Rocket Mom Blog

What’s the Difference Between a Hockey Mom and a Rocket Mom?

2008-09-08T19:01:00.000-07:00

Mascara. Rocket Moms have always worn lipstick.

By now, the whole world has heard the line about the only thing separating a hockey mom from a pit bull being lipstick. Sarah Palin, the woman everyone knows about after being thrown into the national spotlight seemingly overnight, personifies feminine spunk that you just gotta love. Regardless of your politics, regardless of your stance on the working-versus-stay-at-home debate, regardless of your judgment on the teenage pregnancy thing. You just gotta hand it to her.

And if you’ve been reading my ROCKET MOM! Newsletters for the past four years, you know that I’ve always advocated wearing two things…if nothing else. Lipstick and mascara. So here we have it: hockey moms. Rocket Moms. ALL decent moms. Fighting to be the best they can be. And wanting to hear more of this woman we hardly know.

And now with Labor Day behind us, and my promise to once again renew the weekly dollop of “joie” via these email Newsletters, just how do we discuss what’s been on my mind these past ten days in light of the fact that some of my readers are faithful because they like a weekly mommy-motivator, while some of you are with me because you are part of the design-chef-francophile crowd following the release of Country French Kitchens? An interesting mix, to be sure. But let’s face it: we’re all in need of nurturing both hearth and home, be it via parenting tips or marriage notes or simply advice on how to get dinner to the table. So if this is not your cup of tea, please forgive me. Delete this newsletter and wait until next week. Because I feel the need to talk about this with you.

This time of year finds me re-thinking my A-game. How to effectively go into fall with personal and family game plan in hand. Charting football schedules against volleyball games, out-of-state visits to our two college kids against client dinners. PTA involvement with board meetings. Figuring out an exercise and grooming schedule.

Now here’s where Palin fits in. She’s not just a hockey mom. She’s a rocket mom of the nth degree. And she gives us plenty of tips on just how to get our A-game on the docket now that Labor Day and beach excursions are behind us.

What I’m learning from Sarah:

She’s got the multi-tasking thing down pat. Sarah usually has her Blackberry in one hand and something of her child’s in the other. Be it a ponytail she’s shifting into a ribbon or homework needing a quick check, she does it with her mind ready to jump to the next task at hand. One might find contradiction to the idea of “being in the moment” or of being into the thing you’re into. But Sarah seems to have figured out how to immerse herself into what she needs to and get her mind…and hands…prepared for what will inevitably come next, be it an executive meeting, a kid’s play-date, dinner preparations or a conference call.

She’s figured out that the best stress-reliever is physical exercise. Sweating at the gym or during a midnight jog is how Sarah best gets rid of the stresses that go with the job. Rocket moms have known this for years. We’re into strength training and aerobic activity to tone lumpy thighs and keep arms and abs strong. Sarah kept her fifth pregnancy a secret not because she necessarily wanted to, but because her abs were so tight (after four babies!) that she was able to.

She’s perky despite obstacles. Thrown into controversy both from her years as governor as well as parent to teenagers, she knows all too well that some things are beyond one’s control and spin outside of one’s reach or influence. In spite of it all, she stays cool under pressure and maintains a charming, can-do attitude even when the odds are stacked against her.

She’s kept her priorities straight. Husband and kids first. Everything else falls into place once these priorities are set. As much as she loves her role as governor, she loves being a wife and mom most of all. (Love that.)

She’s committed to service. Those who challenge her ability to be wife, mom and veep need to remember that she didn’t choose to run for the vice presidency. She was chosen. Opportunities come to those who are prepared. Be it in your professional or personal life, your role at your church or house of worship, or the corner of the world in which you roam, opportunities to increase your reach will come your way if you do your homework and work your tail off. Embrace them. Your territory for influence will expand exponentially. Guaranteed.

She’s intellectually and morally strong. I love strong people. Strong personalities. Can’t help it. Always been attracted to strength. Sarah sticks to her convictions unapologetically. If she believes in a cause or a point of view, stemming from conviction based on faith or experience or pure world view, she does not let others deter her from meeting her goal.

She’s embraced her femininity. Wears attractive clothing, an attractive hairstyle and obviously utilizes a fabulous skincare regimen because her complexion is flawless. Excellent personal grooming is a hallmark of all rocket moms, and while you might not prefer pink nail polish on your toenails (as do both Sarah and I…check out OPI’s “Calypso” for one last hot pink late-summer fling ), you certainly keep them in good shape. And, I know you are already wearing lipstick and mascara….

There’s more to learn over the next couple of months about this fascinating woman, Sarah Palin. I will be on the lookout for details, as I am always interested in reading about those women who might be role models for me. If you get any tidbits that you’d like to share, feel free to email me.

Until then, let me leave you with one last thought. My minister shared a true story about an itinerant preacher, Jesse Lee, who is the namesake for the church where my family and I worship in our own small town. Unqualified, without credentials or pedigree, he simply rode—horseback—from village to village talking with others about the Gospel. He held up an apple to one of these crowds in one of these towns and noted that we can all count the number of seeds inside an apple…but only God knows how many apples will grow from the seeds.

As you strive to go into the fall with your A-Game, contemplate the number of apples that might grow from your seeds. Your seeds of energy. Of wisdom. Of compassion. Of conviction.

All blessings,

Carolina

I’m Dreaming of a Green Christmas

2007-12-17T20:36:00.000-08:00

It’s exactly one week until Christmas, and I am not ready. My heart is prepared. Hands are not. There are still gifts to purchase, wrap and ship. Pies to bake and deliver. Cookies to package for the neighbors.

My kitchen table is serving triple duty as a storage facility, wrapping island and veritable nerve center for the preparations still un-done. Tissue paper and ribbons and tape and scissors and markers and boxes stand ready to be put into service. But long days at the office and after-work board meetings and parenting responsibilities keep me from moving at the pace to which I had, for years, become accustomed.

These last three years have practically forced me to adopt a simpler approach to the Holidays. I have weeded out the frivolous from the essentials; trimmed my gift list; abandoned some earlier-treasured rituals; and adopted a “green” approach to help me accomplish all of the above while simultaneously helping preserve our planet.

That said: this week’s Newsletter is short, sweet and “green.” But first, if you are not keeping long lists each Christmas of what you purchased and for whom, and what you received and from whom, start doing this now. My own lists go back almost twenty years and have “green-ed” me up by saving our family’s three most precious resources: time, energy and money. Not having to re-invent the wheel every year saves one tons of pre-Christmas anxiety, too. I group families together as I do friends and business colleagues. If you are visually sensitive as I am, you will start “seeing” your Christmas list in your head, and every time you are out and about, you can start thinking of what you should buy for those you most love all year long. That said:

• Hand craft, bake or cook as many gifts as possible. They’ll be more appreciated by the recipient, save you money and prevent yet more stuff from accumulating in areas where that’s the last thing needed. Stick to your favorites and make them again and again. I make my favorite Kentucky pecan pie every Christmas for a half-dozen folks on my list and pick up stoneware pie plates whenever and wherever I can find them throughout the year.

• Buy antiques and gently-used stuff. It moves recycling one step further, the gifts will inevitably be more unique than those bought from department stores or catalogs, and the recipient will value the time you spent shopping for something extra-special for him or her. I picked up some gorgeous antique jewelry on my last trip into New York for a few people on my list; I know I’ll never see such wonderful stuff again. One of my best friends got something from a local antique store when I found them early this year. Know what your friends collect and keep your eyes open for it throughout the year. (Roosters anyone?)

• Make your lists concise and build around themes. You’ll be able to conserve shopping trips, visiting only a few stores rather then a dozen or more. We all need to do our part in conserving gas, and this one will add a few good measures to that end. I stock up at Trader Joe’s on all sorts of organic soups, chocolates, teas and coffees and give out healthier goodie bags than what I could purchase elsewhere, all at decent prices.

• Don’t go nuts on wrapping. Use brown paper bags and boxes wherever possible. If you get a box filled with Styrofoam peanuts, re-use it on another gift rather than dumping it; this stuff will last for years. Consider plain newspaper or popcorn for fillers instead. Go simple on gift tags and ribbons, too. Recycle old favorites and come up with your own style that is timeless yet festive. For years, I used manila hang tags tied to old-fashioned twine; now I use white round metal-lined mailing tags which already come with a ring, easily slipped through a silk ribbon and large enough to write a tiny inscription.

• Consider re-stringing your tree with LED lights. More expensive in the short run, they’ll outlast the old ones in the long run. And of course, they’re better for Mother Earth.

• The true “greenies” will tell you to buy a real tree, or better yet, to dig one up and re-plant it after Christmas has passed. We have allergies to the real thing, so we have an artificial tree. Nothing wrong with that either as it’s used again and again and again.

• Go through all of those paper shopping bags you have laying around (I did that this weekend and was aghast at how many we’d collected; I spent a good half-hour sorting and re-folding). I was also pleasantly surprised at how many of them could be used a second or even third time as most bags these days are quite beautiful. If you keep this kind of stuff, make sure they’re handy and in good shape so that you can do your part in recycling them for further good.

• Use recycled paper for your annual Christmas letter, if you still send one. Recycled cards, too. Our family’s list gets longer each year, and we’re happy about having an ever-expanding circle. I shop for cards the day after Christmas in order to buy them at half-price for the next year. Again, it’s all about planning.

• Lastly, consider throwing one big party where you allow Holiday cheer to pervade your home, family and friends. Spreading joy to those in your circles in this way allows you to touch dozens of folks at one time and keeps efficiencies of time, energy and money at bay. Splurge for one morning or one night knowing that you’ve filled lots of people with the Christmas spirit.

Spinning Your Holiday Web

2007-12-10T17:33:00.000-08:00

If you’re in the same part of the Holiday preparation cycle as I am, you spent a good portion of this weekend shopping, standing in lines and fighting traffic. Making your list. And checking it twice. I was so crazed for a couple hours out that I actually did some shopping without first making my list…only to find once home that I should have doubled or tripled or even quadrupled some of the goodies discovered along the way. Nothing like hyperventilating for some shopping time sans kids or spouse without a little mental preparation first……

I faced the weekend wonderfully exhausted, returning about 1 AM Friday (after weather delays into La Guardia stalled my flight into the wee hours of the night) from a four day trip to Art Basel Miami Beach (organized by a man genius in the art world but for crying out loud, certainly not a rocket mom! I mean, who in their right mind would organize an international art fair during the month of December? Does he not have shopping-wrapping-shipping responsibilities?!?)

