Saying Good-bye to 2008

I had heard that children attract colds like my garden attracts bees. And now I know it to be true. I am sick with my second cold of the season, and Amelia seems to finally be recovering from hers. I had intentions for our New Years Eve celebration that will not come to fruition. Life happens, we adjust. And so it goes.
I have a tradition each new year. I sit down with a giant scrapbook, and capture the year. I reflect on all that was meaningful, and the growth and experiences that filled my year. Each year, I find myself amazed all over again. I forgot about that. And that. Oh, and that. Yes. A year well-lived indeed.
It is not the accomplishments that stand out to me. It is the smile on my face in the picture of me iceskating in Rockefeller Center, and the remembrance of a spontaneous journey with my mom. It is remembering my trip to Alabama for the funeral of a woman who gave me wings, who wished for me that one day I would notice the beauty even in the midst of pain. It is remembering that, even though she had passed from this life, showing up and being there mattered. To celebrate her life. Even in the midst of pain. I look back and see the books that I read, the places I've been, the people who touched me, the longings of my heart.
Yesterday, I sat down with my giant scrapbook and looked over the last four years. If there was a fire in my house, and my loved ones were safely out, I would return for this scrapbook. That is how much I cherish it.
And so tomorrow I will take time to reflect, to create, to capture. And then I will set my intentions for 2009, and bid farewell to a year well-lived. And I am ready and eager for 2009.

Humble Warrior.

Its funny how the universe works. On Wednesday night, during a particularly challenging hot yoga class, our teacher guided us into the humble warrior pose. Something about this pose struck me; I walked home later thinking about humility, and made a conscious note to explore it later on, in a blog post, or otherwise.

And then Thursday arrived. Or, shall I say, Humility arrived at my doorstep. It was a rainy, yucky day. I had good intentions for us, but Amelia wouldn't have any of it. In fact, she wouldn't have much of anything, except for my complete and undivided attention.

As the afternoon progressed, it became clear to me that I am entering new territory with Amelia. What worked before no longer fits. She has her own opinions now, and she is determined to share them. Joe and I have been exchanging lots of "when do you think...??", "what about changing...??", "does she need...anymore??" And we both respond similarly. Good question. I don't know. I need the crash course on raising a toddler. My toddler, specifically.

There would be time this weekend to talk through the challenges with Joe. For now, I was simply exhausted, and holding all of my questions. And so I was both relieved and excited when 5 pm rolled around, and we were heading out to the annual holiday extravaganza at a local square. Santa would be there, gingerbread cookies would be made, my little family would be together. I bundled Amelia up in her A Christmas Story snow suit, and we headed out into the rain to search for the car; The car that was no longer there. I searched and searched. Towed. My car had been towed.

This is where humility truly entered the picture for me. Inside, I wanted to stomp my feet and let out a glorious scream. But Amelia was in my arms. She was hot and bothered in her snowsuit. She was hungry. I thought about Amelia, and how she has been lately. In one word: Frustrated. The world frustrates her as she wants to do things that are beyond her coordination, as she wants to tell me something that I can not decifer. I watch the frustration overcome her, and I feel helpless. Until I remember my role, as her mama. To help her learn that she can handle it. To reassure her that all is well, that she is capable, that she has choices. Which is exactly what she needs to see from me.

So, there I stood. A pink bundle of fuss on my achy left hip, car keys in my right hand, and the realization that there will be no Santa, no gingerbread cookies, no evening together beneath the rainy sky. Instead, I take her back inside the house, undress her, and begin to make her a grilled cheese sandwich. I burn the grilled cheese to charcoal black as I search for the tow company number. So, I eat it instead. Humility. And I make her another.

We did retrieve my car. I was able to dress and head out to a holiday gathering. Except that I misunderstood the address that Joe passed along, and arrived at the wrong house. No worries, I eventually made it there. I even enjoyed myself. (And it didn't even bother me when a woman pointed out that we were wearing the same sweater).

Then I woke up with my left eye swollen shut, red, and gooey. And came up with my own definition of humble warrior: She who is reminded of her humanity so as not to take life, or herself, too seriously.

Lottery Winners.

"We won the lottery, didn't we?!"

"Yes, honey, we definitely won the jackpot!!"

This was my e-mail exchange with J today. Unfortunately, we were not talking about financial gains. Quite fortunately, we were speaking of our daughter.

What prompted this exchange was my recount of our 2pm hour. Amelia woke up from her nap (this time I turned on the monitor to make sure sleep was involved), and I did my motherly duty of lifting her out of the crib while bathing her in kisses. When I sat her down on her elephant rocker, I noticed that she had a red bump on the right side of her forehead. "Awwww, sweetheart, did you bump your head? Awww..." I (enter verb, I'm at a loss...) Her face suddenly became concerned. And then the bottom lip emerged, and began to quiver in what seemed like slow motion. She began to cry, really cry, as she met my embrace.

I am quite certain that whatever caused the bump no longer caused her physical pain. Amelia is a mover and a climber. She falls often. And she was perfectly content when I arrived in her bedroom.

No, I believe that the concern in my voice triggered this tender response. Maybe she associated that voice with being hurt, and so hurt she felt. Or maybe she just wanted love and that was her ticket.

I don't know the answer to that one. But I do know one thing: being her parents is our ticket.

And there you go. She is our million dollar baby.

Musings.

27 days until 2009. Does this shock you, too?

Tonight, I shared with Joe how much of my personal challenge I have yet to achieve.. in the next 27 days. Bake an apple pie... run a race... gourmet picnic... 10 hours of yoga... and now its the crazy, busy, holiday time?! He thought for a moment, and then suggested that we have the gourmet picnic on the floor of our living area. Love my Joe.

In three weeks, we will begin our holiday road trip. We will drive to Philadelphia to celebrate "the Christmas that isn't Christmas" with my in-laws, and also visit with my college buddies Katie and Jeremy and their little ones. Then we will drive to Toms River, NJ, to introduce Amelia to her great-grandmother (my dad's mom), and then to visit with Joe's dad in NJ... and then head back home... all of this before the actual holidays. Are you tired even reading this?

But, really, what I wanted to share tonight is how very possible it is to be fooled by a 1 year old. Amelia, it appears, played so quietly during her naps that I assumed she was sleeping. She even had her deliciously warm and rosy cheeks when I rescued her from crib-dom. But, alas, by her pale face, droopy eyes, pleas for "MA!" and falling asleep at 4:50pm for the night, it seems that she did not, in fact, sleep today. Amelia likes to talk, to herself, to whoever is listening. She is always making some noise. (This is coming from the one who received a "u" (unsatisfactory) in conduct in 3rd grade for talking constantly... and a few "s-" (less than satisfactory?) in my years, too.) And I can only assume that she lay up there whispering sweet nothings to her animal friends who share her crib. And I knew nothing of it.

Sadly, Joe arrived home in his whirlwind fashion with wide eyes searching for his prize at 5:50pm. I had to break the news that she was already asleep. Thankfully, he accepted me graciously (sort-of) as runner-up.

And so, circling back to my original point (I played instead of napped today, too) about the short amount of time left until 09, I have concluded that this is, indeed, my favorite time of year. This last stretch of the year, the grand finale. And, following the finale, is a new beginning.

A coach's dream.

Birth Day

A year ago, at this very moment, I lay in Cambridge Hospital, with Amelia newly born on my chest. It was not the birth that I had imagined. And, yet, it was beautiful. I had birthed at home for the majority of her birthing process. My water broke on Sunday, and she arrived on Thursday morning. There were birthing candles, music, birth tub, loving midwives, prayer shawl... and, eventually, I moved from my home to the hospital, where another caring midwife met us.
When Amelia was finally born, the OB on call came into my room to say congratulations, and that she was happy that I had proven her wrong. She wanted to c-section Amelia from the second we arrived. After all, I had been in labor for days, she said. I was tired. Yes, I was tired. Indeed. And yet, we were not finished, Amelia and I. She was on her way, and I needed to give her the space, the time, to arrive without intervention, without force, without alarm.
When she did arrive, Joe and I held her, and did not let her go. She never left our arms, except to be wheeled to our room, by us. We kept looking at each other and saying, "can you believe that she is our daughter???" And then we took her home. Without proper dismissal, or more accurately, with proper dismissal after saying we were leaving anyways. She was to be born at home, and so home we were to go. She was healthy, I was well.
And so it has been since then. We still look at each other with amazement that we were blessed with such a spirited girl. We still create visions and intentions, only to discover that it rarely works out exactly as planned. And, yet, it is still beautiful. Motherhood, marriage, family, celebrations, life. Its all a mix, isn't it?
I had an intention to create a video of her birth to the song that will forever remind me of her birth. I would weep to this song in the final days of my pregnancy. I never did get around to that video, mostly because her birth turned out differently.
But never say never... and so here it is. Reflections on the first year of Amelia Eve's life.
Happy birthday, baby girl. You amaze me. I am very proud to be your Mama.

Skipping.

