Category Archives: Big Piece of Cake

What Do You Mean You Don’t Want the Sequined Leopard Ballerina Flats?!

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Thank you to Crocs for sponsoring this blog post. Please click here to learn more about Crocs’ new Back to School line. I was selected for this sponsorship by the Clever Girls Collective. All opinions expressed here are my own.

While I’ve enjoyed the summer months of trips to the community pool and daily ice cream cones (I’m not kidding…I now have very spoiled – and chubby – children), it’s definitely time for everyone to get back to some structure. We need other grownups with degrees in education to get involved here.

So in case you were wondering – no, I don’t home school. I don’t have the talent for keeping small children organized. Most of our summer activities have involved me running up and down the stairs yelling at people to put on their pants because, “we’re late!” This is the house of chaos and not conducive to learning anything beyond the skill of baking the best chocolate chip cookies.

And I’m very lucky in that my preschoolers and soon-to-be first grader love school. Not sure how long that will last, but I’m enjoying it for now. Seeing them light up at the mention of beloved teachers, buying $1,000 in school supplies (KIDDING! sort of), and trying to convince them that “no, it’s not autumn yet and coats will be uncomfortable in the 90 degree heat“… It’s been fun getting ready for next week.

And what could be more fun than shoe shopping?! I mean, unless you’re that guy I married or something…

I, personally have fond memories of buying new school shoes. Primarily because I always had to wear a uniform and shoes were the one area where you could be different. So of course we all bought the same popular pair of shoes each year. But the point is that we CHOSE the same pair of popular shoes. Ah, freedom.

Since my children are enrolled in preschool and the the public elementary school, pretty much anything goes for shoes. And since they’re little, they can get away with wearing purple go go boots and people would still say, “CUTE!” So as far as I’m concerned, there are few restrictions on back to school shoe shopping.

It’s a little early to start stocking up on corduroy and plaid in the DC area, so I feel no rush to buy complete fall wardrobes just yet. But children who live in flip flops all summer definitely need more appropriate footwear for the first day of school. And yesterday, with that in mind, I dragged them all to the mall.

Here is the level of enthusiasm I was working with:

Eleanor wore sensible play clothes (because a trip to the the mall ALWAYS includes time at the germ encrusted children’s play area) and a couple of head bands. Then she pulled the outfit together with a pink and green giraffe print purse. Never one to bother with superfluous accessories, she put the bag to good use by stuffing it full of other headband options. One can never be too prepared…

George wore a red polo shirt with red athletic shorts (monochromatic is very hot right now). He also wanted a bag to carry to the mall, but I convinced Eleanor that her generous offer to loan him her pink and white seersucker purse with the bamboo handles would be wasted, as he doesn’t even wear headbands.

Oliver wore the shirt and shorts that I handed him and could have cared less about handbags or headbands. Thank god for Oliver.

And we were off for a fun afternoon of shoe shopping!

Our first and last stop was a popular chain of children’s stores that may have even been around when I was a kid. And the selection was varied as opposed to vast – which is a huge plus when your children have the attention span of…um, children.

The sales associate was very helpful and immediately offered to measure everyone’s feet.

Then I had a fight with George about how he already had sneakers and we were buying “school shoes.” Which makes no sense since he wears sneakers to school…but I was thinking more along the lines of leather and suede. Either way, we were at an impasse, so I decided to move on to Eleanor.

My daughter was mesmerized by the wall of “girly shoes.”

So I was all ready to have FUN with her selections.

Then we systematically disagreed on every pair of shoes on the wall.

She relented a bit and agreed to look at my preferences. One of which I thought would be right up her alley with its bling sequins and leopard print.

She tried them on…

…but wasn’t quite as amped about them as I had expected.

I told her to keep looking and moved on to Oliver, but after seeing this…

…I decided that the boys were a lost cause and they could just wear their sneakers to school.

In the meantime, Eleanor decided to consider boots, and everything fell into place.

The only problem is that she now wants to wear those boots with shorts, dresses, pajamas… She’s taking the sales girl’s comment that “they go with everything” VERY literally.

But that’s fine. I’m thrilled that she loves her new school shoes. Even if she technically shouldn’t be wearing them until people start frequenting pumpkin patches…

I still love the idea of back to school shoe shopping. And maybe it will get easier as the kids get older and don’t lie down on the floor when they get bored. Or maybe I’ll be arguing with Eleanor over why I think stilettos aren’t appropriate footwear for the fourth grade… Only time will tell. In the meantime, I’ll just chalk it all up to creative expression and hope that no one ever asks me to buy them purple go go boots.

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By the way – how cute are THESE!?

And her birthday IS in October…

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Also – check out this Crocs video. Click on your favorite shoes to link to details and look for Easter Eggs hidden within the video.

Find them for a surprise with your next purchase!

Does Getting Older Mean I’m Getting Wiser or Just Looking Older? Coming to Terms With the Big 4-0

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I’ve been thinking a lot lately about getting older. And by “lately” I mean the past five years.

I’ll be 40 next year. And in a way, it’s like turning 30 all over again. No real concern for the number, just a little anxious anticipation about this new context. To no longer be a thirtysomething parent, a thirtysomething woman.

I’ll be 40. “In my forties.”

Some of my contemporaries will be young grandmothers. They’ll talk more about peri-menopause than unplanned pregnancies. They’ll start embracing their laugh lines and stop coloring their hair. They’ll actually feel like a “ma’am.”

It’s a big change when you take a long-term view.

I’ve been talking about eye cream for several years now, and jokes about crow’s feet and varicose veins are old hat. But the changes taking place in my appearance seem to carry more weight when paired with the-big-four-oh.

And let’s not even talk about weight. Oh, for the days when a four-mile run allowed me to eat all the carbs I wanted….

Don’t get me wrong—I’m not complaining about my appearance or my age. But their combined forces are doing a number on my self-perception. Any lingering vestiges of the illusion that I’m still a “girl” have been CRUSHED by this dynamic duo.

I don’t know about other women my age, but I still feel like the girl I was in my twenties. A smarter version, with much better priorities (sensory motor therapy for Oliver or a new handbag for me…what should I choose…what should I choose…)—but still a “girl.”

I’m only just starting to feel like a real grownup. So I’m a little intimidated by the idea that I am now fully vested and forced to cash in on real responsibilities, health concerns, and age-defying neck cream.

It’s a lot to take in.

So I have to approach it like everything else that makes me feel uncomfortable. First, I avoid thinking about it. Then, I start asking around to see if I’m the only one…. And finally, I look for the silver lining.

The silver fox lining, if you will. Because there is power in age.