Anywho, I came back with my new friend with whom I attended the fair. Spectacular! And she wound up spending the night with me before heading back home. With about one hundred friends coming for brunch that morning, she went into over-drive to help me get my act together! Making ham party sandwiches, putting desserts on platters, lighting candles. She was a dream! And a brand new person spun into my web.

The doorbell rang all Friday morning, with friends popping in for coffee, cheer and chats. Holiday hugs were freely exchanged. It was a delightful way for my husband and I to kick off the holidays in our own little corner of the world.

And so as I watched each person come and go, I couldn’t help but think about how many of these friends have been in my web for less than a year. Many were professional associates, met in the normal course of business in my day job; others were friends of friends or spouses of friends. And some have been friends since we moved to Connecticut the first time, a little over seven years ago.

So when I finally took the time to do the preparation for that making-a-list-and-checking-it-twice-drill, I was struck by how, over the years, friends come and friends go. How they seem to be there for a season of our lives…and then quietly disappear as we enter another one. How they come in and spend a lot of quality time there and we assume that they’ll always be this intertwined in the daily activities of our lives, only to wake up to the realization that they will undoubtedly move on. And that others will fill that space that formerly held their reservations. And that it will happen without fanfare. And that one day you’ll realize as you look at your Holiday list, that some of your closest friends from last year do not even share a space in your life anymore.

And that it’s okay.

Because I tend to be like a golden retriever—holding on to people and rarely ever letting go—this sad little fact of life always used to put a lump in my throat. I hated how friends from past homes and cities around the country are simply no longer in my life, since the “exiter” was almost always not me, but the other party. He or she had simply dropped out. Moved on. Not meaning to be mean or hurtful or rude. But just because others now met needs once met by me.

Perhaps it’s called maturity. Or maybe it’s just waking up to some un-desired facts of life. But friends will not always be friends, except in a very few rare instances. And I am blessed beyond measure by those few precious gems. For webs get spun. And then they blow away and need to be spun yet again. With different threads. Different patterns. One not more beautiful than another necessarily. Just different.

One of the lessons of this Holiday for me has been the sharp realization that some of my friends will be with me forever and some will not. Some have come into my life and I into theirs because we are supposed to be bound forever and others have come into my life and I into theirs because we needed each other but for a season.

As you make your list and check it twice, give yourself—and others—the freedom to move on as needed. The separation might hurt for a little bit. For a day or a month. But others will silently move in to fill the void. And you will meet each other exactly where you need to.

Enjoy the Holidays with those whom you really love. Really enjoy your in-your-web friends. Don’t take this season of these friendships for granted. Meet them exactly where they are and enjoy them for all they are meant to be.

Until next week, many blessings….

Carolina

An Enchanted Holiday

2007-11-26T18:52:00.000-08:00

My fifteen-year-old daughter and I have a Sunday afternoon tradition of catching a matinee. Our favorite thing to do is drive downtown to our local playhouse, bumping into neighbors and friends in the process, but as it only ever has one offering, we usually wind up going to the nearest town which has an enormous complex with a huge variety from which to choose. Oftentimes, the movie line-up is so intellectually or emotionally barren that it’s simply not worth our time or gas money. But every once in a while, a little jewel comes along that practically demands that we scatter our cares to the winds and devote an afternoon to cinematic magic.

Ahh! Such is the case right now with Enchanted. It has received such rave reviews from both real live professional critics and us general folks alike that we knew we had to go and see what all the fuss was about.

And what a delight it is! With terrific talent, a happy-go-lucky musical score that found us singing it all night long, and a classic fairytale storyline, one will find it nearly impossible to wipe the persistent movie-smile off one’s face when the movie is long over. Every single minute found us giggling, laughing wildly out loud, tapping our feet and grinning ear to ear.

Wishing I was still in the theater yet finding myself at work first thing this morning, I couldn’t help but reflect on the many less-than-enchanted issues of our day. Given my job and the necessary constant contact I have with the public, I hear stories virtually all day long ranging from health struggles to over-indebtedness to marital woes to wayward teens. Let’s face it: these are interesting times, to say the least. The markets are in turmoil, wars are still raging, and homelessness and joblessness and helplessness abound.

As we enter into the Holy season, perhaps we can be especially mindful that adding a little enchantment to our days would be a very good thing. While most of us will not whistle while we work, or break into song while we vacuum or scrub the toilets—as do Giselle and her animal friends in the movie—doing either one certainly couldn’t hurt…and just might make our day seem brighter. Dressing into gowns for our breakfast of OJ and coffee isn’t exactly what we do these days either…but choosing to dress in red for the holidays rather than the stale brown or black outfit worn every other day might prove to be just the mood-lifter you’ve been looking for.

And for that persistent smile stuck on my face yesterday during Enchanted? Well, I know that others will be happier if I choose to wear it more often than not these next few weeks ahead. For the holidays can be stressful. Shopping lines can be long and credit lines can be depleted. The weather can be downright dreary. Every single person I know, regardless of job status or age or economic privilege or educational attainment, can stand to be enchanted.

So do yourself a favor. Take a little break out of your week, no matter how busy or grumpy you might find yourself. Grab your spouse or your kid or your girlfriend or your colleague. And go see Enchanted. And vow to bring even a tiny piece of the movie back with you for those who move in and out of your life.

At least through the holidays.

Zippedeedoodah!

Carolina

Juicy Fruit

2007-11-20T18:51:00.000-08:00

This week found my husband and me in Spain visiting our oldest son, Nick, who is studying in Salamanca for his junior year of college. Since he left at the end of August, frequent emails and skyping and phone calls have kept us in close touch. But we needed to see him, hug him, squeeze him and spend time with him. We yearned to experience, first hand, his new life there. To meet his friends and his Spanish madre. Visit his classroom. Check out his bedroom. Shop where he shops and walk down the streets where he takes his daily walks to and from school. Eat in his favorite restaurants. See what his Spanish adventure is all about. Top to bottom.

As a writer, I’m supposed to have words to match emotions. Supposed to have the ability to paint word pictures. Word smith my way through the past five days. And yet I can’t. It was too much of an emotional high. It hit my gut and my heart much more than it hit my head. Hit my throat and my eyes in ways completely unexpected. Caught me “confounded by glory” (as my new friend Hattie describes me.) with frequent lumps in my throat and drops at the edges of my eyes.

Seeing your kid grow up nearing completion is one of the best fruits of the labor. It takes years—two decades really—of planting seed in the most fertile of soils. Applying daily doses of sunlight and water. And rich fertilizer. Soaked with oodles of time. Sprinkled with diligent prayer. And nourished by the passing of time, some of which is barely endured by silence or absence or distance or illness…or all of the above.

And then to wake up one day and see fruit! Not just hardly-ripe fruit. Fruit too hard to squeeze or of pale color or less than succulent aroma. But juicy fruit! Fruit that, when you grasp it, moves in your hands. Holds a delectable scent. And oozes out a few drops of liquid. It’s so ripe that it’s downright juicy!

That’s how I felt about our visit with our son. He has grown into a man of character and generosity. Of breadth and depth. Of balance. Concern and consideration for others. I know that, over the past three years, you have received “Nick Notes” on his continued progress. On his health. And his well-being. And I know that it will probably do your heart good to hear that he has grown into a person who I am happy to report is not only doing beautifully physically; he has grown into a man who I am delighted to call my son. He has born fruit. Wonderful, ripe, fragrant, squeezable fruit. Juicy. One of life’s most precious gifts.

It is my hope and prayer that as you journey though parenting that you, too, shall find juicy fruit awaiting you. If even in a couple of decades. It is so worth it. This labor that we call parenting—love—will take us to heights previously unimaginable. And Oh! What a ride!

I pray showers of blessings on this Thanksgiving to you and yours! Love the ones you’re with.

All my very best,

Carolina

Whacked on the Head by Beauty

2007-11-05T18:24:00.000-08:00

Robust reds. Brilliant golds. Burnt oranges. Crystal-clear blue skies. This scene—trees on fire set against gorgeous cerulean—blesses me every day when I drive up my hill towards home.

Outside, leaves rustle underneath my feet. Musty smoke cackles in my fireplace. Cold, fresh air fills my lungs. Window lights glow at our windows. The furnace kicks on inside.

Woolen sweaters have replaced our t-shirts. Cowboy boots our Crocs.

Hearty stews brew inside heavy Le Creuset casseroles. Football games consume Friday nights. Perfumed Seda France candles emanate from the downstairs foyer.

Oh how I adore fall!

One of my favorite things about living in New England is the generous changing of the seasons. There’s nothing subtle about living in Connecticut. We notice when fall strikes. Or when winter has officially arrived. Can’t help it. It hits our streets and our skies. Our skin and our heads. I sat—frozen—at our son’s football game this weekend, unprepared for the sudden drop in temperature. Dressed for a “casual Friday” at the office when I left early that morning and going straight to the stadium, I was ridiculously outfitted for the brissling cold outside; my twin sweater set, jeans and open-heeled mules were no match for it. I wrapped bright orange towels (given to us to promote both school spirit and our school color) over my nearly frostbit toes until I could stand it no longer and drove home for a quick exchange of lambswool-lined Uggs.

This lack of subtlety continued all weekend, and thankfully so. A quick peek into a new garden store revealed gorgeous fall arrangements, with silk turkeys, roosters and owls frolicking on the shelves with pumpkins and gourds. Freeze-dried artichokes accented centerpieces and terra cotta earthenware lined tabletops. What a fabulous ten-minute eye-candy break from my usual Saturday afternoon errand-hopping and grocery-shopping?

Sometimes, the beauty of the earth, the raw, unadulterated perfection of God’s creation just whacks me on the head. It jerks me out of my work-filled thoughts on my long drive home; the leaves literally demand that you stop doing what you’re doing or stop thinking what you’re thinking and give them your attention! The colors and patterns and flow of this season cannot be replicated by mankind.

