The Toyota Prius

I was so lucky to sit on the Saturday afternoon keynote panel at the Type-A Mom conference. The topic was ‘Breaking the Mommy Blogger Mold’ and I was chosen because I don’t fit within the mommy blogger mold in the ‘traditional’ sense. If there is one - which was what the panel was about.

If we look at the current Mommy Blogger ‘norm’, a Mommy Blogger is a mom that writes about being a mom, parenting, her kids and, oftentimes, products that her she and her kids use as they live their lives. And then we can easily deduce that I’m not a Mommy Blogger. Because I don’t do any of those things. (Except on this lovely blog on occasion - though I still don’t think I fall into that category because I’m not ooey or gooey about it.)

I really write about writing. But I am a mom and I work in a little shed/office in my backyard so I can see my kids all day (if I want to) and if they need to see me (and I grant them access).

So, this Mom-ness (and my blogging-ness) got me a speaker spot at the Type-A Mom Conference. And it got me something else - my very own product. The best product, if you ask me.

The good, good people at Toyota gave me a conference weekend ride in the form of a gorgeous, energy efficient Prius. It was waiting for me when I got off the plane - sort of like a white horse (I think I was my own knight in shining armor in this scenario).

First of all. I want one. Of my very own. As soon as possible. Please.

Second of all. The Prius looks small, right? It isn’t. It’s kind of huge inside. It reminded me of one of the magical tents in Harry Potter - where it looked like a normal tent (or car in this case), but when you stepped inside, it had 10 rooms and at least 2 floors. The Prius isn’t quite that big, but it sure was roomy. Four of us gals fit very comfortably inside, we easily could have taken on a fifth and we had loads of room in the trunk.

Third of all. Have you been in a Hybrid? This was actually my first one, so I can’t say this across the board, but, it’s really quiet. It took some getting used to. “Is the car on?” I kept asking everyone. It was. It’s just that, in addition to its silence, you press a button to start it, you don’t put the key in the ignition - something that I’ve now come to realize tells my brain that the motor is running. Of course, the gas mileage was out of the park. I drove from Charlotte to Asheville and back (two hours each way) - plus all over Asheville in search of fantastic food - and barely used more than a tank of gas.

Fourth of all. And I know this isn’t something specific just to the Prius, or the Toyota, but it was special to me and my Prius all the same. It’s called ‘built-in GPS’. You see, in my car, I have a dinky GPS box that I plug into my car lighter. It won’t sit on the dashboard, it never listens to me and my requests and, frankly, we just don’t get along. I don’t trust that woman. But the GPS in my Prius was built-in. It lived right in the dashboard with the stereo, CD player and temperature control. It was easy to program and not at all temperamental. It took and gave directions very well. It got me everywhere I needed to go with total confidence and serenity. I didn’t need to look at a map or worry - leaving me free to enjoy the fabulous ride…

Three years ago, I was a was single, driven career girl, with an even grasp on the corporate ladder and a swing in my step.  I had a new car, a new town home condominium that was spotless with everything had its place. I shopped at Saks, had “mani-pedis “with my gal pals and relished sushi lunches with fabulous friends.  I worked out five times a week for two hours and was getting back into good shape and good health.  Dates included lingering conversations over meals and movies — as well as the occasional candy and flowers.   Give me just a minute to say, “Ahhh.”

Fast forward to today!  To start with, I am now married to a great guy.  On Friday, our little boy will be two years old.  TWO!  One…Two!  Wow, they grow so fast.   Today, I work mostly from home running my consulting business.  My husband quit his job 18 months ago to stay at home with our son  and pursue ministry work.   So, here we are together… with our ball-obsessed dog, Maggie.   Snug as bugs in a rug.  Life is very different in this new place.  Very good, and very different.

As I have chatted and tweeted, laughed and cried with my other, now married gal pals — especially the ones with children — we have come to an agreement over the nature of a few, key changes in our lives.  My dear friend, Ann, encouraged me to share some of our thoughts with you here.

The new sexy: Hubby doing dishes, laundry and then vacuuming

The new “moo-moo” Yoga pants and a hoodie

The new workout: Picking up toys

The new mop: Calling the dog to lick up mess from floor

The new clean: Dishes out of the sink, everything else stuffed in a closet

The new gourmet: Anywhere kids eat free

The new sushi: Peanut Butter and Jelly cut into triangles

The new sleeping in: 8 am = Heaven!

The new Ann Klein: “Finale Clearance” (say this with French accent)

The new splurge: Expensive shampoo and conditioner

The new mani-pedi: Taking a hot, uninterrupted shower

The new good hair day: CLEAN

The new favorite outfit: Anything that FITS

The new dress up: Wearing a bra

The new date night: Staying awake through the END of the movie

The new foreplay: Kicking off the yoga pants

The new gal bonding: Half -completed thoughts uttered in between shouts of “NO, <insert child’s name> No biting!”