When was the last time that you skipped? I mean physically skipped? Yesterday afternoon, I was walking to the corner store to pick up a bottle of wine. It was bitingly cold, and so I decided hasten my walk to a skip, with the intention of keeping warm. I felt a bit silly, but, soon enough, the joy of skipping far outweighed the self-consciousness.

I came home, and asked Joe when the last time he "skipped" was. He asked me if I meant the last time he skipped an Eagles football game on TV. He was serious. I responded that I meant literally, physically skipping. Oh, he replied, sometimes I skip around the corner at work! I did not know this little tid bit about my boyish husband. I liked it. I then posed the question to him. Do you think its possible to skip and not be happy at the same time? He thought for a moment and then replied, No, he did not think it was possible to skip and be unhappy at the same time. So, there it is.

I dare you, if you are feeling impervious to joy at any given moment, to go outside and skip for a few minutes. Trust me, the self-consciousness you feel will give way to childlike, in-the-moment, true joy. You needn't spend any money, and I promise that you have the time in your day.

Ahhhh. It feels good. I'm going to do it again today, in fact.

Birthday.

Today is my birthday, and I am another year well into my 30's. It may be cliche, but where does the time go?

I remember my 23rd birthday; I had recently moved into a tiny apartment in DC, on my own, and Joe had entered my life. (I kissed Joe, in fact, for the first time that evening. It was, as I told my friend Emily later that evening, the best, longest, sweetest kiss. I had no idea that he would eventually become my husband.) And there I sat, on the floor, bathed in candlelight, writing myself a letter. It was a time in my life when I was healing, changing, growing; I had been through a long, difficult period, and I was coming through to the other side. Oh, how alive I felt! Certain songs, like Oasis' "Don't Go Away", transport me right back to that tiny living room, and the swell of feelings flowing through me.

That letter was a letter of promise and acknowledgment. Seeing how far I'd come, and claiming how far I would go. I was, in retrospect, coming into my own and seeing my own loveliness. Whereas, before, I seemed to see mostly what needed fixing.

Much has changed since then; While I am still young, relatively speaking, that sense of freedom and invincability has been replaced with a sense of groundedness and responsibility. I feel both great love and a pang of sadness as I reflect back to that 23 year old woman-in-coming; I am wishing in this moment that I could reach back in time and know her again. To remember what it feels like to be have all of the major life choices still ahead of me. Who will I be? What will I do? Who will I marry? Who will be my child(ren)? What will I name them? That time of becoming, of not knowing, was exhilarating.

And, here I am now, ending the most transitionary, extraordinary (and yet ordinary) year of my life and beginning a new one. I have given birth; I have become a mother; I have nourished my daughter from my bosom.

There is a pull between opening up to what is now, with all of its blessings, and longing for the freedom and risk-taking that marked my youth. I know this pull as the trademark of the great transitions of my life. It is walking through the murky waters, at times not knowing just who I am in the moment, as I approach the next becoming.

I hung up the phone this morning with my dear friend, Kate, from Malaysia. We shared our thoughts, our feelings, our wonderings on this topic. She left me with a reminder of what true wisdom is... it is knowing what questions to ask; The questions that will take us from where we are to where we need to go.

And so, today, when I sit down to reflect on last year and set my intentions and theme for next year, I will be asking myself this question...

What am I longing for?

And so, I am off to the local coffee shop, and then onto my massage appointment. Yes!

Basic Instinct?

Sometimes I mark my territory. Like a dog lifting its leg. I am not proud of this. But, it's true.

Today, I noticed a man standing in my tiny garden, right up against the window, helping himself to our hose while he finished his cigarette (do you know how many cigarette butts I find daily in there??). Innocent enough, but it bugs me how people disrespect our property here in the city. I've had my patio furniture stolen, my patio destroyed and re-built, plants tramped, many an empty vodka bottle dumped; So, when I saw this man helping himself, I stepped outside and asked, "may I help you?" I let him finish. I simply marked my territory.

I do this to protect my family, too. This morning, I received an e-mail that raised my spikes. It triggered my instict to mark my territory. Our boundaries. Back-off. Instead, I took a few deep breaths and asked myself 'how important is this really?' Not very. And, so, instead, I picked up Amelia and kissed those pink cheeks.

I guess I still marked my territory.

Women Speak: Motherhood

Motherhood is like...

"Sitting on the edge of the most beautiful cliff in the world, taking in the view, feeling the joy... but then realizing there is a really steep drop just below and unsure of how steep it is, what is below, and whether I can maintain the balance..."

"The start of a summer morning--the promise of warmth and joy as I look forward, but yet the slight chill and shock of air as I learn how to be a new mom..."

"Constantly moving from one place to another, picking up pieces, chasing,... always looking, moving, and desperately wanting to stop."

I asked some of my mama friends, including some women that I have never met, if they would be willing to share their feelings and experiences with me. The quotes above are some of the descriptions to my question, "what is a metaphor for how you feel as a mama?"

Here are some of the other responses that these women shared with me...

What adjectives describe how you feel about yourself, or your life, right now?
*Happy, *content, *busy, *lonely, *frustrated, *confused, frazzled, challenged, proud, stuck, up and down, loving, impatient, hard-working, striving, meaningful, changed, lucky, excited, amazed, overjoyed, joyous, vulnerable, scared, confident, guilt-ridden, incompetent, frazzled, frustrated, despondent, elated, thankful, optimistic, dazed, conflicted, bored, exhausted, longing. * Most commonly reported.

What choices are you currently struggling with?
The most common responses were about the balance of motherhood with a career, how a career fits in, and choices around being with/growing their families vs. seeking employment outside the home. Confidence with self (as mother and outside the home) was another common theme, i.e. sourcing confidence, building confidence, being more confident. Other themes included taking time for self, asking for help, dealing with in-laws, furthering education, defining motherhood role, nurturing relationships, letting go, and parenting decisions/strategies.

What do you want most for yourself right now?
More time for self, greater balance, increased confidence, more joy and being "in the moment" (less guilt and questioning), and a greater purpose/contribution outside of motherhood were among the top of the list. Other wants included family routine/structure, consistency, find next career opportunity, less guilt, connection with other mamas/women, time for self, sense of moving forward, expansion outside home, appreciation, happy child, good marriage, better body image, more energy, inner satisfaction.

I won't share the ratings of satisfaction in each area. Why? Because we mamas already make enough comparisons and judgments that there is no point in measuring our happiness with others! Agreed?! However, I will say that, overall, "role as mama" was ranked the highest. (Perhaps that is because that is where we seek the most guidance and/or focus our attention) And, support system and career were among the lowest, with relationships close behind. Personal growth was in the middle. Motherhood, it seems, is its on own path to personal growth.

In sum, we need each other. We need to rally around each other and to not forget to ask each other how we are, outside of our roles as mama. We need to see the dreams-on-hold in each other, and help call those forth. To notice the permissions that we desperately want to give ourselves, and give that to each other. Yes, go out for a walk even if it costs $15 for that babysitter - you need it!

I still welcome other responses. I will use these to further develop programs in support of mamas. In the meantime, we ought to all get together and celebrate being a mama, and all of the good work we do every day!

Sometimes I Forget...

Sometimes I forget my own power.
I forget my own capability as a woman, a mother, a life partner, a business woman.
Then I remember that I can choose a new path when the one that I'm walking down isn't leading where I want to go.
Like when I find myself going into Amelia's room four times during a "nap time".
Sometimes I forget that Amelia follows my cues, and that she senses when I am ambivalent, or unsettled.
Then I remember what I want for her, and I settle into a new plan.

Sometimes I forget to attend to myself.
Then I remember to start where I am, and even a 15-minute run is refreshing and, for today, enough.
Sometimes I forget that eating well means delighting my mouth, as much as nourishing my body.
Then I remember to treat myself to a perfectly toasted sesame bagel with fresh goat cheese, thyme, and a drizzle of aguave nectar for breakfast. (Seriously, you must try it...)

Sometimes I forget how much I need my friends.
Then I remember how good it feels to hear, "I know. I've been there, too."
Sometimes I forget that it really need not be hard.
And them I remember to go with, not against, the flow. And that it gets to be easy, if I so choose.

Sometimes I forget that we all forget.
And then I remember why I do what I do.

To remember.

Bridget Jones Lives on (in Amsterdam)...

I will blog more about my experiences in Amsterdam, from the heart-wrenching and anxious moments of being miles and miles away from Amelia, to the sweet "just you and me" moments with Joe, to the euphoric experience of riding a bike, solo, along the beautiful canals...

For now, though, let me introduce Bridget Jones. First, let me begin by a short story. This past spring, I was waiting in line for Barbara Walters' to sign her autobiography. Being the first in line (yes, I admit it), I had lots of time to kill. A young woman was behind me and she began telling me about herself. "I am kind of like Bridget Jones", she said, "I can't help it." I laughed, and shared that I, too, find myself in these embarrassing predictaments often. Moments later, Barbara signed my book, and hers, and I turned around to say goodbye to her. That's when I saw her flat out, on the floor, with her belongings surrounding her. She had fallen. On her face. And her cheeks were pink with embarrassment. "Goodbye, Bridget Jones." I said. And we both laughed.