If you do not live in a part of the world where you experience this beauty, I hope that you get the opportunity to visit someone who does. That you get the chance to take a long drive in the country, visit a pumpkin patch, pick apples in an orchard. Sit on a back patio and breathe in crisp air until it practically hurts your lungs. Allow yourself the dizzying awakening of being whacked on the head by beauty.

For winter shall soon be upon us. And the colors and patterns and flow will once again change. We’ll find, no matter where we live, that the rhythm of the winter dance will keep us moving at a tempo that would find us yearning for these lazier—glorious!—days of fall.

One Tiny Stamp

2007-10-29T18:18:00.000-07:00

This weekend found me once again working with our town symphony orchestra’s Family Concert. It is a full-scale professional production that delights, if but once a year, the little tyke set in this picture-perfect New England town of ours. Year after year, we fly in the best talent who, along with our professional symphony, present top-rated performances to ensure that the rich heritage of classical music infiltrates the spirits of our favorite little citizens.

It is a precious gem of a thing, bringing a classical music concert to our toddlers and young people. One gift of which I am most proud to be a small part of. Art and music education is my personal soapbox, so I want to make sure that I do everything in my lifetime to ensure that the power of the arts continue for the generations to follow. That by planting a shade tree under which I will never sit, others will have the opportunities to feast upon the same joy that I was gifted as a child. That a love of fine music—and great art—will become a part of them, just as it has me all of these many years later.

But service—volunteerism—comes with a price. In my own case, I had spent the entire previous week out-of-state on a business trip. I returned home Friday night exhausted, without my bearings, to an (almost) finished kitchen renovation that still left a couple dozen unpacked boxes of kitchen stuff on my living room floor. Suitcases to unpack, books to organize, and four loads of laundry to sift though and deal with. On top of that, three of my husband’s longtime friends (and some of my favorite people in the world) were flying in for a weekend reunion. Both of our sons had away football games; our daughter had tennis practice. And my role in the Family Concert required an all-day commitment to everyone who was making this wonderful gift possible. Life felt insanely busy this weekend.

I went into overdrive. I had no choice. Needed walking space for houseguests. Clean towels and underwear. Food. Transportation for our own kids.

Service comes with a price. Sacrifices to families and to jobs. To spouses and to personal exercise routines. We need to acknowledge the sacrifices, knowing full well that when we volunteer to work in areas in which we feel passion, we feel that the sacrifices are worth it. We place a priority on those areas in which we feel led to serve. We know that we are helping others, and that without our efforts, the job may not get done at all, let alone get done well. And these things are, indeed, necessary for communities to function at their best.

But we need to be sure, as we simultaneously raise this next generation of sons and daughters for excellence, that our passion for service is appropriately placed. That as we’re all doing stuff outside of hearth and home that we’re ignited from within. Do a soul check. You know what I mean. Your gut matches your head. For as you enter into the whirlwind of everything that’s required for service, you need to feel that this is exactly where you’re supposed to be in this place and time of your life.

I felt that way this weekend, even though I am exhausted by it tonight. It wasn’t just enjoying the glorious music of Vivaldi, or seeing the dozens of little ones up on stage afterwards at our annual “petting zoo” meeting the musicians and touching their instruments. It was that inner exhilaration that made me believe that I left a tiny stamp in the footprint of my life that I stand for something larger than myself. That art and music will live on in at least a few children long after I die, because I invested in them when I could.

I hope you feel inspired to do something large. But that if you believe this isn’t the time in your life, that you will feel conviction to instead spend that time with your spouse and kids. That your tiny stamp will be done right inside the four walls of your home. And that, one day, you’ll have more time to go outside those walls. If even just a little bit.

The Kitchen Renovation Diet

2007-10-15T18:13:00.000-07:00

If you thought you “heard everything” when the South Beach Diet rolled out from underneath the sea, just embark on a major kitchen renovation and you ain’t seen nothin’ yet!

Now, when I first started talking about The Kitchen Renovation Diet to my girlfriends, one of them asked if we were on a diet because the renovation cost so much money that we couldn’t afford to buy the food we had always bought previously.

“No,” I responded, somewhere around week three into the mess. “We’re on a diet because we have no water, no electricity, no sink, no fridge, no nothing…kinda hard to eat right when you’ve lost your kitchen!”

But here I stand at week fifteen (and someone told me the rule is that you’re supposed to stop counting after week eight…) and the truth is: we are on a Kitchen Renovation Diet because the renovation cost so much more money than we had planned that we cannot afford to buy the food we had always bought previously!

It is practically impossible to stay on budget during a major kitchen renovation. Because not only do you want to do more stuff “while we’re at it,” but a top-to-bottom renovation follows “the-hip-bone’s-connected-to-the-leg-bone” model, which is, it’s all connected and you just don’t know how or where to stop. The kitchen is connected to the hallway…so you re-paint and re-decorate the hallway, perhaps purchasing a new table or mirror or lamps or art along the way; the hallways’ connected to the powder room…so you re-paint and re-tile the powder room, getting all new fixtures and faucets, tile and toilet; and the powder room’s connected to the family room…so you double-check that frayed sofa and decide that now is, indeed, the time to re-upholster ”while we’re at it.” And on and on it goes.

Time to go on the Kitchen Renovation Diet.

OK. So you have no sink? Ripped up and out of sight? Water turned off? Pretty hard to make that morning cup o’ joe. Electricity cut off? Stove donated to the junk pile? Can’t even heat up a can of soup. Pots and pans in boxes? Now, you can’t really whip up a gourmet meal for two, can you? Sheetrock going up? So everything’s covered in white powder two inches thick. Floors sanded and stained and polyurethaned? Not allowed to walk on your own floors for three days! What’s a kitchen renovator to do? And just where, exactly, does the diet come in?

Look at the renovation as an adventure. And indulge in exotic foods. For the first few weeks into our own renovation, I enjoyed Finn crisp crackers spread with Greek caviar for my evening’s meal. Available almost exclusively at gourmet shops and places like Whole Foods, this delectable little treat wasn’t even on my radar until my friend, Hattie, turned me on to it. Turns out: it’s the perfect, exotic, organic treat for the KR Diet. You will need a cooler or spare fridge, though, because once opened, the caviar needs to stay cold. Also try artichoke and red pepper spread. Extremely inexpensive alternatives to what you probably ate most nights prior to your renovation.

Start drinking your coffee black. Yuck. I always loved mine with a splash of milk. But the KR Diet is serious business and it puts an immediate halt to double espressos with steamed milk and extra foam with shots of caramel and chocolate. No way to froth the cream, my dear. No way to keep all of that sugary junk fresh. And no way to afford those daily trips to Starbucks to purchase the four dollar drink. Try making black coffee…if you have an electrical outlet intact, that is, for the old-fashioned coffee maker. I’ve been making my coffee on my bathroom counter for the last nearly five months. Urgh. And getting used to the low calorie and low maintenance factor of black coffee while I’m at it.

Grill your veggies. No worries about deep frying, because you don’t have a stove on which to do so nor can you find that frying pan. But hopefully you have a grill sitting on your patio which you can fire up to your heart’s content. Great for doing dinner al fresco. Ditto for grilling meats, poultry and fish. Surely you planned the bulk of your renovation during the warmer months…….

Make cocktail parties and after-work get-togethers your official dinner plans. Of course, you will be eating out more than ever while you’re under intense renovation. And, in time, you will be so disgusted with either the quality of the food or the quantity of money leaving your bank account that you will put a nix to it before too long. You’ll be artfully engaged in “if I eat out tonight at this wonderful restaurant I cannot afford the oil-rubbed bronze faucets in the bathrooms” game. So get in the habit of using every possible social invitation for food as your loading zone for a meal. Know that it’s temporary, enjoy it for what it is, and appreciate every bite.

Start reading labels and look for foods that give you the biggest bang for your buck. You cannot afford to be a slacker about this. The crackers you eat need to give you the added nourishment that you’re now not getting from that morning high fiber cereal with milk; the chips you grab for game time need to provide those same unrefined carbs that you used to derive from whole grain bread on your favorite sandwich. Make every calorie count for something. Every ounce of protein or gram of carbohydrate needs to add significantly to your overall health and well-being.

Keep enough bananas on hand to feed the monkeys. Yes: nature’s perfect food is even more perfect during a major kitchen renovation. Requiring neither refrigeration nor preparation, they remain the breakfast of choice and the pre-exercise snack, before-bedtime snack and during-Monday-night football-snack for the deprived kitchen renovator, too. Make enough grocery store runs so that you are never without.

Stash dark chocolate bars. I had a major meltdown last Thursday night. Just couldn’t take it anymore. My pots and pans had been on my living room floor (covered in drywall dust) for almost five months; my dining room table is still covered with china, odds-and-ends glasses and dog food; my dishes are still being washed in the laundry room sink; and my kitchen doesn’t even yet look like a kitchen. No cabinetry nor appliances. I got choked up and whigged out and had, well, a serious KR meltdown. The next day, my husband came home with four super-sized dark chocolate bars. Exactly the prescription help I needed. Your nerves will likely take a serious beating during a major renovation. Keep plenty of chocolate in the house. Or any other food mood-lifter of choice. And remember that ice cream doesn’t generally work when you have neither fridge nor freezer…

Finally, keep your sights focused on the final outcome. It is sure to be what you had hoped for. Delays are inevitable (it always takes longer to get that weathered copper garbage disposal drain than you figured it would), budgets are notoriously under-estimated (did you seriously have any idea how expensive industrial-strength appliances are?) and construction workers are only human (my own master carpenter made a big “oops” on the length of my countertops). Remind yourself how fortunate you are to indulge in the luxury of a renovation. An up-to-date, beautiful kitchen is a wonderful thing to behold, indeed.

And to think that you can enjoy it…thinner!

Inspired by Brilliance

2007-10-01T18:12:00.000-07:00

This weekend found me out-of-state for a long-overdue, albeit brief, visit to my sister and an all-day walk through the 2007 “Parade of Homes” in Raleigh, North Carolina. It marked the official launch of the Alexander Julian Collection in the new Julian Village of Fuquay-Varina, and I wanted to be there to check out his latest project. Julian is an icon of American design. I’ve followed his work for years and was not about to miss this. It was full-court press: he arrived in a stretch limo and kicked off an afternoon of festivities to a cheering crowd of fellow admirers. A glorious celebration! And a well-deserved jewel to add to his already-glistening crown.