The new teething ring: The dog’s ball (builds immunity)

The new promotion: Transitioning from Pampers to Pullups

The new fabulous: Absorbing each new beautiful word my son says

The new sunset: The peace that comes after bedtime

The new romance: Knowing my husband loves me — even in my yoga pants

In short, life is good.  It’s not always easy. It’s often hard work.  I’ve learned to let go of control and my own “standards” and desire for order.  But in doing so, things have developed a curious order of their own.  I have been released into a life I’d only dreamed of.   It’s a life indescribable… and one I call, “The New Happy.” Memories of the old life aside, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

I recently wrote a post about contrast and how we need it to define things, i.e. we can’t name ‘cold’ if we don’t have ‘hot’ to compare it to. But, now I’m wondering what to do if the contrasting and defining object is a moving target.

Here’s the thing: I don’t know how big I am, or how small for that matter. Literally. I’m shocked by the mirror and the scale. I’m shocked when things are too big and when they’re too small. I’m shocked when I see pictures of myself and I come up to everyone’s chest. I’m shocked when I see my reflection and I seem larger than I expected.

As a result, I don’t trust any of it and I go about my days having no idea what I look like or how my body actually fits into space.

And, really, why should I? This is a case where the contrasting target is moving. AND, this is a case where the physical is heavily influenced by the emotional and intellectual self. For reasons feminine, cultural and uniquely circumstantial, my size and my perception keep changing.

• In high school, I was popular, successful and an athlete. I was larger than life, but my body felt small.
• In college, I was invisible, drowning with an eating disorder and unhappy. I was terribly insignificant, but my body felt huge.
• As I entered adulthood, I was told to be independent and strong, but society and its magazines were reminding me not to get too big. I was confused and yo-yoing, my body didn’t know which way was up.
• As I became a mother, I urged my body to grow in order to support my babies as they came to be and as they continue to need my protection, time and attention in this world. I am expanding rapidly, my body feels like it isn’t my own and its borders are too far away to see.
• As a wife, I need to pull those edges back in to ‘me’ so that I can feel my woman-ness. My body feels conflicted and exhausted and totally bent out of shape.
• As a writer, speaker and blogger in the context of this blog and a few others and in my immediate community, I receive insanely wonderful connections and feedback. My brain and heart feel big.
• As a writer, speaker and blogger in the context of the world and social media, I’m just tiny. Little fish, big sea.

When I look at all of this, I see that the common thread here is relativity. It’s similar to the fact that I still feel 17, but my birth certificate says I’m 36. I mean, really? Is that true? What’s true?

I’m not sure there’s a way to escape it. But, I’m certain I can’t let it color my forward motion. If we sat around all day and thought about the 300 million people on Facebook, we would never join or think it could be a successful social media tool - and we’d miss out on connecting and sharing with old and new friends. If we thought about the millions of other writers that are out there - either getting published or struggling with rejection letters - we would never type another word.

Why do we look to the outside to define our size or simply who we are? Why would we look outside when outside is constantly changing and insecure? Huh. Maybe that’s why we’re so insecure.

Hard to pin your edges on something that moves, expands, shrinks and bends, isn’t it? Maybe it’s the inside - that still thinks it’s 17 and perfectly sizable that needs to be the touchpoint. That way, at least, it’s always up to us, the magnitude of the space we take up in the world.

Originally posted on Writing Roads

Image credit: Steph & Adam

We have a lot of children’s books in our house - what with two 3 year olds and all. As a writer, (with 5 children’s books written and just waiting for a publisher to swoop in and make them as real as the Velventeen Rabbit) I’m a pretty huge snob when I’m reading to our children.

I’ve been known to stop mid-way through a book - interrupting my sleepy. sweet, ‘let’s go to bed’, mommy voice - to shout at Patti, “Can you believe they publish this CRAP?” Really, I just don’t understand. My books are well written, they make sense, they have a purpose. And some of these books are just nonsense.

But I digress, there are also many wonderful books with great writing and hilarious concepts…and one of my favorites? The ‘If you give a (something) a (whatnot)” series. Laura Joffe Numeroff writes the books, Felicia Bond illustrates them - they make a perfect match. There’s, If you give a pig a pancake and If you give a moose a muffin and If you give a mouse a cookie to name a few. And I love them. They follow a sweet child on a journey with a couple of ballsy animals that want, want, want - full circle. “If you give a mouse a cookie, he’s probably going to want a glass of milk…” which leads to a milk mustache which leads to a bath which leads to… - you get the point, right?

The formula is delicious - I’m a big fan of circular writing.

Which is why I got so excited when I saw Jessica Smith’s post about a new book called, If you give a mom a martini. It turns out this adult book offers 100 ways to find mommy bliss and alone time - and I was terribly disappointed. I wanted the other book - the kids book for grown-ups.