As young as I may feel at heart, I now have years of real life experience. I make better decisions. And when I do make mistakes, I recognize the value in a learning experience. I’m kinder, less judgmental, and far more open to new ideas.

I don’t waste time trying to be perfect. And I make peace with the fact that I never was and never will be.

And that’s okay, because there is nothing more boring than someone who is “perfect.” So I try to appreciate my rough edges and quirks—as well as those in others.

But I’m not going to lie. While growing older can be a really wonderful thing, looking older isn’t my favorite.

I know that I’m supposed to be comfortable in my own skin and age gracefully and all that—and I’m really trying!—but it’s hard. The girl still floating around in my aging brain is having none of it. When I look in the mirror, she sighs in exasperation. She applies foundation to the dark circles under her eyes and reaches for the hair drier. She wishes I would put in a little more effort.

Because after all, I’m only 39.

So there is a compromise to be made there. I will appreciate my age and all of the wisdom I acquire each year, but I’ll do it in flattering jeans and a cute top from Anthropologie. I’ll pluck my eyebrows and put a little more effort in. The girl in me deserves to feel pretty.

The “ma’am” in me deserves to be appreciated too though. She’s pretty cool. And she knows how to work the system. While the girls are self-consciously looking around hoping to be noticed and appreciated, the ma’ams are flying under the radar—getting things done and making things happen.

I used to take a long time to get ready. I was so aware of what people saw when they looked at me, that I missed out on a lot of the world around me. And while I do still try to look at least NOT messy when I leave the house, I’m a bit more interested in doing the looking.

I have to thank my children and the impossibly short daylight hours for this. When you feel like you have to accomplish twenty hours of stuff in six—you tend to become rather practical. Bad hair day? Oh well, who’s looking anyway? Feeling fat? Who isn’t? Now where did I put that grocery list….

I get a lot done now. Simply because I have more to do.

So are those the fabulous prizes I’m bringing home from the Wheel of Fortune spin that life offers us? Cumulative wisdom and a long to-do list?

The girl inside me is unimpressed. And she really needs a pedicure.

But of course there are more perks to not being young and perky. I find new ones every day. And they almost always come back to making me laugh. I am developing one hell of a sense of humor. About my life, myself, and the gerbil wheel that we usually refer to as “today.”

I’m taking this aging thing one day at a time. It’s not always my favorite, but I try to look for the positives. I appreciate my new perspective and capitalize on the anonymity I can assume as I race through my day of doing whatever it is I do. I splash on a little makeup and feel pretty when I feel like it, then I use my wrinkles to intimidate young clerks into taking me seriously at the customer service desk.

And I laugh about all of it. A lot. Because what could be funnier than realizing that the two other people in your family who have also had hernia repair surgeries are both 60-year-old men?

Silver linings, I tell ya’…it’s all about the silver linings…

Originally posted on Health News, HERE.

Lucky

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I tend to think of myself as a very lucky person.

I didn’t see things that way for a long time, but at almost 40 years old, it’s become very clear to me that I lead a rather charmed life.

Things always work out. No matter how bad something may seem at the time, it always offers that promised silver lining. And I’m always handed the opportunity for hope.

Every bad day (or let’s be honest, every bad week or even month…um, year – life can be hard sometimes) is followed by one that takes my breath away with its beauty and potential. Like someone’s saying, “see – I told you to stick around…and now don’t you appreciate it even more?“

So yeah – I get it now. If we don’t have any bad days, we won’t truly appreciate the good ones. While it doesn’t make that awful feeling of despair or depression feel any better, I always have that window out. I know something better is coming my way, and I just have to have faith in that. To focus on hope.

I spend a lot of time hoping. I think all parents do.

I remember being younger and hearing people say things like, “the most important thing is that you have your health.” It’s only as I get older that I’m finally starting to understand this. To not see it as a trite string of words that miss the point (duh – that’s obvious – doesn’t make me feel any better). But really – it is the bottom line.

This is why I’m so lucky. Because everyone I love is healthy. Or at least getting through whatever health issue they face. And I think that counts.

My mother has had three different kinds of cancer over the past fourteen years. She was in remission for nine and then had to do it all over again – twice – in the past three years. That’s a lot of fighting – and many would have given up. But she didn’t. And she works, and has friends and looks for the good in every day. She enjoys her life and is thankful for it. For her health. And I am so lucky for all of that.

My oldest son is one of the healthiest people I know – despite his refusal to eat anything but variations of cheese on bread. He also has developmental delays. And as he gets older and continues to have them, I get scared. I worry about the future. I do everything I can to try to help. I throw all the money that I have (and don’t have) at therapies that aren’t covered by insurance or offered through our school system. I spend almost every day actively refusing to do anything but hope. And the fact that I am even offered that luxury makes me very lucky.

I have numerous other people in my life who are going through all kinds of physical and emotional challenges. They range from minor to severe – life threatening to soul crushing. And I see them all fighting. Getting through it. Finding their own silver linings. They inspire me to keep hoping. They remind me of how lucky I am to know them. My lucky pennies.

Last week I noticed a strange lump on the back of Eleanor’s knee. It’s huge and it scared the hell out of me. I took her to the doctor and was given an order for an ultrasound and an x-ray. When I found I couldn’t get an appointment until the following week, I was assured by the doctor that it wouldn’t matter. A week wouldn’t make a difference.

I asked questions about whether I should be worried. And was told that it was probably just a benign tumor. But of course no one can tell me what it is with absolute certainty. Instead of focusing on the scary possibilities, I chose to assume it’s fine. To make plans for how we’ll prepare her for the idea of surgery (because benign or not, it will have to come out).

The past week has flown by. I’ve kept myself distracted and only allowed the “it’s nothing” thoughts any air time. And I really do believe that this will be okay. I have hope. I may be scared, but not enough to get in the way of hope. And I know how lucky I am to be able to say that.

When people tell me that I have my hands full (usually when they see me stuffing all three of my wild children into a shopping cart and handing them doughnuts to prevent any escape attempts) I often make the joke that I have a special needs child, an “explosive” child and a girl. This is true. They are a handful. They are not easy and they drive me absolutely crazy sometimes. But god, am I lucky to have them.

Right now – this very minute – I can say that I have three healthy children. I believe in my heart that they will be okay. I can have all the hope I want.

I’m so lucky…

UPDATE: It looks like Eleanor just has a bakers cyst. I’m not sure if it will have to be removed or if it will eventually go away on its own – but I’m SO relieved…

The Importance of Being Earnest. And Listening. And not being a Whiny Bitch.