And now to my moment. Joe left Amsterdam on Sunday morning to travel to Germany for business. I had 30 hours left in a foreign country. Alone. When was the last time I was truly alone? What would I do with myself? So, I determined to make it a wonderfully hedonistic experience (no, not as in the red light district, thank you.) Instead, I rented an old-fashioned bicycle and road along the canal way with the locals. I shopped a little. I caught part of a mass in an old church. I went to the grocery store and bought cheese, pastry and apples. I went to a chocolate store and bought a few chocolates. I went back to my room and filled the tub with bubbles, filled myself a glass of wine, and put some chocolates, apples and cheese on a plate. I then took the flowers that my mother-in-law had awaiting us (our anniversary) and added them to the tub. Indulgence. I laid in the tub, sipped my wine, nibbled a chocolate, ate some cheese, and dipped my toes in and out of this huge tub. I mused about my experience, reminding myself to enjoy this moment. Take it in. Savor it. I decided that I would spend the rest of my euros on a special dinner. Heck, I will treat myself!

As I stepped out of the tub, I went to reach for my towel. And that's when I saw it. My hands were stained a deep, bright yellow. I rubbed and rubbed, but it did not lessen. I then looked down at my chest, and arms. Bright yellow. I turned to the mirror. My face, my nose, bright yellow. Oh my. The flowers. The pollen. I turned to the tub, and, to my horror, it, too, appeared to be stained that dark yellow color. I quickly grabbed a towel and started to scrub. To no avail. I took a deep breath, sat down, and tried to think of my options. I could go to the grocery store and buy cleaner and sponge. Sh*t. It was nearly 5pm. It might be closed.

So, I quickly dressed myself, wiped as much of the yellow off of my face as possible, and stepped out of the room. I approached the concierge, lowered my voice, and confessed, "excuse me, but I have something embarrassing to share. I put flowers in the tub, and, you see, they seemed to stain it. Do you have cleaning supplies that I can use?" She looked at me, confused, and said, "we have a cleaning service, you know..." "Yes, I said, but it's.... bad." "I'll send someone right over."

I went back to my room and waited. A woman showed up and I warned her. We went to the tub, and she began to scrub. I offered to help. She shooed me out of the bathroom. I came back in, and she told me that it was not coming off. She was sweating. I asked again if I could help. She refused. I reached into my pocked, took out the euros that I had saved for dinner, and handed them to her. Take-out pizza would have to do.

She did, eventually, get the pollen off the tub. And my skin did, eventually, return to its pinker pigment. And, as I left the hotel the next morning, I passed her in the hall. And we exchanged a glance, and a smirk. We both seemed to think it was funny.

History in the Making

Today is election day and, in no small way, history is being made. This excites me. (It also excites my husband. He must have been first in line this morning.) I have my opinion about who is better fit to lead our nation. And you have yours. I have never been so eager to cast my vote. And you? We both await the results tonight to see who it will be... (gulp.)

What I most want to blog about today, however, is my love for my daughter. Joe and I are off to Amsterdam tomorrow. Joe has business in Germany, which inspired me to seize the opportunity and go with him. We hemmed and hawed and eventually made a few choices, such as going to Amsterdam instead (Joe will move on to Germany after I head home), leaving Amelia at home, and having my mom and sister, alternately, stay with her.

Up until now, I've been very excited for this adventure with Joe. I've long awaited seeing Anne Frank's house, and to experience the laid-back, anything-goes, historically-rich city. We've been playfully discussing care-free days over there; We intend to visit many coffee shops, sleep in (a little), and follow our whims... no naps, no schedules, no meal-planning, no fussiness (at least, not from Amelia)...

Which leads to my heavy heart today. No Amelia. I will be far, far away from my daughter. I will not be able to kiss those delicious cheeks, or cuddle, or see those gorgeous eyes for five full days. I turned to Joe last night and said, "I may not be able to get on that plane tomorrow." To which my supportive husband replied, "if you don't, you don't. And that's ok." To which I replied, "I need encouragement." Ah, its not easy being a husband.

Mind you, this is coming from a woman who's number 1 value has been freedom. I am a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-vintage-skirt kind of gal (or jeans, these days). To think that I will have to will, seriously will, myself on that plane is a little short of shocking. My stream of thinking is something like this right now, "What if something happened to us? Who would best care for Amelia? No one could love Amelia the way that we do. She needs gentleness, empowerment, affection, strength... Should I leave my wishes for her in case anything happened? Would Amelia remember us? Me? Are the 3 pages of instructions (lovingly dubbed "The Mama Manifesto" by Joe) enough? Should I not go? Am I doing the right thing??"

And I am sitting here today staring at my beautiful daughter. Oh, I love her. I mean, I love her. I love her the way that I never imagined I could love another being. Its different than the way that I love Joe. And I love Joe. If you are a mother, you understand this.

I know, deep down, that this, too, is part of the path. Learning to leave her, to tend to my own need for adventure, to be alone with Joe, to have faith, and to allow myself to miss her, to be sad, to send prayers that all will be well.

Amelia Eve, I love you, I love you, I love you. My little spark, my darling daughter, my comic, my strong girl. Leaving you is really, really hard.

Sick Day.

Oh, how I miss old sick days where I would lay on the coach and indulge myself with bad lifetime movies, delicious soup, and complete "to-do shutdown". In other words, every thing besides my recovery went on hold.
And then there was Amelia. I came down with a heck of a bug this weekend. Joe offered to stay home from work, but I assured him that the two of us could handle it. We would make do.
For Amelia, that meant eating her meals next to me on the couch, rather than her highchair. It meant playing inside all day long (for two days straight), staying in her pjs, and entirely too much tv in the background.
For me, it meant reading the same books (to Amelia) over and over again, and finding the strength to still make her meals, give her milk, and attend to her needs. And catching a good old movie on tv (or parts of it, at least). Oh, and napping!
Amelia was surprisingly easy during these two days. She didn't complain, except when I no longer had the energy to read her "Say Good Night" for the 43rd time. She stayed close to me, and was content to play with her toys nearby. She didn't even make a run for the stairs, or try to grab Phoebe the Cat's food. I wondered if she sensed my sickness.
Today, still feeling rather under the weather, I napped in the morning with Amelia, and then summoned the energy to take us food shopping. Amelia was hysterical. Literally. She was in deep giggles in the grocery cart, happy as a clam to be out of the house.
And then we returned home. I decided it was time to attend to some baking for our Halloween party on Friday, finish some laundry, and send some e-mails.
Soon enough, Amelia was at my feet, climbing up my pants, pleading to be held. She wanted me. All of me.
I think that Amelia liked our sick days. A little time-out together with not much to do except be together. I liked it, too.

The Veronica's Tradition

The "Veronica's" have a tradition. And it's good. Let me first introduce the Veronica's. We are a group of coaches, all women, who went through the last part of coaching certification together. We would meet weekly via phone from all over the US (and Canada) and coach each other, with insight and feedback from our leader. We did this for months... 9 maybe? I can't remember. And we forged friendships, even though I have only met one Veronica in person. These women are classy. Strong, courageous, funny, loving, kind. They are life coaches. What else can I say??
As the group was disbanding, and we all successfully passed our certification exams, a most exuberant Veronica suggested that we begin a tradition called "Grateful Heart Friday". Every Friday, we take a few minutes and write down what we feel grateful for in our lives. And so we began...
We have had struggles amongst us. Big struggles like deaths in the family, illnesses, miscarriage, empty nest; And big joys, like marriages, births, love, and new beginnings. And, still, Friday arrives, and the GHF lists begin to trickle in. Sometimes they continue to come on Saturday, or Sunday, or even Monday. And sometimes they arrive early on Thursday. And sometimes we don't hear from someone for a few weeks. No matter. Eventually, they show up again and we catch a glimpse of the beauty of their life in that moment. Or, sometimes, its often the beauty of their perspective. They find the stars in the dark of night.
Even more than writing my own list, I savor reading the lists of my beloved Veronicas. They awe me. Sometimes they are so deep and moving. And sometimes they are basic and grounding. Some seem effortless. And some effort-full. After all, gratitude is a practice. Like anything else, sometimes it flows abundantly, and sometimes we need to 'pull it out of our back pocket' (as my college lacrosse coach used to say.)
So, while its only Monday, I will begin my practice...I am grateful for this blog. It matters to me to write. It matters more to write than to be read. It, too, is a practice. But, mostly, I am grateful for my friends out there who are, even if for a moment, with me on this journey.

Marriage.

