'Bug'

My 2-year-old son Charlie and I have a pet bug aptly named Bug. He's invisible.

He has impeccable timing, often appearing on the cusp of a hysterical meltdown and deftly diffusing the situation.

My mother found Bug one day as we were shopping together with Charlie. He was mid-meltdown, screaming, tears flowing, trying vigorously to climb out of the big red shopping cart and attracting all sorts of attention (and not the good kind).

Mom, cool and calm as a cucumber, reached into her pocket and seemed to retrieve something small. She held it tightly in her hand and said, "Charlie, do you want to hold my Bug?" Charlie, completely caught off guard, abandoned his tantrum to see what his grandmother held in her hand. Mom opened her hand and put the invisible insect into Charlie's tiny palm and quickly closed it up. "Now don't lose my Bug," she said.

Charlie opened his hand to look inside and mom shouted, "Oh no! He flew away! Better catch him, quick!" Charlie let out a big belly laugh and quickly grabbed at the air in front of him and caught the invisible Bug. This game continued until we checked out. The whole way home from the store Charlie clutched his fist tight, so as not to lose his new pet Bug.

Now, whenever I need to stop a tantrum in its tracks when we're running errands, I pull Bug out of my pocket and give him to Charlie. And I thank God for blessing me with such a beautifully creative, imaginative and silly mother, who so kindly gave us Bug.

Folding up memories

This past weekend, I cleaned out my toddler's closet to make room for size 3T clothes. I carefully folded the size 2T and 24 month outfits as if I were going to stow them in the attic, as I have been doing for the past nine years with all my children's clothes. But it suddenly hit me that I wouldn't be packing his clothes up for the next child. Instead, they'd be making a trip to Goodwill. Charlie is, as we lovingly refer to him, the caboose. When he outgrows toys and clothes, they no longer move to the attic. They move on to another family.

When Oliver, my oldest, outgrew clothes, I'd happily pack them up into tubs, and Dave would move them to the attic. When Henry came along, we did the same. We always knew we'd have three kids. And, as blessings would have it, we did. And, to top it all off, all three were boys, and so all of those clothes that were so carefully packed away were put to good use. Many many memories were folded away in those tubs. As fun as it is to unpack them for the next child, it's equally as heartbreaking to have to give them up.

Tonight, as I folded my daily two loads of laundry, I had to remind myself not to resent the process. Pretty soon, all of the little pairs of shorts and popsicle-stained tee shirts would be outgrown and not needed.

Tomorrow I'll be taking two more bags of clothes to Goodwill. I sure hope the next little boys who wear them create happy memories in them too.

The best surprise...

Last week, we went to Disney World and Universal Studios Orlando. It was amazing. Amazing...

We planned the trip months ago and decided to keep it a secret. The boys had no idea. We only told them we were going to their grandparents' house, which we did (as a rest stop for our trip). We spent the night at Nani and Papa's and the next morning woke the kids at the crack of dawn and popped the surprise. They literally were speechless. Once it registered that the next six days would be filled with nothing but Disney and Harry Potter magic, they were so fantastically excited.

We arrived back home a few days ago, wearied from from the frantic pace of racing from roller coaster to roller coaster and the excitement of meeting our favorite characters... I may never catch up on the laundry that accumulated during the trip or the sleep that I lost. But my heart is full because for an entire week I got to be a little girl again and enjoy the wonder of a magical place. I got to witness such sweet joy in my little ones.

The laundry will get done... eventually. But that's not important. When my boys become men and think back on their childhood, they won't remember how clean the house was or how many loads of laundry piled up in the laundry room. They'll remember the fun times we spent together, like that morning when they were 9, 6 and 2 when their mommy and daddy woke them up before sunrise and whisked them away to Disney World.

Wisdom from a 9 year old

We grow up believing our parents are the smartest people in the world. That with age comes an immense smattering of knowledge. A couple of weeks ago I turned 37 and have yet to feel smattered. However, I have learned through the wisdom of my years (and the sprouting of several unseemly gray hairs) that the most important things I need to know in life, I have learned from my children.

My oldest child doles out wisdom on a daily basis. Without even trying, he says the wisest, most profound things. It amazes me. When he was just 3 years old, I remember the first truly wise thing he said... His little brother had just been born, and my head was spinning one day. I was so stressed out and just couldn't catch up. I'll never forget it. Oliver came up to me, tugged on my shirt tail and said in the sweetest angel voice, "Just be still mommy... like a statue." The depth of his little words made me do just that. I stopped dead in my tracks. Like a statue. And breathed. Wisdom from a 3 year old.

Just this past week, Oliver was working on a class project. He was preparing a biography on Martin Luther King Jr. Proudly, my husband and Oliver and I worked on his poster. We decorated a picture of Martin Luther King, glued words onto the poster that Oliver had chosen from magazines that best represented King and and his legacy. When it was all said and done, I asked Oliver how his board compared to his classmates. He looked at me strangely and said, "Well mommy, it's not like theirs. It's unique and different. And that makes it better." Indeed. Wisdom from a 9 year old.

I always worried that I would become a dumbed down version of myself when I quit my career to stay home with my children. I worried that I would stop learning and growing intellectually. I've never been more wrong in my life. Each day I learn something new about them. And more importantly, I learn from them every day.