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I started writing about my BlogHer ’11 experience with the intention of NOT chronicling my every second – like I did in a three-parter “series” of recap posts last year. But even while purposefully attempting to just feature a few highlights, I still ended up with a mess of anecdotes and links (OHMYLORD the links…) And I finally had to cut it off.

[By the way – if we had a meaningful exchange and I neglected to link to you, it was unintentional. Shoot me an e-mail and I’ll add you to the melee.]

The truth is, aside from all of the planned group dinners, impromptu gatherings and general whirlwind of fun, I did have some more serious discussions both during and after the conference.

About the conference.

What makes it so extraordinary…as well as what makes it so disappointing sometimes.

And as tempting as it is to just forget all of that now and get back to the business of daily survival, I do think it’s worth working some of that out here. For myself – and maybe also for others who have had the same thoughts.

So I’ll start with the extraordinary. I think it’s important to always start with the good – just in case, like me, you have a tendency to get sidetracked.

There were two moments at BlogHer that transcended my carefree vacation expectations. Experiences that while fun, also made me feel part of something much bigger than the activities and frivolous merry making. And they both involved just listening.

So much of that weekend was about talking. Meeting and greeting. Learning. Debating. Actively participating – taking part in an exchange of ideas.

And all of this racing around so closely mirrors the busy pace of our everyday lives and responsibilities. We all spend our days trying to achieve so much in so little time. And we don’t have many opportunities to just sit quietly and listen. Or more accurately, we have to make time for those opportunities. And we seldom do.

A blogging conference schedule offers no exception – just a different set of goals and responsibilities. After almost two days of non-stop activity, I was so happy to finally sit down at the Voices of the Year keynote. To stop talking, walking, looking around…to just stop. And listen.

And the primary reason for my enthusiasm was that a friend (one of the first friends I made through blogging) was a keynote.

I remember reading that particular post, Listen when it appeared on her blog. And while I found it beautiful the first time around, hearing it spoken aloud was a thousand more times more powerful. This piece about not judging others resonates very strongly in my life. It’s a lesson I’ve learned on a daily basis as a mother, and especially as the mother of a special needs child. I’ve found that earnestly expecting the best of people generally brings out the best in them – both in their actions and in my personal perspective.

I loved having this sentiment so close to my heart validated in such a public way.

And to hear it while sitting in a room full of thousands of people with such different backgrounds and life experiences made the subject all the more relevant. It’s so easy to judge the unfamiliar and not acknowledge the good intentions. To focus more “being honest” than being earnest. To have strong opinions about choices. Life choices – parenting choices. We all do it.

Lack of personal connection seems to make us forget about empathy and diversity. And more importantly – we forget all about benefit of the doubt.

I’ve written before about how I rarely get angry. This is usually attributed to my more subdued personality. But that’s not really it. Honestly? I think the real reason is quite simply that I believe in good intentions.

It takes a lot to enrage me. Because no matter how incensing the transgression may be, I just have to believe that the target of my ire most likely meant well enough. And that knocks the fight out of me. I’d rather give them the benefit of the doubt – assume the best – because in my experience, this is usually the case. So I try not to judge. And I also listen when given the opportunity hear the other side of the story.

To sit quietly and listen to a friend speak to a rapt audience of thousands about the value of keeping an open mind – of listening – was extraordinary.

It’s extraordinary that thousands of people would be so willing to just sit and listen to her. To forgo the parties and the freebies and the cocktails and cupcakes for two hours (okay so there were cupcakes on the table…but we didn’t know they would be served…) To put personal biases aside and just listen. And maybe even learn something. How often does this happen in your day-to-day life? I think you can guess what my answer would be.

It should come as no surprise that my favorite conference event by far took place a couple of hours later in the Listen/Letter to Your Mother salon. This event offered an open mic to anyone who wanted to take the stage. And I was blown away by how truly talented these random “takers” were. They didn’t audition – no panel of judges scored their work. They were just lucky to have their names pulled out of a bowl. Some made me laugh so hard I cried. And some had me fighting tears.

Not every single reading held personal relevance for me. But I loved the idea that everyone in that room might be worthy of attention. And even more so, the discovery that they actually were.

And isn’t that an extraordinary concept? That everyone has something important to say – to contribute – to teach. And to then give them a platform. To give them our attention for no other reason than their request to be heard.

Everyone in that room had a story to tell, a perspective to offer, and most importantly, a desire to share a piece of themselves. And the welcome given to those who did step up to the microphone was like nothing I’ve ever seen. It was like sitting around a campfire – taking turns with the proverbial peace pipe. There was a stage, but it wasn’t a production. It was spontaneous. It felt like community. Like family.

Then, as if I could feel even more included in something so special, my own slip of paper was the second to last one pulled from the bowl. I read a post about my son Oliver. And I wasn’t nervous or worried about stumbling over un-memorized lines. It didn’t matter. No one there had any expectations of me. They were just there to listen and accept whatever was said as it was offered. With the best of intentions. 

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I deleted the rest of this post when I received a comment from someone who was very hurt by it. I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt so terrible about something. No matter how good my intentions may have been, it doesn’t change the fact that I hurt people. And I will always put feelings first. Always.

Since then, I’ve had an extraordinary opportunity. Instead of doing my usual thing – avoiding the problem altogether – I faced it. I didn’t get many comments (thank god) but I approached everyone who did leave their thoughts. I apologized for offending or hurting them. Or I thanked them for seeing my good intentions. But no matter what – I owned my consequences.

And that was hard. It really hurt. It hurts to hurt other people. At least it does for me.

I don’t think I can just leave it at that as I had planned though. What I really want is to take the whole thing down – pretend it never happened. But that’s not owning it.

I also hate the fact that my original words aren’t here, so that anyone looking to see the worst in me can assume the worst. But I can’t put them back up. It’s out of the question – risking that someone else may be hurt.

So I decided to come back here and briefly explain what I was trying to say when I hit publish last week.

I had these amazing experiences above, and as I thought about them over the next week, I realized that I had missed out on what should have been an extraordinary experience. I sat through the Voices of the Year keynotes simply “enjoying the show.” I didn’t really feel like I was part of a community – and it was entirely my own fault.

Then in a similar event where the speakers were chosen at random, I really listened to what they had to say, recognized that they were handing me a piece of themselves and felt honored to be included. This is exactly what I should have done several hours earlier, but didn’t. I didn’t actively look for the extraordinary in that room of thousands. And my disappointment in the experience was my own fault.

I had a revelation about something that should have been obvious. If you want to feel like you’re part of something extraordinary, you have to actively participate. You have to be earnest in your intentions, but you also have to back them up with action. I realized that I had been passive. And I wanted to write about that.