Julian is a pro. And his latest designer homes, built by a premier construction team with a reputation for perfection, prove it. Here are 7 things I loved:

• Quality of materials. Quality ranks second only to the “location-location-location” maxim. Location and price will always be the driving forces in any home-buying decision. But as available land in decent locations becomes increasingly difficult to obtain, the decision needs to ultimately factor in this notion of buying quality over square footage; strength of materials over fleeting good looks; and attention to detail over lack of creativity. The Julian Collection figured out a way to deliver a high quality product at a reasonable price point. With the good looks you’d expect from this design genius. Julian delivered with stone countertops, oil-rubbed bronze faucets, porcelain sinks and tiled showers and bath tubs. No cheating or skimping on the good stuff.

• Emphasis on the “creativity premium.” “Creativity” is fast becoming the buzzword for this new era in business. And in life. The older I get and the more I look around, I notice the lack of creativity applied to simple facets of everyday living with utter dismay and deep-seated twangs of discouragement. My heart leapt when I realized that creativity was embraced at every turn in the Julian homes: two-toned paint on moldings, embellishments on woodwork, interesting twists in lighting, wonderful finishes on door hinges and door locks. Julian just did his thing and made sure that the construction team executed it on cue.

• Generous usage of updated hardware and finishes. Because brass is “out” and weathered copper and oil-rubbed bronze are “in,” both were used in abundance in bathrooms, the kitchen and in areas generally ignored by home builders and owners alike: every door in the house received oil-rubbed bronze hinges and knobs. A simple detail. But one that made a statement and added to the drama.

• Fearless use of color. It’s Julian’s trademark, after all. He is America’s master colorist. And he used it with reckless abandon throughout each room in the model homes. Cherry pinks, burnt oranges, bold teals, eggplant and celadon. It was as if Julian plunked himself into a box of Crayolas and colored to his heart’s content. Each model showcased something like 22 different colors. A far cry from anything most of us could ever dream of.

• Open floor plans. Natural sunlight floods living spaces: entry ways, bedrooms, bathrooms and hallways are wonderfully bright. A feeling of openness gives way to freshness and roominess. It added enormously to the “breathability” factor.

• Bells and whistles in the kitchens. The island in one model houses a full-sized oven. Counters are stone. Faucets and sinks are gorgeous. Floors glisten. Cabinetry is well-finished and smartly designed. The kitchen got the premium interior real estate that it deserves.

• Well-designed exteriors. With gorgeous color combinations that the average earthling would never consider using. But Julian shines here. With eggplant and sage green juxtaposed on the exterior shingles. Trimmed in white. Perfect proportions. Extensive brackets and generous moldings. Wraparound porches. Arts and crafts style windows. The right angles. Rooflines. Designed with the skilled eye of a pro who has devoted his entire lifetime executing perfect proportions. The houses reflect the real deal.

Julian’s philosophy of life can be summed up by the quote silk screened onto the back of the t-shirts which he autographed at the Grand Opening:

“Make no little plans. They have no magic to stir men’s blood and probably themselves will not be realized. Make big plans. Aim high in hope and work remembering that a noble, logical diagram once recorded will never die. But long after we are gone will be a living thing. Asserting itself with ever-growing insistency. Remember that our sons and grandsons are going to do things that would stagger us. Let your watch word be order and your beacon beauty.” D.H.Burnham

Find a brilliant person whose life—or life work—inspires you. Follow him—or her. And move forward in the inspiration. Imparting something of your own genius along the way.

Keeping Up with your Dog

2007-09-24T18:43:00.000-07:00

It all started with a fellow lap swimmer with whom I share the locker room first thing most work day mornings.

“So what are you doing here this late?” she asked, as I was past my normal out-of-the-pool-by-7-AM-and-into-the-primping-routine schedule.

“Oh, my dog needs to go to the groomers today and they don’t open ‘til 8:30,” I answered.

This led to “where do you take your dog?” to “what kind of dog do you have?” to “how often do you go?” to “how much do you pay each time?” to “do you tip the groomer?”

When we both admitted the extent to which our dogs received grooming attention, I laughed: “My dog gets better grooming than I do!” to which she responded: “Oh, not mine! I take really good care of myself!”

Well….it wasn’t as if I was neglecting my personal hygiene, but a quick “So where do you get your hair cut and your nails done?” revealed that my locker roommate was on par with our dogs while I was in the discount department on both counts. And the frequency with which I attend to my nails, was, well, horrifying, especially as of late.

I need to keep up with my dog.

OK. So, how about we look at our dogs’ grooming and diet and exercise regimens and see how we stack up:

Do you eat a balanced diet? And take your vitamins. My Bichon, Isa, eats an organic mix of wet and dry food that contains no fillers, preservatives, colorings or junk. And she gets a daily dose of vitamins, designed to keep her coat shiny, her eyes bright, her bones healthy and her step bouncy. This leaves little room in a people diet for Doritos, double espressos and ice cream cones with chocolate chips. Nor excuses to skip the daily vitamins either. The evidence: shiny hair, smooth and strong nails, muscular flexibility and overall cheerfulness.

Do you practice portion control? Isa eats small portions, measured out with a scoop so we know exactly how much food she’s getting. Portion consciousness goes a long way in keeping the fat off your tummy and thighs and bum. Otherwise, how will you really know if you’re eating 4 ounces of meat…or 6 or 8? One bowl of cereal…or three?

Do you go for a daily morning walk? And an evening one, too? Isa goes out first thing in the morning, and again at midday and at bedtime. Few things make us feel better than a walk in the fresh outside air. And our bodies need the vitamins from the sun, too. A walk everyday after dinner has been proven to fight excess pounds from creeping onto our middles.

Do you brush your hair? And keep your nails groomed? Few of us do the same daily hair brushing that our grandmothers did. And yet we use bleach, straighteners, perms and hot blow dryers, all of wreak havoc on our heads. We should all be getting those natural oils circulating. What’s the rule? One hundred strokes a day!

Do you take a nap when you’re tired? And do a full-body stretch when you wake up? Ahhh. The life of a dog. Fewer things energize your mind and body more than an afternoon snooze. Never feel guilty about getting your batteries re-charged. Even twenty minutes can be enormously satisfying.

Do you get a back scratch when you’re achy and exhausted? Heck, my dog gets a scratch just for showing up! It’s great to give those nerve endings and muscles a good work-out. Get a massage…even if it’s only when you’re getting your nails done.

Do you get a treat for being a good girl? My dog gets a treat for doing her business outside or for coming when called or for sitting still while we brush her. You certainly deserve a chocolate bar for doing your family’s laundry, driving your kids across town and taking care of them when they’re sick in bed. Good grief…..

Finally, do you wag your tail when you see your master? Or your spouse? Or your kids? Few things put a smile on my face more than seeing my dog’s tail go crazy when I come home from work at the end of the day…or even from a quick errand. Perhaps we can all be more mindful to give those whom we love more than anyone else in the world a “tail wag” when they cross our thresholds too. Hugs and kisses.

Keeping up with your dog. Now there’s a concept.

Ruling Your Roost

2007-09-17T19:02:00.000-07:00

I received a request for this Newsletter topic from a fellow rocket mom…love those requests. Keep them coming! Your input and requests help me to keep a finger on the pulse of what’s going on in the different verses of the motherhood dance. (And I admit to sometimes finding difficulty in thinking up forty different newsletter topics in any given year, too…so to be thrown a topic releases me of that burden!)

This particular request came after one mom’s sometimes frustrating attempts at communicating her own “house rules” to other parents who did not necessarily share her version of things. Those of us rocket moms (and dads!) who have clear ideas—and distinct roadmaps—of how we’d like to nurture, guide and train our kids…indeed, we’ve proactively planned and thought about the kinds of childhoods we want our kids to have…will sometimes be at seemingly complete odds with others who either have different visions…or who have not yet taken the time to sort out parenting’s many, distinct nuances in the various cycles of the job.

I have found in my own parenting experiences, that through these many different stages of the cycle, and through distinct homes and neighborhoods and schools and states in which we found ourselves, that families everywhere do things vastly different than the way we do them around here. That family traditions vary and that lifestyles carry diversity and that values range and that physical closeness and emotional investment come in different degrees and colors from one home to the next. That not only are many surface issues decidedly distinct: one family allows TV during school nights (ours does not); one allows eating meals in bed while watching cartoons (ditto for “not”); and others permit junior to scream at mom and dad when the spirit strikes him (good heavens…..”NOT!”) that deeper issues hold vastly different resolutions with more serious implications for family life in the long term. And that even though most families profess love for each other that is stronger than that for life itself—a universal sentiment hard-wired into the DNA of mothers and fathers for their offspring—that the daily roadmaps for forging these bonds take twists and turns and backroads that can be either comforting—or nerve-wracking—depending on where we find ourselves.

That said, and following the request of the reader, here are some of our own “house rules.” They are not necessarily ironclad; we have made plenty of mistakes during our more than twenty years of parenting and try to admit when we err and make changes as needed. And what was a firm rule last year might have fuzzy lines drawn around it this year. But, for the most part, my husband and I have followed these “rules” with some success.

1) Follow your own gut. Even if it makes you look like a bird. When my oldest child, Nick, was turning three, our second child was a newborn. My gut told me to keep Nick home, but most of my friends advised me to send him to pre-school, for if he didn’t get into the right pre-school at age three, they claimed, he would never track correctly for elementary school and yada yada through college. Well, Nick dealt with a lot of childhood allergies, as well as childhood asthma, and he was also a bright kid. I never seriously worried about his ability to “track” well; I worried instead that exposure to lots of pre-school kids would wreak havoc on his health. Turned out, I was right. The pre-school class housed a bird (which I didn’t know about until weeks after the fact) and Nick was overly allergic to feathers. He spent most of that three-year-old pre-school year on antibiotics for allergy-induced bronchitis. I pulled him out of pre-school and schooled him myself for a few years…along with his little brother and the next two siblings who came along. My friends thought I was wacky. Completely out of the mainstream. Bohemian. A weird duck. I didn’t care. I stood by my gut and boldly followed through doing what I thought was in the best interest of my own family. Years later, I look back on those homeschooling years as “the golden years.” They were the years when I followed my own schedule, when we read the classics snuggled up on the sofa together, and when we made chocolate chip cookies whenever the spirit moved us. A far cry from my day-to-day reality now…..so glad I did what I sensed I should do.

