers? Where do you stand on stem cell research? On the sanctity of life? How secure…or terrified…do
you feel at the thought of another major attack, and on the candidate’s ability to handle it with wisdom? What is your
comfort level with the Vice Presidential candidates, knowing that each one is a mere heartbeat away from becoming the most
powerful person in the world?
Taking our responsibility
of liberty and freedom seriously requires that we commit to “solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty.” President
John Adams, when he wrote to his wife in 1776, declared a type of mandate, calling all of us to not only seriously reflect
on our responsibilities of freedom, but to enter into solemn acts of devotion. Are
we, each and every one of us, praying solemnly and reverently for those who are throwing themselves into the line of fire
for the sake of freedom? Are we educating our children as to the heroic acts of those who came before us, who valiantly fought
for the sake of our liberty? Are we lifting up our President as he makes decisions impacting individuals around the globe?
For while we have that ongoing “pursuit of happiness thing” down pat, celebrating freedom and liberty with solemn
acts of devotion has lost its way out of our collective consciousness. Freedom isn’t the sole birthright of Americans;
it is a natural right, an innate right of all humankind! Have you seen the exuberance of the newly freed Afghans?
Whatever your political
persuasions, and whoever your candidates, it is my hope that you devote significant time each day during these next few weeks
to “solemn acts of devotion.” Take time out each and every day to pray for our country. Pray for the safety of
those soldiers who are fighting for others’ freedoms. Pray for success of their efforts, and for peace.
Pray for our leaders…that
amidst standing up for their convictions, they keep the best interests of others at heart as well.
Pray for the security
and safety of our citizens…and for others around the globe…that we be protected from random acts of terrorism
and violence.
Promise to be ever mindful
of your personal freedom, your liberty, and your rights. Pray with thanksgiving.
Pour out a blessing on behalf of those to whom you owe it.
And VOTE! Alyse
O’Neill wrote: “It is at the voting booth in a free nation that every man is equal to every other man—where
every man’s voice is heard, where every man’s voice is counted alike, where every man makes his choice as to who
shall serve him in public office….Countless years and lives have been spent in gaining for us the freedom which we now
have in the United States of America. Shall all that sacrifice have been wasted because we are just not interested enough
in our government to go to the polls on election day?…A man can possess no more valuable right than the right to vote…It
is a responsibility and a duty that no free man can shirk if he wants to remain free.”
On Connectedness
First off, I owe you an
apology. Last week, I had quoted some frequently used “By One Vote” data that has been so widely circulated it
has morphed into veritable mythological status. Appearing in major newspapers and quoted by syndicated columnists, I had thought
the data was perfectly correct.
But alas: an astute rocket
mom friend of mine emailed me to point out that these “By One Vote” stats were, indeed, erroneous. Pure myth.
So….with my apologies, I must report that they are not correct. Please visit the web site: www.snopes.com to check for accuracy, the explanations to these myths being too wordy to put into this newsletter.
Secondly, I admit to being
nearly too exhausted to write even the simplest of letters. Saturday night brought us our Symphony Orchestra concert with
harmonica virtuoso, Robert Bonfiglio. He not only performed a harmonica concerto; he delighted us with five or six encores.
(I lost track after the fourth.) Excuse my ignorance; I had no idea harmonica virtuosos even existed…nor did I have
any clue that concertos were written for this lovely little instrument. (The harmonica is an instrument?!?) The guy was incredible.
I’ve never seen—nor heard—anything like it. Please…check out www.robertbonfiglio.com to become enlightened yourself.
I got home around midnight last night, only to wake up and head back to the auditorium this morning to rehearse with one
of our local dance troupes, our full symphony orchestra, narrator, lighting crew, and director for our annual Family Concert,
the working committee for which I chaired. We interpreted the award-winning 1963 children’s classic Where the Wild
Things Are, by Maurice Sendak, by setting it to classical music and to classical ballet. Starting with The Creaky Door
Overture, a little-known work by Kozinski, to an excerpt from Rimsky-Korsakov’s “Scheherazade,” to Mussorgsky’s
“Night on Bald Mountain,” the dancers performed to Stravinsky’s “Firebird Suite,” one of my
personal favorites (with a climax that leaves me choked up each and every time I listen to it.) Actor Keir Dullea, best known
for his performance in “2001: A Space Odyssey,” narrated the prose as set forth in the book by Mr. Sendak.
This is not meant in any
way to showcase our local, fully professional symphony orchestra, nor the dance company which performed so brilliantly today.
Rather, it is used to illustrate a lesson that hit me like a ton of bricks this weekend. I had learned this lesson—albeit
less intensely—years ago when my daughter performed in ballets with her troupe. But too many years had passed and the
lesson had been forgotten. I learned this lesson more palpably today by witnessing it firsthand. I observed the level of commitment
required—and cheerfully given—by many different people of many, varied talents—in order to achieve a highly
desired result for a common cause, for the welfare of many.