I also did a lot of thinking about why I would behave that way – and about the excuses that I used. So I wrote about one: the idea of favoritism in judging. Just bringing this subject up is what was so incredibly hurtful to others. Because to assume such a thing is ugly and unfair. And ultimately, it’s not really true. And I wanted to write about that.

I tried to offer a different perspective of “favoritism” – one that is human, and well meaning and fair enough. This is what I said: “we will always be more deeply touched by something spoken in a familiar voice.” And I don’t think there is anything wrong with that. It’s the reason that we’re all here – making connections and listening to each other’s stories. The words of a single post can be powerful, but it’s the writer, and their story – and our history with them – that gives a those words life. And that’s a beautiful thing.

It also creates room for people to hide behind the excuse of favoritism. I used that excuse. I was the “Whiny Bitch” in my title. And I’m very ashamed and somewhat humiliated by the admission.

Unfortunately, my natural verbosity seemed to confuse the issue. Particularly since I thought I’d be SUPER helpful in coming up with a few solutions for the BlogHer judging process that could eliminate some of those easy excuses.

Well – my suggestions were kind of a waste of time, because they weren’t really relevant. I won’t go into detail, but the bottom line is that a great deal of thought was put into the judging process and the ideas I proposed have already been taken into consideration.

The other night in an e-mail, I wrote that nothing will ever be 100% objective. There will always be a different set of circumstances to dictate an outcome. But when people make well thought out decisions with good intentions, then the right decisions are made. And if you only focus on disappointment in the outcome and chose to be ungracious about it – then YOU are the one who misses out on something wonderful.

That pretty much sums up what I wanted to say. I wish I had done a better job of it.

This was hard to write and I feel nauseous just thinking about it. I’d rather not. So much easier to focus on the lovely e-mail exchange I’ve had with the person to whom I wrote my first apology. And the hand holding-heart healing phone conversation with the friend who received my last apology.

But as much as I’ve made my peace with this and know that time will do its work on the knots of guilt and remorse that still fill me, this lingering aborted post felt like a loose end. I had to come back here and rewrite it to have real closure. To let anyone who wanders over here know what happened and what I learned from it. Because “learning experience” would be an understatement.

So having had that intense learning experience, I have to ask myself – if I was given the opportunity to go back and do it all differently, would I? And the answer would be….HELL YES! In a heartbeat! Hand me the keys to THAT time machine – because I would give ANYTHING to make it all go away.

But I can’t (stupid scientists and their inability conquer the space-time continuum…) So I have to look for the positive take aways. And I can think of several.

I learned a lot about myself and the kind of person I want to be – and not be. I managed to avoid unnecessary drama. I lost five pounds (KIDDING! Though I really did). I made a new friend. And I was given yet another opportunity to see how truly wonderful and supportive my friends really are.

So wherever you may fit into that… Thank you.

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I decided to delete and close comments on this. But please feel free to e-mail me if you’d like to discuss any of it.

My Second trip to San Diego this Summer…

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…was very different from the first. A friend (I think it was Christy) once told me that you go on trips with your children and take vacations without them. So as much as I loved my first “trip” to San Diego this summer, my second visit proved this sentiment to be apt.

Because that is exactly how I viewed my trip to BlogHer. I didn’t go to connect with brands (although it’s almost impossible not to do some of that!) or to learn the latest and greatest social media venues and strategies. I went to see friends, have dinners at restaurants without kid menus, wear heels before sunset and sleep in the middle of my own bed without ONCE having to get up to the sound of crying.

It was one hell of a vacation.

And I almost didn’t write about it. Mainly because there would be too much to say – or not say… But after being back for a week, I found that I was still thinking about it.

What the hell – I’m just going to write and see what comes out…starting with links and pictures – of which there are few since I never remembered to take any. [Note: due to a crappy netbook that operates at the speed of a 1992 office PC, it’s taken me A WEEK to get this thing done! For those of you who have been asking – sorry for the delay.]

So without further ado, let the linking and image stealing from other sites begin!

I had a crack of dawn flight requiring that I wake up around 3:00 a.m. This, in a word, sucked. But I am so Type A about packing and travel that I probably wouldn’t have slept well anyway. And I could sneak into my babies’ rooms to give them kisses goodbye without having to look them in they eye – something that always knocks me flat with guilt and worry.

Then I skulked outside in the dark, loading my suitcase into a sadistic blue van that insisted I get up THREE HOURS before my 6:00 a.m. flight. But I never had a moment of my usual latesolateohmygodwhydidn’tIleaveearlier panic…so bygones.

My flights were uneventful, barring the last minute cancellation of my first flight, the subsequent switch to a different connecting airport and an hour delay on the second flight. I still made it in by 11:00 a.m. and I even managed to get a little sleep.

I shared cab with two other attendees I met in line. And continuing my streak of connections to Voices of the Year keynotes and honorees, I would later find out that one was an honoree and one was a keynote. I’m telling you – anyone who plans to submit their work for Voices of the Year should befriend me or rub my head for luck or something… Or just get into a cab with me, since I also randomly shared one to Penn Station last year with a 2011 “voice.”

Just saying…

Anyway – the rest of the day was filled with lunch (including my unofficial roommates, as well as some old and new friends)…

Renee, Me, Christy and Chrisy

…catching up with some of my favorite people (one who was much better about suggesting photo ops than I was…)

Me (appearing to have just arrived from an intense Crisco cook off with Paula Dean) and (an annoyingly ungreasy looking) Loukia
…a pedicure, a late afternoon private party, a group dinner (with the some of the ladies above and a few others) and finally a drive-by of the conference parties (where we met up with another dear friend) before I realized that at midnight West Coast time, I had officially been up for 24 hours!

I also managed to pick up a roommate in the midst of all of that meeting and greeting.

I was bitterly disappointed that my planned roommate had to cancel two days before the conference (hot on the heels of having to come to terms with the fact that my good friend and 2010 roommate wasn’t able to make it this year…). But during lunch, I heard about someone’s last minute add-on who would be sleeping on a cot – and suddenly, I had a new roommate! One whom I had never met IRL or online…

Luckily, she ended up being one of my new favorite people. Though I still can’t imagine what possessed me to say, “oh sure – I’d LOVE to share my hotel room with a virtual stranger.” I blame it on the BlogHer fever. It’s a three day long group hug – and even a non-hugger like me can’t resist the love.

Here we are test driving a mattress I could never afford:

Jen, Me, Christy’s huge pregnant belly, and Renee

That? Is one of the five pictures I took at BlogHer. Seriously – what is wrong with me?