Last night, I lay awake thinking about marriage. About my marriage. About being together for 11 years (married for 3), and about all of the ups and downs, sideways steps, mysteries, and not-such-mysteries, that come along with it. Joe and I like to play a game where we guess what the other one would choose or prefer. As in, "Let me guess. You came home from work, ordered a pizza, jumped on the couch, and put on "House"." As Joe giggles, "Yes! You know me so well!" Ok, so that one is easy. When Joe has a rare night alone, pizza, or mac-n-cheese, are most often his indulgences.
But we take it to an entirely new level, guessing what the other was thinking, and such. We both love when the other has guessed our quirky ways correctly. We are seen. And known. And loved. Last night, though, I decided that marriage was, among other things, an exchange. Not as in "I'll trade you". That feels stingy. Rather, imagine that there are two overflowing cups, and one big bucket they sit within. As the cups spill over, as they do, the bucket is filled up with a mixture of the two. This bucket is now poured back into the cups, filling them up again. You have a little bit of mine. And I now have a little bit of yours. And on and on, it goes.
Marriage begins with an exchange of vows. I take you. You take me.
Of course, within that, is an exchange of promises. This is who I will be to you. You can count on me for that.
And there is the exchange of dreams. "I want 4 kids." "Me, too." That one was easy. "I want to spend a year living by the ocean with bare feet." "Really? I want to stay here with my job." Harder.
And there is the exchange of expectations. Ah. Let's admit it. We all have them. And here's where it gets sticky. We may forget to make them into requests, and to make them clear. Instead, our partners hear, even if we don't say it, "if you loved me, you'd..." or "any good husband would have..." And that hurts.
And good marriages have more exchanges of gratitudes than they do complaints (heard about that 5:1 ratio??). And more exchanges of loving glances and smiles than eye rolls or sighs.
And, so, in my musings last night, I thought about the energetic exchange. The moment of Joe walking in the door after a stressful day of back-to-back meetings and endless e-mails, and me after a tiring day of baby-chasing and squeezing work and errands into the mix. What happens at that exchange sets the tone for the evening, our evening. Are we exchanging stress and chaos? Or love and humor? It matters. That tiny little moment matters. My cup needs humor more than stress. His needs love more than chaos.
And then I had one fleeting thought before my weary eyes shut. Truly good marriages are constant exchanges of kindnesses. Here, have this, my beloved. You had a stressful day. I had a tiring one. Here, sit with me. Or, as Joe might say, "let's rub feet!" (each other's, that is, not some random feet that we both sit there and rub together, in case you were wondering.)
Oh, and I did have one more thought. They are also exchanges of surprises. So that our partners don't ever get too good at that guessing game.
After all, life must never become dull.
Me thinks.

One of Those Days

It's one of the days where...
I forget my non-slip yoga towel for yoga... and slip, slide, slip.
I go to the bank for a money order and the cashier gives me the wrong amount.
I finally get my passport renewal documents together, go to the post office, and realize I need to Fed-Ex it.
I see an old classmate on my way home after hot yoga (I am sweaty, red-faced and exhausted) and I (likely quite obviously) take a detour to avoid bumping into her.
My cell phone elludes me.
I finally took the full plunge with cloth diapers (ordered a bunch yesterday) and let's just say that my commitment to cleaning them is being tested!
I recognize that it is mid-October, and there is much to attend to.
Energetically, I feel off.

And so, I am grateful that...
My daughter decided to sleep for 12 1/2 hours, uninterrupted, last night, and to nap for 3 hours today!
My schedule is now free for the rest of the day.
There is no need to rush.
Amelia will keep me company on my errands.
I have absolutely, wonderfully, nothing planned for this evening. Except be with Joe.

Spicy yellow soybean, lentil & carrot curry soup

This is currently, and for three years running, my favorite fall and winter recipe. This is a yin/yang recipe of flavors: hot & spicy (pepper, curry, garlic) with cool & soothing (yogurt & cilantro). And it is delightfully wholesome and hearty. I have already made it twice this week alone, and eat it daily for lunch. Yum. I returned from my Sunday morning prana yoga class, and decided that this recipe was the perfect ending to my practice. It is balancing and fulfilling. Now, off to run some errands. Enjoy!

Oh, and be generous with the red pepper and cilantro. And do not skip the the yogurt!

1 tbsp. olive oil
2 1/2 cups finely chopped onion
1 tbsp. red curry paste
4 cups vegetable broth
2 cups finely chopped carrot (I like mine chunky!)
2 tbsp. minced fresh ginger
1/8 tsp. red pepper flakes or ground red pepper
3 garlic cloves, minced
1 cup dried red lentils
1 15oz. can yellow soybeans, drained
1/3 cup minced fresh cilantro (I add atleast half of a cup!)
Salt & pepper to taste
6 tbsp. plain yogurt

Heat oil in large saucepan over med-high heat. Add onion. Saute a few minutes until tender. Stir in curry paste and cook 1 min. Add 1/2 cup broth, carrot, ginger, red pepper and garlic; Cook until carrot is tender (~ 6 minutes), stirring occasionally. Add remaining broth, lentils, soybeans and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer 10 mins. or until lentils are tender. Stir in cilantro, salt & pepper. Divide among 6 bowls and dollop with yogurt. ("Dollop" is such a great word...) Garnish with cilantro and serve!

Little Person

When did she start to understand "not in your mouth"? To know where the stars were? To remember which name goes with which stuffy (animal friend) in her crib?? To respond to "can I have a cuddle?" with a sweet gesture of laying her head on my shoulder???

There are these moments in motherhood where it seems our children grow by leaps and bounds overnight. Its as if the transition becomes somehow obscured, but the arrival is palpable. Yesterday was one of the days. Amelia began to repeat my sign language, after I had nearly given up. She took steps on her own. She retrieved items that I asked her to find. She showed me what she wanted with that little finger. She shook her head, 'yes'.

She is so very tiny. And yet there is such a big spirit and person in there. And she is taking it all in right now. It astounds me. I wonder, what does she notice? What is she thinking??

Tonight, our cat, Phoebe, got a claw caught in the window screen. I was on my way upstairs to put Amelia to bed when I noticed. I went over to help, but Phoebe the Cat hissed. This is not like Phoebe. She was clearly upset. I stepped back, and drew in my breath. Amelia, I noticed, had a confused and serious look on her face. Finally, Phoebe freed herself, but not before a couple of growls and hisses at the window screen. As soon as she was free, Amelia let out a giddy noise. And she smiled. Did my child understand what was happening?? Is the world beginning to make sense on a whole new level?

I am enraptured with her right now. I stare into those eyes, and talk, talk, talk. We walk, and I point out things like chandeliers, kettles, banisters. What she doesn't get, doesn't matter. She likes the game. And she has upped the ante.

Please Help Another Mama

I received an e-mail today that I must share here. There is a couple (and many other families) that need our help. In 2006, I travelled to China with several families to, finally, meet and adopt their daughters. The experience was like being in the delivery room of many families at the same time. Beautiful.

One of these couples, both of whom are quite funny, sensitive, and truly good-natured, applied in the spring of 07 for the adoption of their second daughter. Now, their adoption is in jeapardy due to some legislative changes. Can you imagine?? Waiting over a year and a half and then having the "rules" change and the fear and heartache that you might not be able to continue with this adoption??

My friend sent me an e-mail with the following request, and I want to share it with you, too. There is more information on the website, as well.

"Please, please, please click on the link http://www.jcics.org/5WaysToHelp.htm and
1) sign the petition,
2) > e-mail JCICS (Joint Council on International Childrens' Services)> and,
3) most importantly, on October 14,15,16 - email your > Senators AND Representatives."

I am not knowledgable about what is happening. I only know that my heart breaks imagining what they are feeling right now. And they are such lovely parents. And their daughter awaits them. So, I hope that your heartstrings, too, are tugged.

Lastly, I was writing an e-mail to another friend who has a 5 month old. She is in the "valley" of new motherhood. She asked for some words of wisdom and/or support. I shared my thoughts, and ended with this sentiment.

"How do we handle all of this? We support each other." We need each other. No matter what our faith, our parenting philosophies, the origin of our children, etc., we are all in this together. And, I believe in the cosmic exchange of energy, or whatever you want to call it.

So, please help this dear couple.

My Bounty

Its 3:35pm on a cool Sunday.
Amelia is still in her pjs.
We have been on two walks.
I bought two awesome 'vintage' clutches at Boutique Fabulous.
There is delicious split pea soup in the slow-cooker. Almost done.
Salmon and brussel sprouts are cooking in the oven. Yum.
Cloves are boiling on the stove for aroma.
Home-made applesauce and pumpkin whole-wheat muffins are in the fridge from yesterday.
Joe is in Philadelphia doing what he loves - watching the Eagles game with his best men. He is happy.
He called to say how much he misses and adores his little family. That would be us.
My dear friend, Katie, from college is coming tomorrow with her two super-cute children.
Emmy, my childhood through now friend, is coming also tomorrow with the brilliant Angelo.
And, look at the delicious bowl of fresh veggies and fruits that is on my counter just waiting to be devoured:
My life in one word: Bountiful.

Ten Reasons

She wakes up like this... most of the time. She scrunches her nose and squints her eyes when she is really happy.

She tried to kiss the goat at the petting zoo today. Mouth to mouth.

She makes these whimpering noises that sound like a wounded animal when she sees I am about to comfort her.

She eats everything.

She is perplexed and curious on escalators.

She smiles at strangers, and loves attention.

She has deep, deep blue eyes.

She keeps hats on, but takes socks off. And pants.

She sits on her pink potty before her baths, even though she has no idea why.

Ten reasons why I love my sweet daughter.