2) Feel free to declare your “rules” to other kids and parents. It doesn’t matter if they get it, agree with it or want to “obey” them. They’re your rules and your kids and your spouse and your house, so let them figure out how to deal with them. We have a house rule, for example, that says that our kids cannot talk on the phone during the week until their homework is finished and chores and extracurricular responsibilities completed. That translates to no yakking until homework, reading, violin, football, laundry, room pick-up and garbage take-out is done. My daughter still gets calls every night (and I do admit to relaxing this one somewhat now that she’s older)…and so I jump in night after night as the nasty policewoman who gets the lovely little job of telling her friends that they need to limit the chat because it breaks our rules. Some of her friends dig this rule more than others. I could care less if her friends think I’m mean or unfriendly or overly strict; her friends are not going to be held personally responsible for ensuring my daughter’s health, well-being and development into mature adulthood. Engaging in parenthood does not—thank goodness—require enrolling in a popularity contest. So drop any notions of caring about what your kids’ friends, and their parents, think of you.

3) Stick to your guns. Only you were entrusted with your child. And you are responsible for securing his best interests. For his physical health, emotional development and happiness quotient. And for putting into place those rituals or lessons or traditions that will lead you and your child to these ends. If you believe, as we do, that nothing will develop your child’s brain more than learning to play a musical instrument, pooey to those who think you’re nuts. You don’t need to shove a white paper in neuromusicology in their faces; just stick to your guns, provide the lessons and make sure that your kid practices. Easier said than done, for sure. I have heard over the past sixteen years of “making” my kids play the violin that a kid should only do what he wants to do. What he’s passionate about. That you shouldn’t force a kid to do something that he doesn’t want to do. Heard it and don’t buy it. My kids are going to play the violin because it’s good for them. They can thank me in twenty years. And I can easily blow off the parents who think I need to lighten up. Again: they’re my kids and not yours. Do whatever the heck you want to develop your own kid’s brain.

4) Insist on both quality and quantity time. For years, we were sold the bill of goods that stated that quality time mattered so much more than quantity time, and so we could enjoy personal pursuits at the expense of our kids. Now before you get all huffy, I’m not indicting anyone. But the research is in clear agreement on this: quantity counts, too. So if that translates in your family that weekend nights need to spent as a family—together—on the sofa reading the classics together or watching a movie or visiting the aunts and uncles or playing tennis together, then your friends and their families will have to deal with that. Standing where I am with four kids at various places in and out of the nest, I can assure you that you will have no regrets about spending quality and quantity time with your kids. They really will be gone before you know it. That’s not a cliché. That’s the reality. Watch the updated version of “Father of the Bride” and cry your eyes out. Your kid will be walking down the aisle before you know it.

5) Maintain a sense of decorum. I remember when my kids were really really small, some friends coming over for dinner…their kids were mostly grown…and the oldest son commenting on how he couldn’t do something (I forget what) because I had a “high sense of decorum. ” Now, I hardly live in a museum (indeed, a far far cry from one), yet I have always yearned for an orderly and clean environment. Having kids—and boys in particular (we have three of them)—is no excuse for letting it all hang out. Neanderthal-style does not ring “best seller” in the interior design section of your local bookseller. Never has never will. Neatness has always counted. So our house rules dictate that: if you take something out, put it back; if you dirty something up, clean it; if you borrow something, put I back; and if you break something, confess it. It helps to have a high tolerance for chaos in this parenting gig. But chaos and orderliness can happily co-habit the same house.

6) If you screw up, apologize and ask for forgiveness. Messing up hundreds of times over the years has required many humbling moments before our kids. When things get ugly, when we are out of line or clearly wrong, or when we simply get in a foul mood, we are quite faithful to just stop, apologize, and ask for forgiveness. Likewise, if our kids mess up, they have been taught to do the same thing. And we have taught our kids that when one does mess up, it is right to look the offended person in the eye and make sure that he looks back. And that the question “Will you please forgive me?” needs to be asked with a spirit of true contrition. And that, once asked, the offender is released of the burden; that it is up to the offended to either forgive or not.

7) Have a decent attitude. We expect our kids to say “please,” “thank you,” “yes,” and “no.” If they can manage a “m’am” or “sir,” all the better. We don’t tolerate ill-mannered “yeah” or “huh,” especially when greeting visitors or answering the phone (one of my biggest pet peeves is to call someone and have a nasty, poorly-trained kid answer on the other end with a dull or goofy “huh”…poor parenting indeed…..We also expect an overall attitude of gratefulness. If I pick my kid up from football practice and he is just foul (“Mom, you’re late!” or “I told you to…” or “Why didn’t you…”), then he is grounded until he’s had an attitude adjustment. If someone in our family uses the resources of time, energy or money to do something nice for someone else, a grateful attitude is expected. We insist on a respectful and loving way of treating members of our family…and of friends and visitors as well.

In the end, only we are responsible for the well-being and nurturing of our kids. Whether or not our kids will have happy childhoods will rest largely upon our own square shoulders. For creating happy childhoods happens with lots of thoughtful planning and preparation. And yes, some rules, too.

I have always found it fascinating that as we go through the parenting years, we, as parents, think that we are raising our kids…which of course we do. Yet in the end, it is they who raise us. Our children raise us up. They make us become better individuals. As you rule your roost, try to make it one in which your kids will remember fondly once out of it….and one in which they will want to make frequent stops once their wings are strong enough to fly on their own.

Carolina

Beating the Back-to-School Blues

2007-09-10T18:41:00.000-07:00

More than the start of a New Year, the beginning of the school year causes me pause. And anxiety. Letters of instruction pour in from every angle: the principal, PTSA president, school nurse, sports coaches, booster club president, music instructors, orchestra directors, homeroom teachers and guidance counselors. Each one gives me to-do lists, opportunities for service, mandatory meeting schedules—and invoices.

And that’s just in the first week.

My husband’s work gears up, too, as does my own day job. Back from time at the beach, workers return with sunburned feet yet with boots on the ground. Computers hum and workloads pile up. The demands are palpable. Anxiety hits full force and I physically feel it: my chest pounds, palms sweat, stomach flip flops. And while I don’t personally get into a full-blown funk, I always feel the blues to one degree or another.

Coping Mechanisms

Exercise and chocolate have always been my addictions of choice. A strenuous bike ride or an hour of tennis does wonders for one’s body and mind. More than ever, taking time out to exercise amidst the stress of back-to-school integration is vital to keeping your sanity. Keep a few bars of your favorite dark chocolate stashed where kids and spouse cannot find them. Indulge as needed. And if coffee is your thing (as it is mine, too), and an afternoon latte seems to generally help the day go more smoothly, don’t sweat it. I could think of worse things used to de-stress.

Pass the torch. I used to feel that I would always work with kids…because for what seemed like forever I always had elementary-aged kids. And then my kids grew up. And I slowly lost my appetite for dealing with kids in this age group. I desired to work with pre-schoolers. The 3, 4 and 5-year-old set. Leading cherub choir. And with fellow moms (in the Rocket Mom Society). Feel free to pass the torch if your passion has dried up. You are not obligated to continue volunteering in areas that you have mentally outgrown. Toss up those years to exciting challenges…and then move on. Map a completely different course. Take a risk. Grow in an area in which you’ve always had a deep-seated desire. Find something which brings you joy. Makes you happy. Write a book. Take up painting. Work at the soup kitchen. Everyone else in your family is—in one way or another—growing independently of you. Give yourself the freedom to expand your own horizons.

Build in personal time. Yeah yeah. We hear this all the time. Bubble baths and manicures. But make sure you take time out for yourself lest you become the world’s most insufferable martyr. If that means nightly grooming rituals or long cups of tea sipped by yourself in your closet, give yourself some daily private time so that you are emotionally and physically equipped to take care of those in your charge.

Re-assess priorities. Do you really need to be doing the same things you’ve been doing these last few years? Can you teach the kids how to do their own laundry? Ask your sitter to help start dinner or go to the grocery store for you? Can you train your kids to start picking up some of the slack around the house? Should you be re-arranging your schedule this year? Exercising in the morning rather than at night? Doing the laundry twice a week instead of everyday? Is it time for you to back out of the workforce? Or re-enter it? Spend time in personal reflection over the course of this week as to how you believe you should best spend your days.

Just as the first few weeks of school throw me in to a tizzy, they force me to stop and think about what I’m really trying to do in all of the various roles in which I find myself. I look forward to exploring this next year together with you. Hang in there. I’m sending you all my best,

Carolina

The Positive Pact

2007-06-04T05:00:00.000-07:00

With hurricanes, tornados, fires out of control, mud slides, flooding, severe thunderstorms tearing up the country from one end to another, and with the threat of bird flu and terrorist attacks, "Are we sure this is a good time to take God out of the Pledge of Allegiance?" Jay Leno

Early in our marriage, with two careers, our first house and few years of maturity under our belts, we used to get down. On life. On each other. On our jobs. On whatever. Not long into this sometimes downward spiral of negativism, my husband came up with a subtle sign which he injected whenever one of us needed to get back into positive territory. He made a plus sign with his fingers and called it “the positive pact.” We literally made a pact with each other that if one of us noticed the other one getting down, we’d make a plus sign in a visual, kick-yourself-in-the-pants-way to help the other one snap out of it.