Other conference highlights from Friday included catching up with one of my favorite DC bloggers over really bad convention center eggs, hosting the Serenity Suite with a friend who actually thought to get a good picture of us…

“The Bitchin’ Wife” Amy and me – missing the Flash Mob taking place during our shift.
… then attending From Page to Stage, a fantastic session in which Ann Imig and Amy Wilson discussed taking written work and adapting it to be read aloud. This included both editing and performance tips, AND volunteers from the audience were encouraged to read blog posts and receive feedback. Of course I was the first volunteer. I read an old post of mine, I’ve Got Disco in My Soul.

And I’m so glad I did, since it provided me with an opportunity to meet some fabulous new people.

This was kind of a theme for my weekend: seeing and meeting people. People who made me drop the veil of appropriate responses, reserved interactions and general concern about whether I’m overstepping, being a bit too much or assuming intimacy that isn’t there.

I danced my ass off at Sparklecorn and wore a rather unexpected dress to boot. No pictures of course, but believe me – it was not my usual semi-conservative style. In fact, with all of the front and back “plunging” going on, the only bra situation that would work involved sticky silicone. This had the added bonus of bumping me up an entire cup size and making me feel positively obscene. And then of course, being scoffed at by friends more genetically gifted in this area…but that’s beside the point. It was rather splashy for me. And I would probably have looked pretty hot if I wasn’t so inept in my, um…application of the support system. Early in the evening, I was informed that I was a bit lopsided. But in a room that had a 90% female population – I don’t think anyone really cared.

Moving on from my boobs…(probably the first time I’ve ever had to say that)…

I also picked up two new friends at the lobby bar afterward when Jen and I decided to grab a quick drink before turning in for the night. We all bonded over trying to NOT be picked up by truly icky, much older men stalking the parade of BlogHer attendees heading back to their rooms. This resulted in another hour of laughter and over sharing. By far, one of my favorite conversations of the weekend.

The next day, I went to a luncheon hosted by women I hadn’t met before and I completely ignored every wave of shyness that washed over me. It’s intimidating to walk into at room full of people who are so well known and well thought of – to arrive late and alone when everyone is already immersed in animated conversation – to sit down and make yourself talk to people you don’t know…or people who you’re pretty sure don’t know you. In situations like this I immediately become that little girl at a new daycare, watching the other kids play, barely able to speak above a terrified whisper in response to even the friendliest of overtures. It’s hard to push that aside. But I did. And I had a wonderful time, getting to know lovely new friends and spending some time with others I admire but have never had the chance to meet in person.

I spent the rest of that afternoon doing another shift in the Serenity Suite, eating cake pops, catching up with more friends I had not yet seen and NOT being shy around the “big name bloggers” hanging out there. Then trying to introduce myself to Nie Nie at her panel – only to have one of those horribly awkward high schoolish moments when you realize that you’ve approached someone at the absolute worst time and inevitably find yourself standing there like an idiot while you watch them talk to other people. Basically, I thought she was surrounded by other admirers, when in fact she was having a last minute chat with her fellow panelists just before they went on stage. So I didn’t get to meet her. But I was brave about trying – and that counts a lot for me! And of course, I got to hear her speak…

All of that not being shy will take it out of you. And make you hungry. So I was feeling very ready for a relaxed group dinner:

Issa, me, Renee, Stacey, Christy, Megan, Chrisy, Galit and Zak


Thanks to Kim for taking that picture (she’s behind the camera)! And for the life me, I can’t remember why Jen and Joy weren’t there… But this is a good representation of the group I kept coming back to over those few days.

While there were still a couple of evening parties on the schedule, this was probably last time I really sat and talked to people. And after a couple of margaritas, I had a lot to say. That seems to be a pattern for me when cocktails are concerned: share now, cringe later. All worth it though.

I honestly can’t believe that I put on another dress and heels that night (yeah – no, I don’t have pictures – we’ve been over this right?) AND danced. My poor feet… But again – worth it. Especially since the dance floor is where I met yet another charming lady. She saw me speak at Listen to Your Mother (more on that in a minute) and the fact that she made the effort to say hello made me want to cry. Why can’t real life be like this?! I mean to this degree. It’s so incredibly heartwarming.

I don’t even remember the next morning and slept through most of my 6:00 a.m. flight so I think I’ll just stop there. For this post I mean.

I’m going end here and write a separate post on my two favorite moments/events at BlogHer. I attended both the Voices of the Year keynotes and the Listen/Letter to Your Mother open mic salon. And I’ve been thinking and talking about them ever since. And if I’m going to write about that, it will require a separate post. One with very few links because I am LINKED OUT.

Sorry for the abrupt ending but it’s late and I need to get to bed. I’ll try to wrap the next post up all pretty-like with a yellow grosgrain ribbon. Until then!

What No One Tells You When You Have a Baby

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I think I flush the toilets in my house approximately 25 times a day. And I can count on one hand how many times I do it for myself. It seems like almost every time I walk into a bathroom, I find yet another un-flushed toilet. Often stuffed with the equivalent of an entire roll of toilet paper. All of this toilet activity is messy and inconvenient, and incredibly time consuming.

I now feel lucky if I’m summoned to help with personal hygiene. As unappealing as it may be—at least I’m given some control over how the room is left. Having potty-trained little ones at home has created an entire new category in my housekeeping duties. One that makes me consider adding the position of “janitor” to my professional resume. I think I’ve cleaned more toilets in the last year than I ever did in the previous ten.

Then I remember those years I had all three children in diapers.

Fondly.

I’m serious. For all of the talking people do about getting kids out of diapers, I am sorely disappointed by this much touted milestone. No one ever mentions what happens AFTER potty training. We’re led to believe that once our offspring learn to use the bathroom without M&M incentives, we will be freed from daily involvement with those particular bodily functions.

Not so much. And this is just ONE of the things that more experienced parents let you believe when you’re staggering through the obstacle course of new parent challenges. I guess they know that the idea of a finish line is what helps you get through the day. Keeps hope alive and all that.

But altruistic or not—they still withhold the truth. They let you believe that things will get better sooner as opposed to later. That your baby will be easier as they get older. That you won’t still be talking about poop and lack of sleep when your children enter elementary school….

The sleep thing is huge. I read three books in the two months after my oldest, Oliver, was born. One was a Girlfriend’s Guide to not stealing the closest vehicle and making a run for the Mexican border—or something like that. The other two were tomes as thick as my left thigh devoted to teaching your baby how to sleep through the night.

I often find it funny how we spend around 40 weeks waiting for our babies to be born, and then we spend the next 10+ years waiting for them to go to sleep. Maybe it’s the allure of “free time” to get things done around the house or to eat a meal without having to get up every five seconds…. Or maybe it’s the fact that we have such visceral memories about them not sleeping without a preparatory hour of rocking, shushing, pacing, pleading, bribing, weeping. But when those little eyelids finally do close in slumber, we all break into an internal Hallelujah chorus from Handel’s Messiah.