The conductor needed prepared
musicians; the musicians needed the conductor. The choreographer needed attentive, energetic dancers…and they needed
her direction. The set designer needed the choreographer’s vision, and we all needed his set! The make-up artist needed
the dancers who needed the make-up artist. The stage crew needed the lighting contractor, who relied on the stage crew, choreographer,
director, and conductor for direction. We all needed concert-goers…and they needed this concert. This interdependence,
lovingly given and enthusiastically accepted, mingled with emotionally charged music to produce a concert of significant aesthetic
fuel. It will doubtless keep my tank filled for weeks.
So it is with all relationships.
Husband needs wife and wife needs husband. Children need parents and parents need children.
And political leaders need the electorate as the electorate needs leadership.
This is not an earth-shattering
concept; quite frankly, I am so exhausted both physically and emotionally, that I am just happy to get some tiny message out
today. But keep in mind, as you go through these next fifteen days before our
Presidential election, of the interdependence of our citizens. Of how your vote will impact your neighbor, your brother, your
employer, and your kids. Study the interdependence of the issues, how they fall like dominoes once stacked upon each other.
And how we are, each and every one of us, in this life struggle together, like tiny separate dots…just waiting to be
connected.
Surprised by Beauty
Quote of the Day:
"Love of beauty and the desire to create it is a primal instinct of man." Eleanor McMillan Brown
This weekend brought me the privilege of
chaperoning forty
musicians to the Catskill Mountains of New York for a youth
orchestra retreat. Designed as a scenic
get-away in which to
ardently rehearse for an upcoming concert, it proved an
exhausting-but delightful-escape with teens.
Considering
that I made the preliminary arrangements, and
actually booked the accommodations at the retreat center, I
thought I
had a fairly good idea of what to expect. When the
retreat director described our cabins as "rustic," I envisioned
cute
and cozy. Campy. Kind of with a Ralph Lauren meets L.L. Bean
thing going on.
She greatly oversold them. I had
better luck in third-world
countries. While the kids rehearsed late that first night, I
searched for the cabins in the
middle of absolutely nowhere-pitch
dark-with a couple of flashlights, a poor-to-scale hand-drawn
map, and two very tired
orchestra moms as my only guides. We
found these tarp-roofed, no-mattress-bunks-with-little-heat-and-bad-lighting-and-did-I-
mention-no-locks-on-any-doors
near midnight after a long three
and a half hour drive and a very bad camp retreat
dinner. We moms
thought it would be a good idea to locate the cabins and get
things "settled in." Mortified when we
finally found them by the
thought that these cabins were really "ours," we let out a half-
hour litany of moans and
groans, only to decide to make the best
of the situation by trying to cozy them up. That literally meant
turning on
the singular light and cranking up the space heater
per each cabin.
Then came the rain. It started as a sprinkle
and turned into a
constant stream, silently but surely soaking the hundred-plus
suitcases, sleeping-bags and pillows
that had been dumped onto
the ground (no, dirt) by the camp help. So at nearly midnight, in
the cold downpour of the
rain, we schlepped forty kids' stuff
into one of the cabins. It was pitch black, excepting the two
puny flashlights
and those five measly light bulbs.
Suffice it to say that the first night was character-building.
I had eight
twelve-year-old girls in my cabin. Giggly, wanting
to chat well past "lights out," but with the cutest tank-top-pajama-
bottoms
combos I've ever seen, (and more make-up than one could
imagine for a weekend retreat in the middle of friggin'
nowhere)
I had the distinct impression that it could be an
interesting two days.
And then came Saturday. And Mozart.
Grieg and Bizet. Rehearsal
after concentrated rehearsal brought teenager to his instrument
and magic out of chaos. For
somewhere beneath all of the acne
cream and the eyeliner came focus and discipline and the desire
to master music of
magnificent proportion.
After all-day rehearsals, as well as sectional rehearsals with
master teachers brought
in from New York City, the group came
together and practiced one last time, late Saturday night after
dinner. As they
were tuning, I walked around the room making sure
everyone was comfortable and ready for one last practice session.
I
walked up to my fifteen-year-old son and twelve-year-old
daughter and whispered in their ears, "Create Beauty." Fueled
with
little sleep and bad camp food, neither were amused. But
then the conductor raised his baton, the cute high school senior
lifted
her flute, and thus began the genius of The Magic Flute.
And then the oboist, a highschooler I had never met before, with
a
bandana covering her hair and too-many earrings covering her
left ear, came in, followed by the clarinetist, to create
extraordinary
beauty. And I just sat there, with tears rolling
down my cheeks, an uncontrollable reaction to witnessing
magnificence.
It
caught me quite off-guard that these kids-dirty from too much
of the retreat experience and too little of the available
hot
water and soap, and sleep-deprived from too much sleeping-bag
chatter-could produce something so glorious.