So, what’s a writer to do? Well, write the book you want to read of course. I don’t have the illustrations, use your imagination for the images - and feel free to send your illustrator and publishing contacts along…

Ready? Here we go:

~If you give a mom a martini…she’s going to want a nice dinner to go with it.

~So, you’ll make her a reservation.

~When she hears about the reservation, she’ll want you to find a babysitter.

~You’ll take out the phone book and start making calls, which will remind her that she needs the newest iPhone.

~When she goes online to buy it, she’ll notice that she has several new followers on Twitter. So she’ll check to see who they are.

~At least 20 of them will be spammers offering sex and 400 followers a day, and they’ll feature a sultry photo of Jennifer Aniston which will remind her of Friends and how much she loved that show.

~She’ll go to iTunes to download every season and notice the premier dates of the series. This will make her smack her iMac really hard - because the first season of Friends couldn’t possibly have started in 1994…because that would make her, well, 36. And that’s not possible.

~She’ll insist that you buy her a new computer that doesn’t compute wrong.

~When you start to tell her that it’s actually true (because you were a senior in college and you remember where you were when it happened - it’s like the JFK assassination for Gen X’ers), she’ll be reminded that you’re kind of dense.

~She’ll ask you for a shoe horn to help you remove your foot from your mouth. You’ll give it to her - albeit slowly - and just before she clocks you in the head with it, she’ll see the box that you took it out of and catch a glimpse of a gorgeous sandal.

~So she’ll ask you, shoe horn still in ready position, ‘What are ,those?’

~You’ll nudge the box towards her with your toe and grab the shoe horn as she bends down to take a closer look. The black strappy sandals will remind her of a black strappy dress she hasn’t worn in months.

~Strappy sandals in hand, she’ll head to the closet to get the dress and announce that you have to go out for a nice dinner immediately.

~And chances are, if you take her out for a nice dinner, she’s going to want a martini to go with it.

Image credit: JazarellaMozarella

About a year ago, I was fortunate enough to see Karol Rose of Flexpaths speak. This burgeoning company, and Karol along with it, is changing the way we think about work, workstyle flexibility and life in general….and I’m thrilled to be writing for them. After I saw Karol speak, I wrote about her theory of work/life balance - which basically states that the quest for ‘balance’ is a myth and a recipe for heartache and stress.

Karol maintains that we should reach for work/life effectiveness instead, and this weekend I was the poster child for her theory.

Take a two year-old boy + a three year-old girl + a Blackberry/Mac/Writing/Blogging/Twitter obsessed mom and subtract my wife (you know, the reigning Mother of the Year champ) and put them together for 53 hours with no outside help whatsoever.

The perfect storm?

It could have been, but I took Karol’s advice to heart. I needed to be effective at home this weekend. So, I turned off my computer, ignored my Blackberry’s charming gong that tells me I have yet another email and sunk deeply and contentedly into my role as Mom…And I had the time of my life.

Sure, some writing ideas popped into my head and I scribbled them down. Once or twice I checked Twitter to see what was happening. But my mindset was all about home. I can assure you that if I had had the goal of getting a few work things done this weekend, we all might have imploded.

In this case, ‘balance’ was found by tipping the scales profoundly and completely in the direction of home.

Apply this lesson where you will. If you’d like to be effective anywhere, anyhow, anytime - Just. Do. IT.

Cross-posted on Writing Roads

Image courtesy of Zen

I’ve always felt more comfortable expressing myself in writing than I have speaking, and it looks like my girl is going to be the same way.

This tendency was first noticed one weekend when we were having a bad day. I can’t remember exactly what we were arguing over. Probably something like me telling her she couldn’t go play with her friend because her room needed to be cleaned up first, or something similar. She had stormed off to sulk in her room, and as is my practice, I was ignoring such behavior and going about my day doing laundry.

After a while I could hear her slipping around the house, careful to avoid being seen. And little notes started popping up on table tops and taped to walls. The first ones were angry and mean. I continued to ignore and quit reading them until she asked me to look at one in particular. When I saw it said she was having “werd fillins,” my heart had a few weird feelings of its own. So, I asked her if she wanted to talk about how she was feeling and we had a great discussion about what had happened.

Well, over her Spring Break and while I was attending SXSW Interactive, she and her dad got to spend quite a lot of time together. Evidently one of those days he too laid down some law that she didn’t like because she left him a note that I couldn’t help but laugh at; and, when I shared it with some friends at SXSW the next day, they all agreed I should share it with you:

Now before anyone gets worried and starts recommending we all go for family counseling, take a look at the note she left him the next day:

I’m definitely going to hold on to these and look forwarding to seeing how her writing evolves. Something tells me she won’t share it as openly in a few years and most of her “werd fillins” will be locked away in a private diary, so I’ll enjoy it while I can.