And in those early months of night feedings and pacifier searches, we yearn for the approaching age when “they’ll sleep through the night.” To which other parents will agree that, yes, it is very freeing to have children who don’t need to be soothed to sleep and to actually get a full eight hours in before the alarm clock buzzes.

Maybe some of them are lucky and they really are telling the truth…. But this hasn’t been my experience. Sure—there was a brief toddler period where they would be so exhausted from the busy day that they would crash at bedtime. And they even slept soundly until at least dawn. But sometime during preschool, I saw a shift.

While they didn’t need to be rocked to sleep, they did require extra books and music and glasses of water and one more good night kiss. They wouldn’t just pass out anymore. They would stand at the top of the stairs calling “MOMMY!” They would declare that there were monsters in the closet and noises outside the window. They would wake at 3:00 a.m. with nightmares. And they would crawl into bed with us.

And so continues our nocturnal life. I live in fear of what the coming night holds in store for me. It is just as common for me to wake up with three children in my bed as it is to wake up alone in one of theirs. You often hear about the “musical beds” game a family plays throughout the night. You never know where you’ll be when the music stops (driving many to musical meds—but that’s another subject altogether).

So just in case you were wondering, no, my children do not sleep through the night (at least, not all at the same time). As a result, neither do I.

Another baby-related issue with which all new parents have to contend is spit up. It’s neverending. Babies spit up after they eat…because they were jostled at bit…as the result of acid reflux…. It’s gross. And it smells. “But not to worry,” parents of older children will assure you, “Once your baby starts sitting up, the spit up will end.”

What they neglect to mention is that babies start sitting up roughly around the time that they start eating more solid food. Not just mushy rice cereal—which incidentally, bears a strong resemblance to spit up—but table food. Cubes of carrot and melon. Peas and tiny bits of meat. And teething cookies! All excellent items to induce gagging.

It takes a while for babies to learn how to eat real food, and no parent will escape that fun-filled learning curve. It usually involves some projectile vomit, or my personal favorite, the lying down puke that ends up on hair and inside ears.

And I most feel for those poor parents of toddlers like my twins, who shove fingers and spoons into their mouths to gag themselves on purpose.

Ever have three children with a stomach flu? Enough said.

No one ever tells you about the vomit.

And the list goes on…

We look forward to getting rid of that cumbersome stroller. But then we have to chase them around shopping malls or beg them to walk faster. Or even worse – carry them.

We long for a day when everyone can put on their own seatbelts. A state of affairs that ushers in an entirely new genre of nagging: “Did you put on your seat belt? Why aren’t you wearing your seatbelt? You ALWAYS wear a seatbelt! NEVER take off your seat belt while I’m driving! Get back into your seat and BUCKLE THAT SEATBELT!“

Finally – my own personal favorite, “When they can all dress themselves.” I now spend hours of my week begging people to put on pants or locked in battles of will regarding what classifies as an appropriate outfit: “It’s time to get dressed… Come on, we’re going to be late…Why aren’t you dressed, you’ve been upstairs for twenty minutes… No you can’t wear your party dress to the playground… You can’t go outside without pants… It’s too cold for a tank top… No – tights are NOT pants… WHERE ARE YOUR PANTS?”

Before having children who can dress themselves, we see other kids in the grocery store wearing tutus with jeans or layered shirts in the middle of August and we wonder, “What were those parents thinking?!” Well, they were probably thinking, “We’re ten minutes late and you’re no longer nude—let’s go!”

No one—not ONE friend ever warned me about these things.

Or maybe they did. Maybe I was just too focused on self-preservation to listen. But if they did try to tell me, they certainly didn’t force the issue.

So I put it all in the same category of non-disclosure. I never got the memo.

With one exception.

But there are some people out there who are more than happy to set you straight.

The most experienced of parents—the ones who have grown children, who have made it through all of the milestones and lived to tell the tale—will break code and provide you with at least one very specific insight into what the future holds.

Without a doubt, each and every one of those parents will tell you, “Just wait until they’re teenagers….”

Originally posted on Health News, HERE.

Flies Like a Butterfly and Stings Like a…Cicada Killer? (AND BlogHer ’11!)

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I’ve written recently about our front lawn and all of the varieties of butterfly bush we planted. And not much has changed. Our foliage is still attracting more bees than butterflies.

Luckily they’re mostly cute, fuzzy bumblebees. But still – our front steps are flanked by insects that sting. So that’s not really ideal.

Then a week or two ago, we acquired a new mascot that may just be the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen in my life:

Can you imagine if that thing buzzed around your head every time you left the house?! I think it’s close to two inches long!

I’ve had to be brave for the children and try to keep it busy while leaving the house, so they can make a hasty departure behind me. But I’d be lying if I said that it didn’t scare the bejeezus out of me.

And it doesn’t help that it literally stands sentry – perched on a particular bush, and zooming over to check out anyone walking up or down our stairs.

Also? It looks at you. With those hideous red eyes.

It’s an intelligent monster.

Chris said that he was pretty sure he had seen pictures of this thing before and that it’s called a Wasp Killer: a wasp that looks like a bee and kills other wasps. I assume this means it kills other types of wasps and not its own kind. Aren’t all species hard wired to preserve their own bloodlines while they systematically exterminate everyone else? One would think this applies to Wasps Killers as well.

ANYWAY – one morning Chris sent me an e-mail asking me to take a picture of it so he could show a friend. A super fun activity, since another Wasp Killer had apparently challenged our guy and they were locked in mortal combat right in front of our door. I hid behind the screen door while poking my camera out to snap pictures every time one of them would land on the bush.

Oliver tried to step around me to get a better view and I shoved him back so hard you would think a great white shark had just chewed its way out of the concrete in front of us.

No kidding – even the bumblebees looked scared.

But I did manage to capture the two images above. They don’t really convey the sense menace we all feel in this bug’s presence…but they do provide a good representation of its appearance.

Later on I got a reply from Chris telling me that we are not in fact being terrorized by a Wasp Killer.

His friend, Blake saw the pictures and immediately recognized the beast as a Cicada Killer. He, said that when he first saw one, he ran screaming like a little girl. But later he found out that they look scarier than they actually are.

Not at all dangerous to humans, the males are aggressive when defending their territory against other males, but have no sting. The females do sting but only as a means of paralyzing cicadas. They rarely sting people – and only if they are “grasped roughly or stepped on with bare feet” [as if someone could miss one of those dinosaur-sized bugs!].