The Dance

Amelia is sick. She went to bed with a runny nose, and its been down hill (or down pour) ever since. She had just started sleeping through the night, again. This past Tuesday. And, now, she is not napping or sleeping well. She wants to be held. Or maybe I just want to hold her, and comfort her. And she abliges me. Willingly.

And so we will begin, anew, our efforts to help her sleep through the night. Once she feels better. Or I do.

And so it goes. Two steps forward, one step back, forward again.

It doesn't matter. Today, I am enjoying the moments of holding, rocking, cuddling with her. Tomorrow, or Sunday, I will focus again on what she needs longer-term with regards to sleep. Or I need.

What matters is my tiny-bodied 10-month old who has watery eyes, a stuffy-nose, congestion, and still wants me to show her everything.

"Do you want some water, Amelia?"

"DAT!"

"Do you want a snack?"

"DAT!"

"Do you want to go outside?"

"DAAAAAAATTTTT!!!"

She doesn't know she is supposed to rest, to sleep, to get better. She wants to play. Sick or well, rested or tired, the beat goes on...

And so does the dance of motherhood.

It's Official!

No, I'm not pregnant again. We, Joe and I, are heading to Amsterdam on November 5th, on our 3rd wedding anniversary (yet 11th anniversary as a couple!), for a romantic get-away...

We are travelling sans Amelia. Gulp. She will be in the good care of Grandma Lynn and Nani Ga. Besides us, who could love her more than her Grandmas?

I am SO excited!!! 4 Days with my husband all to myself! 4 Days exploring a new country! Seeing Anne Frank's house! Delicious foreign restaurants!

Oh, to hold hands with Joe as we meander alongside the river, talking as we do about our daughter's delightful ways, and wondering what lies ahead for us as a family... dreaming.

Local & Handmade Goodies

Have you visited http://www.etsy.com/ yet? This site is truly delightful! It is filled with hand-crafted and/or vintage goodies. I nearly drool as I page through some of the beautifully unique crafts on this site. I have recently made a few purchases, too. I bought a birthday cupcake half-apron, a vintage "happy birthday" sign, and a beautiful little birdy on a swing for Amelia.

Here it is:
How sweet is that?? So, I've made a vow: I will only shop local or handmade for gifts I purchase this fall, and holiday season. I may even attempt to make my own gifts. I do make jewelry, the organic gem-stone, nothing fancy, variety. I've been thinking lately of taking a sewing class. Mind you, I was so horrendous at sewing in 7th grade home-economics that I nearly failed. It was the whole precision thing again. Perhaps that's why I married an engineer. He picks up where I leave off. Literally. Anyways, it can't be that hard, right? Sewing, that is. Hmmm....

Tuesday Morning

To do:

7 - 9 am - Play with Amelia

9 am - Shower, confirm dinner plans tomorrow with dirty girl scouts, upload new photos, post blogs, plan Friday apple-picking/farm outing

10 am - Babysitter arrives; Coaching call

11 am - 1369 Coffee Shop to do business planning/marketing

12 pm - yoga? more work??

What's on your agenda this fine Tuesday morning??

Recipe #11

Tonight's dinner: Slow Cooked Tex Mex Chicken and Beans from Martha Stewart online.

Verdict: Delicious & simple. My husband's comments, "Yum. Spicy. Reminds me of a burrito!", and he doesn't even like cilantro (my favorite spice). Thought I'd share it with all of you slow-cooker fans. For the record, its new recipe #11/25 of my personal challenge. Oh, and I took the "do not open lid" seriously. It took all of my restraint not to check on it throughout the day, or give it a stir. It turned out perfectly, though, so I recommend heeding that advice. If you try it, let me know what you think!

1 cup dried pinto beans, rinsed
1 jar (11 ounces) mild or medium salsa (1 1/2 cups)
2 tablespoons chopped canned chipotle chiles, in adobo sauce
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 1/2 pounds boneless, skinless chicken thighs (about 8)
Coarse salt and ground pepper
1 medium red onion, chopped
1 red bell pepper (ribs and seeds removed), chopped
1/4 cup reduced-fat sour cream, for serving
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro, for serving

Directions
In a 5- to 6-quart slow cooker, stir together beans, salsa, chiles, flour, and 1 cup water. Season chicken with salt and pepper; arrange on top of bean mixture. Scatter onion and bell pepper on top of chicken.
Cover and cook on low heat for 8 hours. (Do not open lid or stir.)
Remove chicken from stew; shred into large pieces and return to stew. Serve topped with sour cream and cilantro.

Amelia Insists...

My daughter is challenging me these days. We woke up this morning and all was well, until I put her down to prepare her breakfast of oatmeal, apples and bananas. She was at my feet within moments, climbing up my legs, fussing. This has been a pattern as of late.

So, I stopped what I was doing, carried her to the couch, hugged her to me, whispered "I love you", and took out a book. And then I attempted to resume my breakfast making...

I believe that its related to a night-waking habit, which leaves her without truly restful sleep. Perhaps she is in a developmental stage of sorts, where she only has eyes for mama. Or maybe she wants me to do something, and can't yet communicate that.

No matter the cause, she is telling me something. She is challenging me, as all great loves do, to be more present, more attentive, more loving. To put away the theories on child development, sleep, etc. and to tune into her. What is she, my child, needing right now? What is she wanting to communicate?

I must confess that I've become busy. When she is awake and playing with her toys, I will slip away to do dishes, check my e-mail, etc. And, soon enough, she is at my feet, asking to be picked up. I pick her up; She quickly points her tiny finger up in the air and makes a puppy-like whine, which is the signal for her favorite game. Show me, Mama. Point out the trees, the dogs, the flowers, the world... Tell me their names. Whisper in my ear. Engage me.

She wakes up this way. Ready to take on the world, my Amelia. As soon as she is in my arms, she points her finger forward. Like a rocket ready to take off.

Our bond is precious to me, and thus I am resisting the urge to let her fuss and teach her to wait, or whatever the lesson would be. No. Instead, she is my teacher right now. She is insisting that I attend to her, and I am intent on tuning in.

Now that I think of it, Joe has been asking the same of me lately. However, children have a way of insisting for what they need. And thank goodness for that. They awaken us.

Speaking of which, Amelia is waking up now and beginning to insist that I come get her. And show her the world. Atleast for today.

Museum Visit #1: Harriet Beecher Stowe House

If you read the title, and wanted to pass on this one, I will assume that you are not a museum person. Nor am I. It brings back memories of hot summers and complete boredom. My dad is a Civil War fanatic and, as such, he took all five of us kids to Gettysburg for a vacation. I can not fully express how dreadful that vacation was for me. We spent a full day touring battlefields in our cramped van with a private tour guide. I believe that I slept through it. And there were wax museums, weapon displays, cemetaries and more.

I typically do not enjoy museums. For me, museums can feel stuffy and are filled with artifacts without the sensory contexts. Its a bit like seeing a photo of the ocean vs. being at the ocean. I like to dip my feet in, sniff the air, and be there. Books do that for me more than museums, which is why I like to read historical fiction.

I've been to many museums in my travels, especially overseas, and only two truly stand out to me: the JFK Library where I saw Jackie O's clothing collection (come on... you would flip, too!) and Churchill's old war world II bunker. (Ok, I must add one more. I did thoroughly enjoy seeing the Statue of David in Florence. Joe likes to say that I wandered around to his back side, and stood there a bit too long. Again, you would, too...)

I will, however, share one museum that I simply can not wait to visit: Anne Frank's House in Amsterdam. I am wholeheartedly hoping that Joe and I are able to pull off an Amsterdam/Germany quick tour in November. I am fascinated with the 40's and the WW II era. Hence my appreciation of Churchill's hideout.

You may wonder then why I included 3 museums on my personal challenge list. To see, go here. It started off with one, Anne Frank's, and then I began to wonder what else was at my fingertips, figuratively speaking. Do I have to travel all the way to Amsterdam to be awed? Have I closed my mind to something that might actually interest me, after all?

My aunt-in-law, Dawn, happens to be the currator of the Stowe Center. After I accepted my challenge, I e-mailed her to see if a visit to CT were possible. She was delighted, and gave me a private tour this past weekend. I was more excited to see Dawn than the museum, truth be told.
I knew little about Harriet, Ms. Stowe, whatever you want to call her, except that she wrote Uncle Tom's Cabin. Maybe it was Dawn's passion and abundance of knowledge, but I left my 1 hour tour feeling quite enthralled with this woman. I discovered that she was a powerful reformer. She used her own personal grief to relate to and illuminate more worldly issues. She affected change by offering the possibility of a better way through her works of fiction. Non-challenging, non-threatening, and yet effective.

What I wouldn't do to have tea with some of the "greats" out there (tea feels appropriate for the likes of Ms. Stowe). Greats that have passed, and greats that are still alive, like Maya Angelou. Progressive, passionate, creative women who are brave enough to question, to reveal, to lead. What would I ask them? Hmmm. What is your secret pleasure??? And we'd go from there...

Queen of the Mess

Mess-maker, mess-maker, bake me a mess!