So when I got an email this week from one of my readers, it struck a chord. A little snooping revealed that the author’s source had been incorrectly attributed to comedian Jay Leno; the correct attribution needs to go to Craig R. Smith. As we Americans celebrated Memorial Day last weekend--and both a trip to see my mom out-of-state and an overload of responsibilities at work and home prevented me from writing a Newsletter—I thought I’d pass it along to you this week. While I don’t see eye to eye on every one of the writer’s points, I do think the resounding message should be well-taken: we need to develop an attitude of gratitude. So here goes:

"The other day I was reading Newsweek magazine and came across some poll data I found rather hard to believe. It must be true given the source, right? The Newsweek poll alleges that 67 percent of Americans are unhappy with the Direction the country is headed and 69 percent of the country is unhappy with the performance of the president. In essence 2/3s of the citizenry just ain't happy and want a change.

So being the knuckle dragger I am, I started thinking, ''What are we so unhappy about?'' Is it that we have electricity and running water 24 hours a day, 7 days a week? Is our unhappiness the result of having air conditioning in the summer and heating in the winter? Could it be that 95.4 percent of these unhappy folks have a job? Maybe it is the ability to walk into a grocery store at any time and see more food in moments than Darfur has seen in the last year?

Maybe it is the ability to drive from the Pacific Ocean to the Atlantic Ocean without having to present identification papers as we move through each state? Or possibly the hundreds of clean and safe motels we would find along the way that can provide temporary shelter? I guess having thousands of restaurants with varying cuisine from around the world is just not good enough. Or could it be that when we wreck our car, emergency workers show up and provide services to help all and even send a helicopter to take you to the hospital.

Perhaps you are one of the 70 percent of Americans who own a home. You may be upset with knowing that in the unfortunate case of a fire, a group of trained firefighters will appear in moments and use top notch equipment to extinguish the flames thus saving you, your family and your belongings. Or if, while at home watching one of your many flat screen TVs, a burglar or prowler intrudes, an officer equipped with a gun and a bullet-proof vest will come to defend you and your family against attack or loss.

This all in the backdrop of a neighborhood free of bombs or militias raping and pillaging the residents. Neighborhoods where 90 percent of teenagers own cell phones and computers. How about the complete religious, social and political freedoms we enjoy that are the envy of everyone in the world? Maybe that is what has 67 percent of you folks unhappy.

Fact is, we are the largest group of ungrateful, spoiled brats the world has ever seen. No wonder the world loves the U. S. yet has a great disdain for its citizens. They see us for what we are. The most blessed people in the world who do nothing but complain about what we don't have, and what we hate about the country instead of thanking the good Lord we live here.

I know, I know. What about the president who took us into war and has no plan to get us out? The president who has a measly 31 percent approval rating? Is this the same president who guided the nation in the dark days after 9/11? The President that cut taxes to bring an economy out of recession? Could this be the same guy who has been called every name in the book for succeeding in keeping all the spoiled ungrateful brats safe from terrorist attacks? The Commander in Chief of an all-volunteer army that is out there defending you and me?

Did you hear how bad the President is on the news or talk show? Did this news affect you so much, make you so unhappy you couldn't take a look around for yourself and see all the good things and be glad? Think about it....Are you upset at the President because he actually caused YOU personal pain OR is it because the "Media" told you he was failing to kiss your sorry ungrateful behind every day. Make no mistake about it. The troops in Iraq and Afghanistan have volunteered to serve, and in many cases may have died for your freedom. There is currently no draft in this country. They didn't have to go. They are able to refuse to go and end up with either a ''general'' discharge, an ''other than “Honorable” discharge or, worst case scenario, a ''dishonorable'' discharge after a few days in the brig. So why then the flat-out discontentment in the minds of 69 percent of Americans? Say what you want but I blame it on the media. If it bleeds it leads and they specialize in bad news. Everybody will watch a car crash with blood and guts. How many will watch kids selling lemonade at the corner? The media knows this and media outlets are for-profit corporations. They offer what sells, and when criticized, try to defend their actions by "justifying" them in one way or another. Just ask why they tried to allow a murderer like O. J Simpson to write a book about how he didn't kill his wife, but if he did he would have done it this way...... Insane!

Stop buying the negativism you are fed everyday by the media. Shut off the TV, burn Newsweek, and use the New York Times for the bottom of your birdcage cage. Then start being grateful for all we have as a country. There is exponentially more good than bad. We are among the most blessed people on Earth and should thank God several times a day, or at least be thankful and appreciative."

Source: Smith, Craig R. "Made in the USA: Spoiled Brats" WorldNetDaily. 20 November 2006.

A Quick Note

The offices of FourQ Press close between Memorial Day and Labor Day so that I can work on book projects (among others…) My second book is in the proof-reading stage and will then go into design phase for its Spring 2008 publication. Details to follow as soon as I am fully allowed to share. I’ll be working on my third book for most of the summer….feel free to email me or call. Until then, have a happy, fun-filled summer with those whom you love!

Renovating the Heart of the Home

2007-05-21T19:21:00.000-07:00

In towns across New England, spring house tours—and specifically kitchen tours—sprout up like crocuses on a cool May Morning. Synced up to perfectly align with Mother’s Day, they provide women the distinct voyeuristic pleasure of peeking inside the lives of those who might otherwise hide behind barriers—physical or economic—too high to otherwise scale.

Such was the case this past week when in my own tiny town seven homes were opened for our annual kitchen tour. This Friday I will also visit a Designer Showhouse with a girlfriend; others dot the weeks ahead, but hey, you can only peek into so many lives. As is usually my observation at the end of the day: we have become proficient fluffers and featherers of our nests. Call it the cocooning movement, call it a thrust in home entertaining…or call it the desire for conspicuous consumption: we are decorating and renovating our homes like there is no tomorrow!

I cannot criticize the efforts of these best-intentioned homeowners. For I am officially in their ranks. Previously involved in an extensive renovation of the third floor of our house, we have also done less glamorous projects. We’ve ripped up carpeting to lay down hardwood. Removed wallpaper to paint ceilings to floors. Replaced lighting fixtures. Added bamboo shades and silk panels. And now we are getting ready to enter the kitchen demolition phase. The builder is lined up. Plans drawn. Master carpenter commissioned. Appliances configured.

I fully understand the angst.

Somewhere between the eighties and the start of the new millennium, we collectively (as a nation) decided that a completely remodeled, bells-and-whistle-loaded kitchen would be the benchmark for a good house. That whether we cooked or not, we needed industrial-strength appliances. That we required six burners, even if our family was small or our nest was getting emptier and quieter. That we had to have stainless steel, regardless of its penchant for attracting tiny fingerprints. That cabinets had to be perfectly configured. Drawers had to silently glide.

I spent a good deal of time sorting all of this out. Trying to get our heads—and our checkbook—wrapped around the scope of the project. To figure out what was really necessary and what was purely frivolous. In doing my research, I stumbled across an interesting little statistic that claims that most people do a kitchen renovation because of—drum roll please—peer pressure! That it’s not only to get a house up to speed or for re-sale or for aesthetics or because we might want to improve the odds that we’ll actually cook in it. We want renovated kitchens because our friend did it. Or our neighbor. Geez.

Chances are, you are either in the midst of a renovation yourself, you have just finished one or you are about to go down the path towards one. So keep your eyes open for the following trends:

1)Glass-fronted refrigerators. Martha Stewart just put one in her New York house. They’ll certainly be the rage within a year. I wanted one—in fact, it was the one thing I requested in my own renovation—but I’m not getting it. Couldn’t get anyone in my family to come on board with me. Couldn’t get anyone excited about keeping it looking the way they do in the magazine ads for them. But stay tuned. They’re going to be big.

2)Stone countertops that are not granite. Granite has been used. A lot. We’re now seeing stone that is not in the ubiquitous category. Look for more limestone and marble. And some very good stone look-alikes.

3)Steamer ovens. OK. I think this is a guy thing. I tried to convince my husband that an old-fashioned pot works just fine when heated over an open flame, but he is convinced that we’ll eat more steamed broccoli if we buy a unit designed for just that. (And steamed fish, chicken and cauliflower, too.) Whatever. They’re a great size for a wall or island installation and are selling like hotcakes.

4)Warming drawers. Seems like I’m in the minority here by not getting one. But something’s gotta give. Can’t have everything. They do a great job of keeping things warm until everyone gets home from soccer and piano lessons.

5)Fabulous hardware. Look for wonderful knobs, drawer pulls and hinges. Available in a huge variety of styles and finishes, these will impact character to your cabinetry and add the visual punch that the room deserves.

6)Lighting fixtures take up space. Look for wrought iron in black and bronze finishes. Saw quite a lot of interesting ones at market. All price points, styles and shapes. Lighting has really taken a place of prominence in the overall room design and budget.

Kitchens reign supreme as the official stamp of the home. They mark the personality of the homeowners. Of their tastes and of their stage in life. They are the first room to which would-be home buyers make their first beeline and the real deal maker—or breaker—of the home. As you wake up your senses and follow the call of spring (and you can feel it, can’t you?), open your eyes and minds to the endless possibilities, creative stirrings and nurturing opportunities in this most important room. They don’t call it the heart of the home for nothin’.

Blessings on your week,

Carolina

It’s What Mom Really Wants for Mother’s Day

2007-05-08T19:19:00.000-07:00

A good night’s sleep. Without interruption.

A clean house. Without asking for it.

Food in the fridge. With the shelves cleaned out before the new stuff goes in.

Breakfast in bed. With dark chocolate on the side.

Time to read a book. Without pictures.

Laundry folded. As if you knew that.

What mom really wants for Mother’s Day is for you to be her mind-reader. To know before she even asks for it what it is she really wants.

Moms of newborns and toddlers are too sleep-deprived to be articulate. You need to figure her out because she cannot quite put her desires into words. Moms of teens are too emotionally-charged to be sensible. You need to understand that she is hormonally-challenged (very low in the estrogen department) at exactly the same time that she is parenting other hormonally-challenged creatures (very high in the testosterone or estrogen departments) who, for the first time ever, are witty enough, quick enough and strong enough to stand up to her! (I never understood this law of nature by the way!) Moms with fully-grown kids are both thrilled at new-found freedoms but saddened by the lack of feathers in their nests. You need to provide her with the stimulation of which she had become accustomed.

I find that my own desires for Mother’s Day change with each passing year. They have ranged from getting away from it all to a deep-seated desire to be particularly close to home. From hoping for another baby to praying for a completely-healed teenager. And from material desires ranging from a new mixer for my kitchen to a completely new kitchen.