So it appears we are currently hosting a male. One who is just defending his (our) territory and can’t sting us anyway.

That does give me some peace of mind – and little inclination to call an exterminator… But really, couldn’t we just have a BUTTERFLIES guarding our front steps? It’s not like we planted a bumblebee bush or a Cicada Killer bush. Sheesh. On to happier subjects though – I leave tomorrow for BlogHer 2011!

I attended for the first time last year, and wrote a pre-conference post that pretty much holds true for this year as well. So I won’t duplicate that. Instead I’ll list a few things that I wouldn’t miss for the world – just in case you want to find me. These would be good places to look:

My two Serenity Suite shifts: Friday 12-1 p.m. and Saturday 2-3 p.m. I did this last year too and it was definitely highlight. It was so nice to have a quiet place to hang out with people – catch up with friends and meet new ones… Even though I’m scheduled to be there each day, I’ll probably still drop by if I have some free time.

The Friday 1:15 p.m. session: From Page to Stage.  I can’t wait to hear more about how the speakers used their written work as inspiration for stage shows. And if you bring a post or something else you’ve written, you can read it there and get their feedback. I’m definitely volunteering. Why not? Everyone can benefit from public speaking training – and this would be a good opportunity to get a few ideas about your strengths and areas that need improvement.

Voices of the Year keynote. Everyone goes to this – but I mainly want to be there to hear a good friend (and fantastic writer) read one of her beautiful pieces. Last year I knew THREE out of the 15 readers and this year there is another friend to support. And I’m all about feeling special by association…

Listen to Your Mother open mic event later that evening. This may be the one thing I’m most looking forward to. A few years ago when I first read about BlogHer and saw pictures of the “Community Keynote” (as the VOTY keynote was previously called) I envisioned something like an all-day salon where anyone could get up and read. From someone quietly slipping in to listen for a while – to groups of friends daring each other to “get up there!” A bit like karaoke? I’ll put my name in the hat – but assuming that there will be many of us, it’s likely that I won’t make it out of the audience. That’s okay though – I’m far more interested in listening than speaking at this. And of course, when it’s over, I’ll just make all of my friends sit down outside the room and listen to me. I’m calling it “Voices of the Lobby.” I think it’s really going to catch on…

The Conference Receptions – particularly Sparklecorn and Aiming Low. Last year I overdid it and was too tired the last night to dance. This time around I know better and plan to take it easy – maybe even sleep in. No drifting around fun parties like a zombie!

And finally – I will definitely drop by the Queen Bee Market taking place at the Bayfront Hilton all day Saturday. Support Handmade! [insert fist pumping here] Soooo looking forward to discovering new artists.

Of course I’m going to a few private parties and have various dinners and lunches planned with friends – but I wanted to steer clear of any name dropping this time around. There are too many and I can get a little link crazy.

If we haven’t met before but you recognize me from my profile picture, please say hi! I’ll admit that I don’t look like a real sparkler – but that’s just a mild case of chronic bitch face. I’m actually very friendly. And I’ll appreciate it since I have a shy streak and am subject to inconvenient bouts of insecurity. I talk a good game on my blog – but I do my fair share of time travel back to high school. And you know what they say about BlogHer…it’s a lot like…

Anyway – if you’re going, I’ll see you there! And if you’re not, you’ll be missed! And if you have no idea what what I’m talking about – maybe it’s best left at that.

See you next week!

Two for the Price of One: My Take on Twins

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Never in my life had I ever imagined having twins. Or any multiple birth combination for that matter.

Apparently, this is unusual, as evidenced by the fact that every pregnant woman I’ve spoken with seems to have given some thought to the matter. All have mentioned something about either worrying that they might have twins or wishing that it would be so. But for some reason, the possibility just didn’t occur to me.

We didn’t investigate fertility treatments for either of my pregnancies and twins don’t run in our families (unless you include some older southerners who had kid counts in the double digits—which I don’t). And once I actually became a mother, I felt pretty strongly that having multiple newborns in the house was an unappealing concept at best. In fact, I have a clear memory of holding a screaming two-month-old Oliver after a night of much pacing and little sleep, looking at my husband and saying, “I don’t know how people survive twins…I couldn’t do it!”

Eighteen months after giving birth to my eldest, we welcomed two more screaming non-sleepers into our family: George and Eleanor. And I have to say—they are absolutely one of the best things that I never wanted to happen to me.

I’m not going to lie; newborn twins are hard work…. But I had already walked the gauntlet of first baby midnight (and 2:00 a.m. and 4:00 a.m…) feedings. I had delivered a nine-pound boy with a huge head and lasted a week before realizing that no, the pain I was experiencing was not normal, and YES, I really did need something more than an ice pack to deal with it. I tried to nurse and learned that my body doesn’t produce enough milk for one, let alone two babies. I discovered that I suffer from postpartum depression. And, after a year of living on just a few hours of sleep per night, I had the amazing revelation that yes, Virginia, there is an end to that tunnel of madness. A light, even!

So when I had to relive it all again—in a double dose to boot—it wasn’t nearly as draining the second time around. I knew what to expect and how to cope. I was even trained to function well no matter how exhausted I might be. My normal sleep patterns had been held hostage for so long that I didn’t remember what it was like to wake up to anything other than a direct summons from a tiny dictator. It just didn’t seem like a big deal to me with the twins. It was what it was, and I had somewhat of a map for the road ahead.

Which is why I was a little surprised by how impressed people were with my ability to take care of infant twins. I thought my first baby experience was much more of an emotional roller coaster. The twins provided some logistical complications, but I think the culture shock of inviting one baby into my home for the first time was just as difficult a lifestyle transition as it would have been to take on two.

The logistics of simultaneous infant care can’t be dismissed entirely though…. Having done it once for one baby, I obviously saw how much more complicated it was with two. For example: People often tell mothers of newborns to “sleep when the baby sleeps.” After George and Eleanor were born, my response to this was, “Which one?!” They rarely napped at the same time.

They definitely didn’t snooze while waiting their turn for the bath. During my maternity leave, I conducted this daily event in the morning while Oliver was at daycare. Chris was at work so I didn’t have an extra set of hands to cuddle one baby while the other was being washed. Without fail, the one not in the bath would scream his or her head off, not the most soothing of soundtracks. And inevitably, whichever twin I selected to bathe first would poop in the tub, adding several minutes of scouring and refilling to the process.

The weekly visits to our pediatrician were completely unexpected. The twins were smaller than their older brother was, born three weeks early to his one week late. And they always seemed to have some issue that required a prescription. If it wasn’t reflux, it was eczema. This was new to me—my chubby firstborn was the picture of health. He was taken to the doctor for well checks and inoculations only. And don’t get me started on two babies getting jabbed with needles. Double the fun indeed!