Exhibit #1. (Look closely).
No matter what I bake, or cook, there is a hearty mess involved. Truth be told, I am a hopeless mess maker. My mom nicknamed me "little miss pits" when I was little. I'm not sure exactly where it came from, but I've been messy for as long as anyone, including my mom, can remember.

I come by it honestly. There is hardly a dinner with my mom where we don't end up laughing at each other. One of us is often wearing bits of our food, or has left the kitchen temporarily a grand ole mess.

And, if you should know, I'm a hopeless mess when it comes to feeding Amelia. "Aren't you going to put a bib on her??" my friends ask me. "Why bother. We end up washing her clothes anyways." And then they see what I mean. Hopeless, I tell you.

If you were to come over my house, you would typically find it clean. But it takes quite an effort. I like things to be clean and organized, despite my messy way. As such, I have spent a great portion of my life making a mess, cleaning my mess, making a mess, cleaning my mess. And now add a baby to the mix. Oy vey!

I used to feel inadequate compared to neat & tidy people, or friends who just always seemed "together" in all visible ways. But I've come to see the gift in the mess. You see, I'm one of those people who becomes deeply engrossed in whatever I am doing. And I mean deeply. To the point that I can not even hear someone calling my name (as they stand next to me) when I am really focusing on what I am doing. This means a few things:

1.) Whoever/whatever I am attending to becomes the recipient of my undivided attention;
2.) I am able to enter a world of intense creativity, experimentation, play and connection; and
3.) I do not multi-task well.

Hence exhibit #1. Recipe#4 in my personal adventure challenge was a crockpot chocolate cake. My vision was to make it into a football cake for Joe. I had a few other things going on (like dinner) and, well, let's just say that it wasn't my best work.

Oh well. It happens (a lot).

(Note: it tasted incredibly yummy! I even shared it with my neighbors and asked them to excuse the presentation...)

The Perfect Day

Today is the perfect day. It is cool, breezy, sunny and oh-so-fresh outside. I began my morning curled up with Amelia on the sofa, reading books. This is unusual for my on-my-go daughter. However, she was up a lot last night; She woke up fussy and clingy. Only books, and being near me, would do.

Thankfully, I got into bed at 7:05 pm last night. Yes, you read that correctly. At 6:40 pm, I was dressed in yoga gear, eating my peanut butter and banana on wheat, talking with Joe. 20 more minutes to kill, I thought, before my hot yoga class. And I am so sleepy. I could just go to bed right now, I declared. And my eyes lit up. I really could. Joe tried to convince me to stick it out and go to yoga. I did the math. That means I'd be in bed no earlier than 9:30 pm. I have plans tomorrow evening, and then I'm driving to Wmass with Amelia for the weekend. That was it. Seize the moment! I hopped up the stairs, made myself a lavendar bath, and prepared for sleep. By 7:05, I lay my heavy body down. By the time Amelia first awoke at 10pm, it felt like 2am. Well done, Erin. Good choice. Even though our night was interrupted too many times to count, my body still rested for 12 hours.

As Amelia and I snuggled under the blanket on the sofa at 7 am, I began to feel a swell of excitment for the coming season. There are few things that I love more than crisp fall days, and beginning them in my pjs curled up with my two joes: my husband and a cup of coffee! Now, I get the added bonus of Amelia. What, I ask, is better than the sweet smell of a baby, your baby, in the morning?? Nothing.

We dressed for our day. Amelia in her new, adorable matching sweater and hat from Grandma and new jeans from Daddy, and me in my old velour J. Lo sweats. Time for one of us to go shopping.

Off we went. To the local coffee shop where I had my first hot chai tea of the season. Oooooh. Another favorite of mine. We walked to the Whole Foods Market, a daily stop, and picked up some fresh sweet potato, yellow squash, frozen peas, and popcorn kernels. The first three for Amelia and the latter for Joe, since Mama is going out tonight!

I pointed out the pumpkins to Amelia and stared longingly at the abundant mums. I will buy myself a couple this weekend in western Mass. This weekend marks the start of the fall for me. A visit to the old Deerfield fair, pumpkin patches, and the best year-round farmer's market. An annual tradition that I share with my mom.

As we walked home, and I declared today the perfect day.

Inspired Motherhood

I am on a very important mission. What, you ask? Ok, I'll share it with you.

To truly know, celebrate, and invite others into the joy of motherhood. I believe that motherhood is beautiful, inspiring, delightful, purposeful, fulfilling... if you deem it so.

Consider this. Being a mother allows us to step into the land of creativity. We invent the structures for our children, we engage them in games, learning and play, we get messy, we make it up as we go.

Day 1 with Amelia: I sat on the couch with Joe, and said something of the sort, "Seriously, how can they leave us with a newborn and expect us to know what we don't know?!" (This, by the way, coming from the couple who checked themselves out of the hospital 12 hours after Amelia's birth because we wanted to be home. I planned a homebirth and was intent on recovering, and discovering her, in our home.)

It is the greatest challenge and the greatest blessing of motherhood - this concept that we create our own structure, we design what motherhood looks like for us.

And here is where we get hung up, right? We scour books, try to decipher society's messages, ask our doctors what we should do. We get really hung up on getting it right, being perfect (or figuring out what that even means), and being seen as a competent mother.

There is apparently a book called The Feminine Mistake out there. I have not yet read it. I am a feminist. I believe in the progressiveness of women's rights. But, I believe the feminine mistake is foresaking our hearts, giving power to outside forces (whether it is blindly following parenting philosophies or creating rules that become our mazes), and losing ourselves rather than finding ourselves in motherhood.

I will not pretend that motherhood is always easy or enchanting. And yet, I know from experience that an ordinary day can be beautiful and purposeful, rather than exhausting and confusing, when we shift our focus and take care of ourselves.

That is my personal mission. To know the power that lies within myself, and other women, to create, to enjoy, to transform the ordinary into the extraordinary. And to be responsible for ourselves, our gifts, and our longings along the way.

Did I Tell You?

On my 19th birthday, my mom gave me a little book called "Did I Tell You?" by Elizabeth Knapp. I was so moved by the words in this book, and every so often open it up and read it through again. Each time, I am touched. Now that I have a daughter, these words are even more significant, more beautiful. I want to share some of it with you. She wrote it apparently as she pondered these questions with friends as their almost grown children went off on their own...

"For all who have wondered... Did I tell you?

Did I tell you to love, not with a fairweather love, but with a love that accepts and cherishes unconditionally. Love not with a quick and passing love, but with a love that is a quiet peace within your heart.

Did I tell you to be thoughtful. Not to be a martyr or doormat to be trod upon, but to be aware of other people and their needs. To meet others with awareness and within your own framework be able to meet them halfway and on occasion go the other half joyfully.

Did I tell you to be bold. To be not afraid of the unknown, but to live life to the fullest and meet each new experience with joy and anticipation.

And did I tell you be cautious. To temper your daring and sense of adventure with good judgment and consideration.

Did I tell you to serve other people if only in a small way. There is growth and satisfaction in being part of something larger than yourself and your life will be richer for knowing this.

And did I tell you the joy and challenge of being a woman. The joy of having a child, knowing and sharing a new life. The joy of making a home...the center but not the limit of for the lives of those you love. The joy of exploring a third dimension...a world of your own, discovering and fulfilling your own capabilities.

Did I tell you these things as we went along the way? If I did I am humbly grateful. If I did not then you must choose them for yourself. If it has meaning accept it and make it your own. If it does not discard it. Your life is yours to build as you choose.

And did I tell you... I hope it will be a good life."

Even now, as I read these words (and there are more in the book), it brings tears to my tired (teething nights) eyes. What will I teach Amelia along the way??? Did I tell you... I hope it will be good.

Hunger & Fullness

Let's talk this morning about hunger and fullness. I imagine that you, too, know women who use food to stuff their emotions, whether it be pain or joy; Or, perhaps you know women who deprive themselves by counting every calorie, not allowing themselves to fill up that beautiful belly (and life?) of theirs.

Me? I often find myself reaching into the fridge, on autopilot, when I am at the peak of creativity, or feeling unable to solve a problem.

What are we, women, really hungry for??? What is the fullness that we seek, or avoid, but none-the-less crave? Why do we often reach for "belly-fullness", when really we want soul-fullness.

What does soul-fullness look like? Here is what I hunger for:

I hunger for connection with God, and a sense of mystery and synergy in the universe;
I hunger for love, for whole-hearted, I-see-you, love;
I hunger for joy - delighting in being alive and this (extra)ordinary day;
I hunger to create. To express myself through my imagination, my hands, & my ability to make something ordinary into something magical.
I hunger to share my experiences as a mother. For those super-market moments of "I've been there, too; Isn't it (exhausting/wonderful/fill-in-the-blank)?"
I hunger to fulfill my purpose. To help women create joy, express themselves, design their lives, illuminate what matters, to be and give their best and to surrender.
I hunger to feel alive and strong and powerful in my body. To challenge it and to appreciate it.
I hunger to know myself. To really know myself. And, consequently, to express myself.
Lastly, for now, I hunger for rest and peace of mind. To know that whatever happens, I'll handle it. To know the difference between what really matters, and what only momentarily matters.