Motherhood always involves evolution. For its twists and turns take us to places both fully-expected and completely improbable. It requires re-invention, both of yourself and of your role. I marvel now at how I evolved from picking up my toddler’s toys only to stand back and watch them pick up after themselves for a few golden years…only to evolve once again to having to pick up after them as their teen brains have seemingly cleared out all of those cells holding the memory of exactly how to do just that!

However you choose—or happen—to spend this Mother’s Day, I hope that it gives you just the space you desire. Whether in the company of those you love or in the solitude of total silence; at home or far away; with your spouse and kids or without. That you get one day—if only one—to be the queen of your castle and of your kingdom. Big or small. Noisy or quiet. Celebrate the lives in your care. And may you feel blessed.

Wishing you a wonderful week!

Carolina

Mirror Mirror Part 2

2007-04-30T19:18:00.000-07:00

Very short Newsletter tonight. Life is hectic, husband is out-of-town, laundry is screaming and the dishes in the sink won’t stop whining. Nuf said. Here goes:

Had a great weekend with my two old friends coming in from Kentucky for a three-day visit. We did the shop-til-you-drop thing in New York City, rural Connecticut (combing for some of the most gorgeous antiques in the country) and up the shoreline. Ate and shopped. Shopped and ate. Perfect weekend.
Funny how when one does this with old girlfriends it is so gosh-darned wonderful!

Here are more tips and treats discovered over the course of the week, both from my two friends and from the rocket moms who responded to last week’s Newsletter:

The Costa Rican rainforest mud was a hit with my girlfriend (and I have a photo to prove it). As promised, here’s the contact info: www.ancientsediment.com. Or call 877-596-7582.

Pure olive oil Marseille soap is truly the best and we found it in several shops while out and about. Also look for a liquid hand soap version. If you have trouble getting French soaps (and this in particular), please go to http://www.frenchsoaps.com and order the olive oil bricks (Savon de Marseille). The consensus between my girlfriend and me is that the rectangular brick is easier to use over the long haul than the hefty square one. Better also to use one of those slotted soap dish liners; your soap will last longer and you won’t get that slimy mess that sometimes happens when you don’t use the slotted soap dish liner thing.

If you have access to L’Occitane, wander in there and get their olive oil soaps. Perfectly wonderful. Also check out the L’Occitane line of hand lotions, especially the lavender one. Luxurious and well-priced.

Look also at Doux soaps, made from shea butter and olive and palm oils. For hand washing. Like my grandmother used decades ago…..quite glorious.

If you get a chance, please do visit the Kiehl’s store or at least their online site: www.kiehls.com. I completely love their whole line.

Another rocket mom friend of mine wrote to let everyone know about LacHydrin 5, apparently the best stuff for calloused dried-out alligator feet. Cheap and easily accessible at your local pharmacy. She also likes CVS’s VICHY line. Everything in it, too, from night creams to moisturizing masks. Also loves the Purpose soap and the CeraVe cream or lotion. Simple packaging and inexpensive (my kind of stuff). Her last suggestion: the fruit enzyme mask by Murad.

OK, rocket mom. This ship needs to spend the night on the landing pad. Until next week, all blessings to you and yours.

Carolina

Mirror Mirror on the Wall

2007-04-25T19:15:00.000-07:00

“The magic of a face.” Thomas Carew

Funny how when I look in the mirror these days, I notice tiny little lines framing my eyes. Slightly-sagging flesh drooping past my jaw line and brownish spots in my otherwise relatively blemish-free skin. Ahhh. Middle age. Gravity. Character lines.

Taking care of one’s face—particularly when one approaches thirtysomething (let alone forty or fiftysomething!)—ranks right up there with nightly flossing and frequent showering. Freshly-scrubbed skin remains a virtue as well as a sign of health and vitality. Rosy-colored cheeks always win over paleness, as do bright, sparking eyes and clean, clear teeth. Indeed, the impact of physical attractiveness, of cleanliness and vitality, cannot be denied in our culture as well as of those around the globe. Research in Social Psychology suggests that we assume that physically attractive people are friendlier, more popular, smarter, wealthier and more “put together.” Called the “physical attractiveness stereotype” by the pro’s, it defines the idea that physically attractive people possess socially coveted traits. And excellent facial skin care is the first step in that direction.

Ok ladies. The first step: Develop a beauty regimen. All women need some type of daily beauty regimen. This has nothing to do with your natural beauty or bone structure or genetic stroke of luck or misfortune. It has everything to do with simple but excellent daily grooming habits and a specific regimen of helping to ensure optimal attractiveness. Specifically, it involves a daily plan for taking care of your skin, hair and nails. Who wouldn’t hold someone in deeper respect who has clean, clear and glowing skin, shining hair eyes and hair, white teeth and strong nails? These are hallmarks of sound health and vitality and of a disciplined life!

The next step: Take a personal inventory.

Is your hair clean and shiny? Do you shampoo regularly? Do you apply regular hot oil treatments? Do you get regular cuts and coloring? Is your hairstyle attractive? Is it current? Are your teeth clean and cavity-free? Do you both brush and floss regularly? Do you regularly schedule dental cleanings? Do you need to consider braces or bleaching? Are your nails nicely manicured? Are they strong and pink? Are they nicely shaped? Do you keep them polished? If not, do they look healthy and strong? How about your toenails? Do you frequently apply lotions and salts to keep them soft and smooth? What about your complexion? Is it clear, clean and smooth? Is it well-toned? Do you completely remove your make-up at bedtime? Do your eyes sparkle?

10-9-8 etc. Blast Off: Use skincare products that are as close to a natural state as possible. Experiment until you find something that truly works for you. What works for your best friend may be out of your budget or cause you to break out in hives. No worries. Keep playing with products until you find something wonderful. Remember that expensive skincare products are oftentimes overrated. Beware of expensive packaging and advertising; make-up and skincare manufacturers and marketers are experts at selling “hope in a bottle,” a concept upon which Revlon built its fortune. Always be on the lookout, instead, for products which are perhaps less well-known but superior in content. (See my thoughts below for those that pass the Rocket Mom sniff test.) Regardless of what you wind up putting on your face and skin, remember that your skin absorbs everything wholeheartedly! Avoid anything containing petroleum (like Vaseline) or mineral oil if possible. Take the time everyday to do the routine that works for you and that leaves you feeling positively wonderful. Invigorated and well-nourished.

Research shows in study after study that physically attractive people view themselves as happier. They apparently cultivate an increased self-confidence and a happier life view. Cultivate good skincare and good grooming in general, and smile at the world.

She is not fair to outward view
As many maidens be;
Her loveliness I never knew
Until she smiled on me:
Oh! Then I saw her eye was bright,
A well of love, a spring of light.Hartley Coleridge

Rocket Mom’s skincare favorites:
• Dr. Bronner’s Natural Castile Soaps have been my personal favorites for over twenty years. Soft enough for a newborn’s skin, they are environmentally safe and heavenly-scented. Nothing is more glorious after an hour-long swim or a hard workout than a hot shower with Dr. Bronner’s Peppermint Soap. Nothing.
• Marseilles Olive Oil Soap is the only thing I use to wash my face. Been using it seemingly forever. It’s been around for hundreds of years and is completely organic. Sold in bars, it is like pure gold to me. Buy it online, at a great apothecary or through L’Occitane.
• Costa Rican lava mud masks. Okay. Sounds hokey. But it is the best darn thing I’ve ever put on my face, outside of all-natural lotions and, of course, the above-mentioned olive oil French soap. Wash your face with warm water and scrub it gently with a wash cloth. Apply organic Costa Rican mud on face—it’s very green!—and let it dry. Keep it on for about a half hour or so. Blemishes will be gone by the time you wash it off. Amazing. Completely natural. Look for it online. I know it sounds like I’m a bona fide tree hugger—and truth be told—if I was stranded on a desert island and could only take two things for my face, it’d be my olive oil soap and my rainforest mud (particularly amusing as those who know me well would hardly describe me as a “nature girl”…but they are truly the best-est of the best!
• Kiehl’s is the paragon of simplicity and purity. This line of all-natural skincare delivers easy-on-the-face ingredients with a relatively easily digestible price tag to match. Purchase their products in the New York City area or over the Internet. This is my personal favorite. Extremely tough to beat.
• Arbonne skin care from Switzerland. Swiss originated but American made, these products were demo-ed at our Rocket Mom Society meeting last night. We all hung out in my bathroom while skincare consultant Joan applied glorious all-natural, fruit and vegetable-based lotions to our freshly-scrubbed faces. The invigorating salt is my favorite. If you’re interested, I’ll be glad to pass along a way that you can order them from wherever you happen to live.
• Burt’s Bees makes a darn good product at a truly reasonable price. Some of their stuff is better than others. I love the carrot seed facial mist. It should be in the make-up bag of every rocket mom on the face of the planet. Apply a light layer of moisturizer after gently misting your face with the sweet smell of carrot seed. Divine.

Why don’t you email me with your personal favorites, too? There’s lots of stuff out there, so sometimes it’s tough to sift through the clutter. As always, the simpler the better. Once you find a winner, keep using it, regardless of the newest fad beauty product. Pay as little as possible. Stay fresh and clean. And keep it green.

Big hug,

Carolina

You Want Me to Do What?

2007-04-09T19:12:00.000-07:00

“When our eyes see our hands doing the work of our
hearts, the circle of Creation is completed inside us; the doors of our souls fly open and love steps forth to heal everything in sight." Michael Bridge

It wasn’t like I had nothing else to do. Or wanted to do. Could have put my feet up on the sofa (like my teenage son did seemingly all afternoon). Could have gabbed on the phone with a long-distance girlfriend—or even my mother for that matter. Could have taken a bubble bath or read a magazine or caught up on the news.

But last night, when the other members of my family were doing their own thing, I had the dog on top of the washer machine for a long overdue beauty session. Cut, shampoo and blow dry. Our precious pup, who gets way more grooming attention than I do, had missed her regularly monthly scheduled appointment way back in December and was past the point of no return…in the beauty department, that is.