Then there were those days that Oliver was added to the mix due to some inconvenient daycare no-no like a fever or pink eye. Try putting a sick eighteen-month old down for a nap while two hungry newborns are wailing on another floor.

Good times.

Night feedings really weren’t that hard once I figured out how to feed two babies at once. But that particular honeymoon ended when I decided it was time to stop waking up the sleeping twin when the other cried for a bottle. An obvious requirement in training a baby to sleep through the night is to NOT wake them up. So when one twin woke up, I’d let the other sleep. And the sleeping baby would of course decide to be hungry the very second that I started to fall asleep again.

Luckily, Oliver was such a stinky sleeper for the first year that the twins’ move into a fairly normal, though staggered, one to two feedings per night schedule mirrored his previous tendency to wake me up at least three to four times.

Isn’t it funny how much energy is focused on sleep during the first year of a child’s life? Their sleep…our sleep…if any of us will ever sleep again…why does HE always sleep through the crying…? Epilogue: I still get up at least once a night to soothe a crying child or move an interloper back into their own bed. My new goal is to sleep though the night when they’re tweens.

Back to twins though…yeah – they’re twice as much work in some respects. But when it comes to having your first baby (or babies), it’s hard to compare experiences. Each is different and full of varying challenges. And at the end of the day, there are too many personal and situational factors involved to say who has the easier time of it. It’s ALL hard.

No matter how many babies are in your house, you only know your own. The fact that other people out there might have more babies than you do doesn’t change your own feelings or perceptions. And I would say as much to new mothers who went wide eyed at the sight of two tiny babies in my double stroller.

This is also the reason why I was somewhat taken aback by certain twin moms’ superior attitude and condescending comments about how much harder it was to take care of two babies. That’s not necessarily true. And there are some definite perks that give mothers of multiples an advantage.

A woman who has a two year old, a four year old and a six year old might be dealing with two separate school drop offs with a toddler in tow. I would put Oliver on the bus and then drop the other two off at their preschool.

A woman with one three year old has to act as her child’s friend and companion when no other kids are around. But I could glance at my twins and without a trace of guilt say, “I’m making your dinner, go play!”

And seriously—anyone out there who thinks that they’ve cornered the market on parenting challenges with twins really needs to meet some of the special needs moms I know. Or the ones with TRIPLETS!

There is always a trump card out there. And being well aware of that, I tend to get over myself pretty quickly on a bad day.

I’ve often thought that whatever you get generally ends up being perfect for you. If nothing else, because it’s all you know. And here is what I know about my own twins:

I have two amazing little people in my house to provide friendship, companionship and typical behavior modeling for my other (and equally amazing) son with learning delays.

I have a little boy who makes me laugh more than any other person in the world. One who can do anything he sets his mind to; who charms everyone he meets, and assumes that he’s welcome wherever he wants to go. There isn’t anyone like him. He is literally unforgettable. He makes me want to dare myself to be more—to be brave and bold.

I have a little girl who dances through life with a joy and enthusiasm that I couldn’t muster on my happiest of days. She is a beam of sunshine in our family. She loves with abandon and will conclude her worst tantrums with hugs and earnest apologies. She makes me want to take myself less seriously, to open my heart more readily.

I have the honor of being their mother. All three of them. And I think that’s what all mothers have in common: this gift of raising unique individuals who teach us who we are and who we want to be. They bring out our best and our worst and if we’re smart, we pay attention.

I am proud to be a mother of twins. Not because I figured out how to change two diapers at the same time in a public bathroom. But because they’re mine. Just like their brother is mine. Just like all children belong to their mothers. Two babies…one baby…five babies…they all belong to us. Just as we so unquestionably belong to them.

Originally posted on Health News, HERE.

Lake…Big Lake.

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Are we still quoting from Sixteen Candles? I guess I still do…

And whenever I think about lakes I think about the Donger. As I did just now since I’m about to post a ton of pictures from our trip to Catoctin Lake on Sunday.

It’s been so hot in the DC area lately that Chris suggested we head for the mountains, and hopefully cooler temperatures. Instead of baking at our community pool, we could take a picnic to a nearby lake.

This particular lake was about an hour and a half away – a drive that wasn’t too painful, but long enough to require a little planning. And by planning, I mean that Chris did research and then Sunday morning, I asked him, “are we still going to that lake?” Then ensued a confused flurry of towels and bathing suits, followed by a stop at the closest grocery store where Chris ran in to pick up our picnic lunch. And by picnic lunch, I mean two pieces of fried chicken that only he and Eleanor would touch, a box of butter crackers and a can of spray cheese.

Luckily, it my “cheat day” for the low carb diet I’ve been doing and I had already consumed a hearty breakfast.

Then we were off to the lake!

Now, when Chris had proposed this trip, I – with my lack of lake experience – had pictured a quiet spot reached via brambly path. So I was more than a little surprised by the packed parking lot and crowded beach.

There were even lifeguards!

Not exactly “oh the humanity!” – but not far from it…

It was really pretty though if you looked at the view above the heads of the crowd.

I also liked all of bright umbrellas against the dark green foliage.

More importantly – the kids LOVED it!

Chris and I didn’t really swim since we had to keep an eye on the kids (of course that’s why!). So my pictures of him were more like this:

And (unprecedented!) he actually took some pictures of me. This was the only one that turned out though…

You see, there is a reason that I am the official family photographer. It’s just not Chris’ forte. He doesn’t have a lot of patience for setting up a shot and his sense of composition isn’t the best.

Here is a perfect example:

Seems like it would be a fine picture, but I’m turned at a strange – and entirely unflattering – angle. And check out my siamese twin!

But hey – good intentions and all that…

After we (meaning the parents) had enough of the lake, we took a short (and daughter-who-needs-to-rest-every-ten-paces friendly) hike.

And then my camera battery died. But you know – if you’ve seen one tree or rock formation, you’ve seen them all.

And NOW I have to get the kids out of the house since they are literally ripping it apart as I type. Think it’s time for the pool. Which is quite honestly more my speed. It’s walkable, the water is fish-free and I’m the one packing snacks.

Hope you’re staying cool!

Back from the Beach

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We got back from California late Saturday night and I feel like I’m still recovering. Words aren’t happening for me…so here are some pictures:

Taking approximately one million pictures on vacation helped to ease some of my anxiety over losing six months of pictures the other week. There is still a chance that the data could be retrieved (my friend hasn’t had a chance to look at my computer yet), but I’m not holding my breath.

And now I need to catch up on a week of e-mail correspondence and read a thousand blog posts. See you when I come up for air!