Sometimes
kids surprise us. Sometimes, after we want to wring
their necks for their appallingly irresponsible behavior (losing
their
backpacks, forgetting their music, leaving their dirty
dishes for us to clear), they sit down and do the most astounding
thing.
They pick up and instrument and play something
extraordinary. Or they write an essay and it changes our
worldview. Or
they perform ballet with perfect timing. And we
scratch our heads and think, "Could this possibly be my kid?!?"
Because
just when you're ready to throw in the towel, throw
your hands up in quiet desperation, and pound your fists on the
table
in a round of madness, your kids will do something that
will convince you that they are filled with brilliance. That
they
possess a hidden gift or an indescribable magic or a
hilarious gift of humor or a quick mind or a strong shoulder or
a
gentle spirit.
And you are so thrilled to have had some small part of the
creation.
Happy parenting.
Have a glory-filled week!
On Perspective
Quote
of the Day: "The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much." James 5:16
(KJV)
Last Monday morning one of my biggest concerns was whether my
scheduled 8AM tennis match would be competitive enough. By last
Monday
night, I was praying that my son, Nick, would have the
"good" kind of leukemia. And today, I was thankful that he could
keep
down chicken-noodle soup.
Funny what a week does for one's perspective.
I am only sending this Newsletter
out to give an update on Nick
because I am unable otherwise to keep up with the hundreds of
emails and phonemails sent
on his behalf. For those of you who
signed up for this weekly parenting "ezine"- who are undoubtedly
scratching your
heads thinking: "I didn't know I was signing up
for this!"-well, either did I. So if this upsets or offends in
any way,
please simply delete. I don't intend to use my ROCKET
MOM! Monday
Newsletter as a forum for medical updates on Nick.
But if you'll please excuse it this time, I feel that I just
have
to. The outpouring of affection and prayers lifted up on my
son's behalf-from both dear friends and perfect strangers
alike-has
proved to be a powerful testimony to the common bonds
of parenthood, as well as to the bonds of Christian love.
There's
not a mom out there who cannot sympathize with what
we're going through..and so she has emailed me. (Thank you!)
There's
not a mom out there who wouldn't gladly take her child's
place in the hospital bed, nor is there a mom who can bear to
watch
her child suffer without feeling it deeply herself. And so
many of you have emailed me to help soften our burden.and we
are
truly thankful for that.
And so for those reasons-as well as the fact that as I'm only
home every other
night from the hospital--purely practical needs
can be met through this technology in a way not possible
otherwise.
So please allow me to use this Newsletter today to
give you a brief update.
Nick has been at Yale Children's
Hospital (Room 722) since last
Monday. His diagnosis of leukemia was made official shortly
after we arrived, and we
knew by that night that it had not
spread to his lungs. By Tuesday, it was officially diagnosed as
ALL (the "good" kind
of leukemia) and that it had not spread to
his groin; by Wednesday he'd had surgery to implant a port-a-
cath ("port")
through which chemo is administered; by that
afternoon we'd learned that the cancer had not spread to his
brain; by
that night he'd had his first chemo treatment; by
Thursday he'd felt its horrible effects with a sleepless night
interrupted
by near-constant vomiting; by Friday he had fever
and was in pretty bad shape.
But the weekend brought better
news and after a couple days on
antibiotics, one day of no food or drink (only ice chips), and
one day of a low-fat
diet, he was indeed eating quite heartily
today and was in fairly good spirits-brightened by a visit from
several of
his varsity soccer team buddies on Saturday and a
round of five adorable girls bearing gifts on Sunday.
On Sunday,
our church's healing and prayer intercessors anointed
me with oil and laid hands on me; today they visited us at YALE
and
did the same for my husband and for Nick. Many of you-at my
request-have emailed Scripture verses that you have claimed
for
Nick during his recovery. If you feel so led, please email me
verses that have sustained you in times of illness
and healing,
provided you comfort during times of discouragement, or which
have come to you especially for Nick during
his time of
suffering. I am keeping a journal for Nick of these verses, the
name of the person who sent them, and the
date. Over time, I
believe he will experience great comfort in knowing that people
around the world are lifting him
up in prayer and are reciting
Scripture on his behalf. Both of these-intercessory prayer and
Scripture-have served as
incredible spiritual sustenance; for all
of you who have fed us spiritually in these ways, we are truly
thankful. There
could be no greater gift.
For those of you living in the Fairfield County, Connecticut
area, who have emailed
or called me with offers to help-and
sometimes I come home to dozens of phonemails and hundreds of
emails which, sadly,
I cannot respond to--please email Sue
Ferguson at: sferg26@aol.com. She is coordinating all efforts in
meeting our family's practical needs. Working alongside
friend
Kitsey Snow, they will be taking care of all the details needed
to help our family function through crisis.
Nick
is going to get through this, I have no doubt, and he is
going to get th
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