And so, yesterday, as I devoured a handful of white chocolate chips, I realized that I was really hungry to express myself in that moment. I was working on a workshop and struggling to describe it. Only, I didn't really tune into my hunger. I was on auto-pilot.

And, so, today I vow to listen to my hunger. To differentiate between hunger to fill my supple belly, and true hunger.

Why I love my husband...

I am inspired today to share with you some of the reasons that I love my husband, Joe. It is a rainy Sunday, and we are coming down off of a busy weekend, which we shared with my sister-in-law, Teri. Teri took the train from Philly to be with us, and was a stellar saleswoman in our annual yard sale. (Our yard sale is a clearing out ritual for us.)
Ah, so deep breath as I relax into the beginning of a new week (why do they call it the week-end??) and listen to Amelia playing in her crib upstairs and Joe laughing at the Saturday Night Live spoof skit about Hillary and Sarah Palin. And this is why I love my Joe...
He has these deep, beautiful blue (oft greenish) eyes that penetrate my being. When he really wants my attention, he gently puts his hands on both cheeks, moves his face to close to mine, and stares into my eyes before posing his question... "what do you need from me today, love?", or "what do you need to take care of yourself?", or "what do you want for dinner?" Just now, as I typed that last question, Joe came over and put his chin on the top of my laptop screen, smiled, and asked me, "whatcha doin', honey? Blogging?" So sweet.
Over the very best burger EVER (Mr. Bartley's in Harvard Square) yesterday, I shared with Teri that I am filled with love for Joe when I watch him explain something to someone. You see, this gentleness comes over him, and he breaks down his knowledge, insight or perspective into small bits and then lovingly feeds them to his listener. His knowledge, his giving of knowledge, is nourishment.
My sister once commented that he is one of those incredibly intelligent persons, who you would never know is so intelligent. It's a complement, really. He is down-to-earth. He has social awareness, as Teri put it. He has a sweet heart, as I put it.
This morning, after coffee and breakfast, we proceeded on separate errands. He to the hectic Babies-R-Us with Amelia for some safety gates, and I to the local Whole Foods for some groceries. "Did you remember to buy water?" he asked me as he entered the kitchen. "Yes, of course." I replied. "You are the best." He responded. I smiled. "No, really, Erin. You are the best." he said again, softly, and looking into my eyes. And my smile got bigger. "Thank you, Joe." It seems the feeling is mutual then.

Yoga & Re-birth

I began my adventure this week with two hot yoga classes; It was my first time back in three years. I remember now why I loved it back then. It is a perfect balance of strength and effort and surrender. The teacher began the first class by asking us to create an intention to hold for the next 75 minutes. I set mine as "kindness". I am competitor, a striver, and, at times, a bull in a china shop. And so my practice was to allow myself to rest or modify when I needed to, and to allow that to be ok. Our teacher reminded us to be grateful to ourselves for showing up, to listen to our bodies, and to give ourselves permission to rest. A novel idea. Giving ourselves permission to rest; to cease striving; to be, without needing to be more, to be further along, to be able to do what s/he is doing. Ahhhhh. How yoga doth teach us...
And, although it's only one week into my challenge, I must admit that I feel a swell of energy and enthusiasm for these next four months. I want to do all of those things, and, if you will notice, there is not a single "resolution" on there, i.e. "eliminate caffeine", "lose 10 pounds", "double my client base". Rather, this is a rebirth of sorts for me. A way to re-engage in my life as a 30-something woman who also happens to be a mama now.
I was pregnant with Amelia for 9 months before she was born. She is now 9 months old. Perhaps I've been pregnant with the next iteration of my life, holding the mystery of how to include it all. It reminds me of the Chinese symbol, the yin and the yang. The birth of Amelia, and the re-birth of her mama.
On the yoga mat, I am reminded that there is a flow and a balance; a time to rest and a time to strive. And to appreciate ourselves for showing up.

My Personal Adventure Challenge

Adventure - An exciting or very unusual experience; Participation in exciting undertakings; A bold, usually risky undertaking; an undertaking of uncertain outcome.

So, here goes. Let me begin by saying that I accidentally deleted a very lengthy post that took quite a bit of time. Starting over is hard to do, pardon the lyrics. It reminds me that starting over, starting a new chapter, is at the heart of this blog post.

I will also add that, as a coach, I challenge women to 'get out there' and practice showing up in whatever area they want to expand. It is simple, and yet it is rarely easy. We feel comfortable and safe as things are (or so we believe), until we arrive at a place where we simply must risk the unknown, the scary, the stretch; or we catch a delicious glimpse of what could be and we are hungry.

For me, both are true right now. Feeling particularly exhausted this past Saturday afternoon, my husband suggested that I go for a bike ride. I started to make some excuse, and then, within moments, said "yes!" and ran downstairs to dust off my bike, shoes and helmet. It has been two years perhaps since I've been on that bike. I was out the door in a heartbeat, without a clue as to where I was headed, and found myself delighted as I rode through Back Bay, along the Charles River, over the bridge, and back into the charming city we call home. Ooooh. It was exactly what I needed. Fresh air, freedom, adventure, feeling alive.

And so last night, energized after the Red Sox game, but longingly wishing that we had gone without Amelia (I watched one inning of the game), I lay in bed restless. Ideas and desires were racing through my mind. I decided to get up, go downstairs and write them all down. Once they were out of my head, I would be able to rest. And it worked (eventually).

When I woke up this morning, I had a long list of what has now become My 4 month Personal Adventure Challenge. I am sharing it with you as a way to hold myself accountable to following through on it. Each of these challenges is meaningful to me in some way. Let's just say that baking an apple pie from scratch completely intimidates me. I am not one for precision, and so my baking ? often go array. And yet I secretly wonder, "can I do that??" every time I see someone else's apple pie creation.

Its the culmination of these challenges that I believe will propel me in the direction that I intend to go. I chose those that will energize me, delight me, or connect me to sources of nourishment. While some are more playful than others, most seem like a (gulp) big challenge. Taking time for myself in and of itself is a challenge these days with a 9 month old and a relatively new business. And I pulled a muscle just getting onto the soccer field this summer, which was the end of any running attempts.

So, here goes.... (drum roll please...) Remember, the challenge is doing all of this within 4 months, starting now!!!

1. Climb to the top of a local mountain/large 'hill'
2. Travel to Germany.
3. Run a road race.
4. Log 20 hours of hot power yoga.
5. Bake an applie pie from scratch.
6. Row the Charles River.
7. Host a coctail/holiday party.
8. Reunite with a long-lost friend.
9. Attend 3 stimulating events, like book-readings, speaking engagements, etc.
10. Visit 3 museums that will enlighten or entertain me.
11. Make a home-made, meaningful gift for someone special, who will least expect it.
12. Make a bold change to my physical appearance.
13. Cook 25 new, delicious & nourishing recipes (the apple pie counts as one!).
14. Do something to help the local homeless people that I see daily.
15. Get a custom jean fitting in Philadelphia (Charlie's, I believe).
16. Go to a swanky NYC restaurant for coctails.
17. Find a way to help support my presidential candidate's campaign.
18. Surprise Joe. (Shhhh... he's reading this)
19. Plan 5 pampering, indulgent, wonderful experiences for myself.
20. Organize a gourmet picnic.

And here I go...

A Spoonful of Truth

Ok, it's time to get honest with myself here. A year and a half ago, five coaches, including myself, created the "creative coaches alliance" where we meet monthly by phone to discuss hot coaching topics. We met for only the second time in-person on Friday, and only three of us were present. We chit-chatted for a little while, and then my colleague posed the question, "what's next for our group?" That is when my other colleague shared that it was time for her to bow out. Perhaps it was a natural ending for the group anyways. After all, some of us don't show up when we say we will, or cancel last minute, or seem to have too much going on and don't make our gatherings important. She had been scheduling her work around these meetings.
I agreed, and yet I also felt disappointment. My disappointment was with myself. For nearly two years, I have had this group of creative, bright, talented, and interesting women at my ear, if you will. And, yet, I have failed to "show up". I don't mean in the physical sense, though I did miss a few meetings after Amelia's birth. I mean to fully show up and consciously choose and design how to use this resource. I drove home from our meeting with one question on my mind "how else am I not showing up fully?"
Take this blog. I created it one afternoon during Amelia's nap. I put my intention out there that other women will respond, share, connect here, and its been sparse to say the least. Why is that? I'm not sure that I even sent this link to anyone.
Continuing on, my college roommates and I used to joke that we could never throw a party. We would plan for 50 and end up with 15. I remember worrying that my wedding reception room only held 80, and yet we ended up only needing 50 seats. Ok, so it was in Ireland. But still...
What is at the root of this divide between what could be and what is? Commitment. If commitment feels like one of those 'hard, must-do, feels like an obligation' kind-of words, I challenge you to see it otherwise. Commitment is about being in integrity with ourselves. I am speaking about the kind of commitment that stops me from eating the half pint of Ben & Jerry's Phish Food Lite because I choose to feel great in my body (and not heavy from all of that corn syrup additive junk, even though it tastes good going down), and to save my money for more fulfilling indulgences (like a few days in Germany with my best girlfriends). The kind of commitment that, when it comes to my coaching group, means that I take the time to ask myself, "how can this group serve me? How can I serve this group?", rather than "can they hear me silently chomping on carrots while I chase Amelia around as I balance the phone in the crook of my neck?"
When there is a lack of commitment, I feel caught in the divide. There are often two opposing feelings (i.e. I want to create this blog and I am not sure how much I want to be seen), which creates an inertia. When I connect to the higher purpose, I am much more able to make the commitment and to begin to take steps towards truly manifesting my vision.
Now, in honor of my commitment to create "down time" in my evenings, I sign off! Cheers!