An attainable resolution

Resolution - The state of being resolved, settled or determined; firmness; steadiness; constancy; determination. (Webster's 1913 dictionary)

Each year millions of people around the world make resolutions. I'm sure the vast majority of those resolution-makers are quite resolute. However, as the year creeps along, I'd venture to guess that probably two-thirds of those resolute resolution makers backslide or totally give up on their resolutions. I know this because I am a notorious backslider. I think maybe it's because we set ourselves up for failure by setting such lofty goals for the new year... "I resolve to never say another curse word AND to lose weight AND to work out six days a week AND to be the best mother in the world..." Yeah right. This year, I am resolving to just try harder. That's it. I'm going to try harder to be a kinder, gentler, stronger, happier and healthier person. And just trying harder to be a better person will make me a kinder, gentler, stronger, happier, healthier mother in the process. I'm resolute. :-)

I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas! And I hope your 2011 is an amazing year filled with lots of hope and happiness!

Wish me luck!

I love working out. But I'm more of a kickboxing/weight lifting gal. I never ever liked running. I used to joke that you'd never catch me running unless someone was chasing me. My husband is an avid runner. He ran his first half marathon (with great time) this past spring. I always have marveled at how gracefully he runs. In the past, when I tried to run, I'd start huffing and puffing pathetically before the first quarter-mile lap was up. But this past year, I decided to really try to learn how to run. A few times each week, I'd hop on the treadmill and give it a go. To my amazement, I learned to really love it. The first half mile is always a b**ch. But once I get past the hard part, I find that endorphins kick in, and I really love the feeling of just going and going.

Running has become an escape for me. These past few months I've had some pretty stressful times as a mom. My 5 year old is going through what I hope is a defiant stage. It seems like every minute of the afternoon and evening, when he gets home from school, I am walking on egg shells trying to avoid invoking a temper tantrum. Usually I am unsuccessful. I seem to remember 5 being a rough year for my oldest child too. It's such a year of change... school begins, scheduling becomes hectic trying to balance school, sports and play. It's no wonder that little ones are stressed and take it out on the one person they feel closest to. However, it stinks for us moms. I can't tell you how happy I am to hand over the kiddos on those rough days to my husband when he comes home so that I can enjoy an hour on my treadmill. Once I begin running, I envision myself running away from all of my problems. And when my run is over, I feel completely renewed.

But I never ever had thought that I'd EVER be in a race. Running has turned into something deeply personal for me. I don't like running around others. I like that time alone on my treadmill, not worrying about anyone else. However, when I heard about this 5-mile run in my hometown, I thought it sounded like a wonderful opportunity. I've been "training" for it, but I still have a long way to go.

The run is on Thanksgiving morning, which makes it even more special. I adore Thanksgiving — not because of the feasting, though I quite enjoy that part — but because it's a time to really thank God for my blessings. I don't do that enough. This run will be my time to spend contemplating those blessings early that morning and really concentrating on the importance of the day. In addition, funds raised by the run benefit the homeless in my hometown. My heart breaks for those who have no family, no home and no table at which to feast. I can't imagine a better way to spend Thanksgiving than to be able to help those who are struggling right now.

So, on Nov. 25 I shall slog (sloooooooow jog) 5 miles praying the entire way. I'll be praying for those who are in need. I'll be saying thanks for my many blessings. And I'll be praying that I can cross that finish line. :-)

Operation publication

I've been a writer my entire life. When I was a little girl, I kept a journal. I wrote in journals throughout college. I poured out my heart in them— half the time, filling them with daydreams and wishes penned in bright pink ink. I became a journalist so that I could write for a living. It's amazing to be rewarded for something you love to do. And I loved writing. Loved it.

When my first son was born, I had an itch to write something for him. A love letter of sorts. Writing was what I did best, and I felt I could give the best part of myself to my child if I wrote stories that he could love. I wrote two books that year. Great books. I just knew that within a few months I'd be a published author, and my stories would become vividly illustrated, tangible books that I could read to my little boy at bedtime. Brightly colored books that he could thumb through and adore. But boy, was I wrong.

About a year after writing my first book, I finally got some positive feedback from a well-known publishing company in New York. A wonderful editor took the time to write notes on my manuscript and correspond with me. This was it! I just knew it! She proposed my book to her editorial board, and then..... rejection.

I felt the sting of rejection for the next seven years... I joked with my husband that I was saving all of the rejection letters to wallpaper our home office. Though I laughed at the thought, the constant rejection became daunting. So I quit writing new manuscripts. I became lazy in sending the old ones out. I became jaded by the entire process.

I quickly discovered that writers who don't have agents aren't as enticing as those who do. Most publishing companies won't even accept a manuscript from a writer who doesn't have an agent. And, sadly, most agents won't take on an unpublished author. It's a frustrating lose-lose scenario.

I write all of this not to garner pity, but to let you know that there is a whole slew of writing — great writing — out there that isn't being read. An amazing bunch of authors are producing valuable work but their voice never will be heard because they aren't famous or don't have agents. As a writer, it's discouraging, and as a mother it's disappointing because if all deserving authors had a voice, my children would reap the benefits of their work.

I decided today that I am not going to give up. My work is relevant. I'm going to teach my children that when they aren't being heard, it's important to speak louder.

I encourage all of you (if you're out there) to pick up your passion again if you've also given up. Don't give up on yourself. Set a good example so that your little ones will have great footsteps to follow. That's exactly what I plan to do.

Operation Publication shall now commence!!