And Then There's Burnt Fish...

Hours after my last entry, I decided to apply my newly acquired learning on baby nutrition to Amelia's dinner experience. Now, to begin with, she missed her late afternoon nap. That's mama-speak for having cried and played instead of slept. By 4pm, she was antsy and over-tired, and I decided to take her to her favorite park for a little entertainment and distraction. By 5pm, she was down-right grumpy. Still, I was on my mission and pulled out the chicken, brown rice and fresh green beans from the fridge. I toasted, ground and boiled the brown rice; trimmed, boiled and pureed the chicken; and trimmed, steamed and pureed the green beans; all while picking up her dropped toys and biscuit every few minutes and entertaining her with smiles and song. Whew! She was in tears, exhausted, by the time that dinner was ready, though she seemed to love every bite! After bath and nursing, I happily passed her along to my husband, and came down to clean up, prepare our dinner, and relax. I was feeling so proud of my accomplishment (the first "complex" home-made dinner for Amelia, since introducing meat), that I even called my mom to boast about my feat. I then suddenly remembered the salmon and veggies that I had completely forgotten on the stove and in the oven! All of this attention on Amelia's dinner, and I forget to tend to my own dinner. Still, I enjoyed a nice glass of chardonney as I ate my over-cooked dinner, and remembered the two most important components of being a good mama: sleep (this needs its own category) and taking time for myself. Otherwise, forget mission, forget purpose, forget dinner, and forget which keys go with which object (yes, I've stood in front of my house door pressing the unlook car door key)... We are, after all, still human.

Finding Purpose in Mothering

There are days when I feel like its groundhog day ~ all over again. Feed, change diaper, play, coo, put to sleep, clean up, repeat. Even taking Amelia for a walk on those days feels more like a task than a pleasure. These days are often accompanied by daydreams of a bustling office, coffee and brainstorming with like-minded people, and collaboration over exciting projects; All of that would be so much more interesting to share with my husband over dinner than Amelia's bowel movements and play date stories. Sigh.
These are days when I am disconnected from my purpose as a mama. Being on purpose to me means having a mission; A mission that holds the umbrella over all of the other seemingly minute tasks and personally challenging moments. My mission: to consciously and joyfully raising a confident and spirited daughter. The conscious part means paying attention to even the small things, and actively choosing rather than being in default mode (i.e. my mom did it this way, why?) The joyful part is just as it seems. Being joyful when I am with my daughter. Allowing myself the experience of joy, rather than engaging my inner critic who says that I ought to be doing something more meaningful.
Today, I spent the morning in Porter Square Books (the best little local book store in the area!) browsing through books on baby sign language, nutrition and even spanish (ok, I got a bit carried away), as Amelia climbed on shelves and my legs. I thought to myself, "Wow. This is the most important, most challenging, and most exciting job I have ever had! How lucky am I?!" And then I stopped. Where did that thought come from? Yes, I love being Amelia's mama. Let me say that again. I LOVE being Amelia's mama. I just haven't LOVED the repetitious and house-bound, or neighbor-hood-bound, aspect of it all lately. Being a mama tries my patience and I often find myself zoned out in no wo-man's land while Amelia climbs and clatters(is that a word, or did I make that up?). And then I wake-up and realize that its Friday again, and what did I accomplish?
The truth is that I love what I am doing in my life and with my life. And I am not even speaking about the coaching part, which is truly a priviledge. I am speaking about raising a daughter. I am talking about how much I have grown as my husband and I have embraced choices that stretched us as parents, as individuals, and as a couple. This is the biggest challenge of my life - to raise a confident and spirited daughter. It matters. All of it matters.
So, to all of you mama's out there reading this, pop open a bottle of wine and celebrate our courageous and rewarding work!

She's Come Undone

When was the last time that you completely gave yourself over to your wildest whim? Oh, am I craving that kind of experience. Complete, utter joy. The kind of joy that I experienced today as I watched a little girl run through park sprinklers weating a beautiful, even fancy, white dress. She looked dressed for church, or a party, and yet here she was wildly and joyfully running through these sprinklers. I sat there in awe as her father allowed her this unplanned, inconvenient (there was no towel or change of clothing in site), and completely 'in the moment' experience.
I considered joining in with Amelia, but I, too, had on white clothing. My modest, guarded side got the best of me.
So, I owe myself an adventure of "coming undone". I know just the person with whom to give it go. Kate, if you are reading this, I can not wait for your visit!

The Natural, Organic Way

Travelling the au natural path as a mama is a job in and of itself. There are so many products out there that claim to be "healthy" and "safe", and yet you can still find articles and books warning you against it. I've gone to several stores in search of the safest bath toys, alone, for my daughter. She so enjoys the bath, and loved her rubber ducky. Now that she is able to grab and pick things up, everything goes into her mouth. I would cringe when she chewed on her increasingly grubby rubber ducky. Since then, I have gone through a few iterations of bath toys, continuing to find ones that make me feel more comfortable. Its very important to me that she has fun, and is able to explore her world, and that I make the best choices possible to support her exploration. To me, that means reducing the toxins and chemicals and God-knows-what-else that are hidden within the not-so-goodies we consume and use.
This Saturday, we are starting her on "real food". I am very excited for this ongoing adventure of feeding my little girl, though aware that it will be a commitment and more work. We are going to start her on avocados. Why? I love them, I've read that they are a good food starter, and, mostly, they seem like more fun than a basic rice cereal.

I am still researching all that goes into making, storing and "serving" (if that's what you call this messy adventure) healthy baby food. Let the games begin!

The Fools in Us

This weekend, I connected with some friends of mine at a 1st (adorable) birthday party. A few of us were talking about how the road of motherhood is paved with questions and not knowing (are we making the best choices for our children? What are the impacts??). I was reminded of this quote:
"I must learn to love the fool in me - the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries. It alone protects me against the utterly self-controlled, masterful tyrant whom I also harbor and who would rob me of human aliveness, humility, and dignity but for my fool." Theodore Rubin
We call those tyrants "gremlins" in coaching - our inner voices that express self-doubt, insecurity, comparisons, judgements. How can we expect to know it all when we often don't know what we don't know? When we find ourselves in new territory with no reliable map? When we never can know how the chapter will end until we live it?
Ah, we must have patience with ourselves and know that we are, always, human. When we know that what we're doing is not working, then we must readjust. In the meantime, the more forgiving we are of ourselves, the sooner we will learn, the more loving and available we are to our children, and the more we will enjoy the journey...

Daily Rituals

Here's a confession: Before my daughter's birth, I never made my bed. It seemed unnecessary to me. Why spend my time making a bed that will just be slept in again that night? And who will see it anyways?? Basically, what's the point?? My house is organized and generally clean, and I have very little clutter. An unmade bed was not a big deal.

After Amelia was born, my home became more than my haven. It was where I was spending nearly all of my time. My tolerance for mess and disorganization became even less than beforehand (and my husband would say it was low to begin with!) I focused on the downstairs first. I asked my husband to straighten out the pillows on the couch, and fold the blanket, before going to bed. With a newborn, the couch is where I spent a lot of my time. I explained to my husband that I felt 'weighted' if I came downstairs in the a.m. to pillows and blankets strewn about, remotes hidden in the pillows, etc. It felt as if yesterday's mess carried into today. As a new mom who often felt secluded in the middle of winter, it really affected me. I needed some refreshment, so that each day did not feel like "groundhog day".

One morning, soon after, I decided to make my bed. I spent a few minutes hemming and hawing over the use of this precious nap-time, but felt compelled to make it.

That day, I noticed how good it felt each time I passed by my bedroom and saw my bed. I pulled down the covers that evening and gratefully climbed into my snug covers. It felt special to me. Like a treat.

The next day, I made my bed again before taking my morning shower. I did it again the next day. It has since become a daily ritual. I do it because it feels good. It is a way of taking care of myself, like brushing my teeth. And, in response to the question of "who sees it anyways??" ~ ME! That's the point.

I would naturally make my bed if I were staying at anyone else's house. It is a sign of respect and consideration. Now, it is something that I do to honor myself and the beginning of a new day and a fresh start. It is a small act that has a significant impact on my day.

I am in the process of creating other "daily rituals" that refresh and fuel me for the day ahead. As these behaviors become rituals and habits, they contribute to an overall sense of self-respect and trust.

What daily rituals would positively affect your life?? What commitments or behaviors would contribute to greater balance and fulfillment??