The other family members had noticed that her eyes were no longer visible from overgrown puppy bangs. That her fur was matted. That her toenails were too long. That she had developed an odor. That she was in desperate need of a bath. But they had blown it off. Figured it would take care of itself.

Have you ever noticed how your kids think that things just take care of themselves? That lights are always on when they need to see and that the heat comes on when it’s cold inside? That the fridge is generally full of food and that the bathroom usually has a roll of tissue paper on the holder? That laundry finds its way—neatly folded—to their drawers and that crumbs find a way off the floors?

When our daughter looked up at us on Easter day and proclaimed regarding some of the above said wonders of the western world: “But it’s your job as parents to do these things for us!” my husband asked her if she appreciated her heated bedroom, lighted bathroom mirror and instantly accessible cell phone.

She had never paid much thought to them. And admitted it (albeit with a discernible rolling of the eyeballs.)

If you ever feel “’Tis but for the grace of God go I,” you are not alone. While not doormats, we certainly are the glue that holds our families together. We are the ones who get our kids out the door to school and the ones who remind them to take their backpacks and lunch bags. The ones who fret when they do not have enough clothing on their backs in the wind and the cold and when they walk through the rain without a hood on their heads. When they forget their homework and forget to eat breakfast.

We are the ones who sweep the kitchen floor because we notice the crumbs that no one else does. Who wash the sheets that they are willing to sleep on long past the point when the health inspector would fine us for neglect. Who wash the plates before we put them into the dishwasher to ensure that hardened spaghetti will be completely forgotten.

We are the ones who forego our free time to bathe the family dog!

At the end of your day –or during the middle of it for that matter—when you think you are at your breaking point and someone in your family asks you to do just one more thing, you need to ask incredulously—for melodrama if for nothing else—“You want me to do what?!?” And then take a deep breath, drink a glass of water, and remember that we are, slowly but surely, marching towards Mother’s Day. When you will have one day where you should be expected to do nothing.

Blessings on your week. I’ll chat again in two weeks. My daughter is playing in Vienna and Salzburg with her youth orchestra and I am accompanying her as a chaperone. Hey, I’ve swept those crumbs, washed those sheets and bathed the dog. I deserve it.

Carolina

A Quick Note

As the list of rocket moms around the globe grows, it has come to my attention that many of you do not know about the book that started this whole thing. ROCKET MOM! 7 Strategies to Blast You into Brilliance can easily be found online through dozens of outlets. If you’d like an autographed copy, simply email me. I’ll take care of it.

Defrizzling the Frazzle

2007-04-02T18:47:00.000-07:00

Men travel faster now,
but I do not know if they go to better things.
-- Willa Cather

Families are moving too fast these days. Speeding through life from one activity to another with hardly a thought as to what we’re doing for whom and why. I am as guilty as the next mom: rocket mom or alpha mom or stay-at-home mom or working mom or single mom or married mom. Step-mom or Stepford mom. We’re moving too fast.

We come home at the end of the day—after playgroups and errands or chauffeuring our kids between school to activities or ourselves between work and home—completely exhausted. Frazzled and overwhelmed. Too tired to cook. Too tired to talk. Too tired to appropriately engage in our families. My personal end-of-day fantasy is that someone would bring me over a warm roasted chicken (every night would be just fine!)….and put it my mouth and chew it for me, too.

I have few answers. Only one tiny step in the right direction. I am committed to spending (at least) one night during the week eating dinner around my dining room table with my husband and children. With wholesome food on china plates. Candles lit, cloth napkins in our laps. All sound machines turned off or unanswered. I am committed to sitting down and enjoying the company of the people in the world who I am most in love with.

For stopping—and the key word here is “stopping”—to eat with my family is one of the highlights of my week. Taking at least one night out to pause between the regularly-scheduled stuff—the tennis and lacrosse practices, violin lessons, errands and homework—is a difficult maneuver to pull of with any regularity. That bewitching end-of-the-day thing—dinner and time with the spouse and the kids—is oftentimes an impossible feat. It’s so sad yet so true. We live in frenzy.

I know I am not alone. I hear it everyday. From almost everyone. Neighbors and colleagues. We frazzle at simply being female. In fact, I read in our church bulletin about a new class being offered on “the frazzled female.” The chord has been officially struck.

So let’s make a pact together—every one of us—that we shall try to stop at the end of the day. That we will force ourselves to slow down. To cook a little. Rest a little. Read a little. Talk a little. Perhaps do the dishes together as a family. Perhaps sit by the fire and relax with your spouse. Perhaps do some needlework or crossword puzzles. Draw or scrap.

How about we all take this week to reflect on what we need to do as mothers to get ourselves to a “place of quiet.” To reflect. Enjoy the simplest things.

Elizabeth Kubler Ross passed on this bit of wisdom as she reflected on the things that she had learned from people in their last days:

"Not one of them has ever told me how many houses she had
or how many handbags or sable coats.
What they tell me of are tiny, almost insignificant moments in their lives --
where they went fishing with a child
or mountain climbing trips in Switzerland.
Some brief moments of privacy in an interpersonal relationship.
These are the things that keep people going at the end.
They remember little moments that they have long forgotten,
and they suddenly have a smile on their faces.
And they begin to reminisce about the little joys
that made their whole lives meaningful
and worth the living."

Especially during this week, Holy Week, enjoy your days with those you love.

Carolina

Hello Miss Sunshine!

2007-03-26T19:44:00.000-07:00

It’s official. Spring has sprung. Goodbye, Mister Gray Skies. Hello, Miss Sunshine.

I hope you have walked around your house and de-winterized it. Threw away anything resembling that season. Pinecones, evergreens boughs and holly berries have got to go. It’s time to display bird nests and eggs, daffodils and butterflies. Open your windows. Wash the blankets. Get a puppy.

Winter and spring have become for me—this week especially—metaphors for everyday living. I have noticed—more than usual—a predominant and unfriendly ethos floating around the world. A winter-like “graying” of people and their zest for life. With the arrival of spring, it’s time to change that. And for good.

Just last week, when I was changing in the gym locker room, a fellow lap swimmer waltzed in donning the cutest bathing suit. Totally fabulous. Orange tankini. So I commented (couldn’t help it of course): “Wow! That’s a great suit!”

No response.

Thinking she was hard of hearing, I looked her in the eye and repeated myself. “GREAT suit!” inflecting my voice so she would really take note.

She looked straight at me, kept walking and said nothing. Just opened the door towards the pool.

What’s up with that?!?

I stood back and shook my head. “What a hag,” I thought. She couldn’t have even stopped to say “thank you?”

And so it goes. People in their own little worlds. Without thought or time for anyone else. Wandering around with no bounce in their steps nor sparkle in their eyes. Living in “winter moments” of gray rather than “spring moments” of (lime) green.

My plea this week is simple: Live as if you believe in the hopes and promises of spring. Greet others with a smile. Say “good morning” to a complete stranger. Look at a colleague in the eyes and ask how he is doing. Laugh with your eyes. Shake someone’s hand firmly. Answer the phone cheerfully. Open the door for the mailman gratefully. Drive courteously.

You will stand out in the world. And be respected and admired for embracing life with spring-like exuberance. With joie de vivre. It’s not difficult. Takes very little extra energy. Just requires thinking about others. Of shifting one’s mindset.

It’s what the world needs at spring. Totally. Spring has sprung. Live it.

Blessings,

Carolina

No Big Deal

2007-03-19T19:43:00.000-07:00

Ok. This is the first time I am publicly admitting to it: I am accident prone. Now, if you’ve ever “googled” me, it would be readily apparent. It’s been completely disclosed over and over again in my writings. I’ve been hit by a car while crossing the street not once but twice (and how many people do you personally know who could say the same thing?) First time: I was hit while walking and wound up unconscious for awhile before waking up in the ER and spending four days in ICU. That was followed by a month in the hospital, months in physical therapy, a couple of major surgeries and permanent damage to my right leg (it’s almost one inch shorter than my left as a result of being crushed to smithereens). Second time: I was hit by a car while biking by a j—k who failed to look before he leapt into the street, hitting me broadside, re-breaking my pelvis and my left shoulder (which required complete reconstruction and excruciating physical therapy for almost one full year. )

I haven’t had any major accidents since then, nor have I had many minor ones, except for the very occasional fender benders, the likes of which seem to mess up moms like me, teenage drivers and others who sometimes have other things on their minds. Mind you, I am a low risk driver. Middle-aged (ouch!), careful and not-given-to-convertible-sports-cars-due-to-turning-middle-age. But I have so much on my mind these days: the whereabouts of four kids in three different schools, my husband’s travel schedule, the dog and guinea pig’s dinner schedules (OK, I am kidding; I spend zero time fretting about the guinea pig) and the soon-to-be-remodeled kitchen subcontractor’s bidding schedules. Not to mention the state of the economy, the upcoming presidential race, the war in Iraq or stamping out global illiteracy.

As moms, we carry the weight of the world on our shoulders! And that weight, while dragging down our physical beings, wreaks havoc on our brain waves!?!

Just last week, while driving pleasantly enough to work (my office is a good 45-minute commute through mostly idyllic country two-lane roads) I took my foot off the brake when the light turned green for one teensy second while simultaneously looking down to change the radio station (I’d blame this on my daughter’s delay in organizing that mysterious iPod I got for Christmas but I don’t think that argument would stand up in court) and boom! Metal hit metal as I ran into the backside of the enormous SUV now directly in front of me. Yuck. Out I got, on this rainy, cold Monday morning (the first day back from my birthday celebration in sunny Miami nonetheless) and met the slightly irritated woman SUV-driver-owner. I apologized profusely, told her I took my eye off the wheel for one teensy-weensy second as we stood there, in the rain, inspecting the damage. A coin-sized bubble messed up her otherwise perfect fender and, after offering my insurance info as well as payment and restoration in full, she smiled and said: “I’ve done that before. No big deal. Go and have a good day.”

I thought I had left the scene completely unscathed. Thought I had done zero damage to my own car, until a week later when Nick, who was home from college, commented on my messed-up front fender. I hadn’t even noticed……but it was, indeed, noticeably banged up and lopsided.

I had global illiteracy and the state of the economy on my mind.

As I sit at my computer and look at my (somewhat messy) house (and think about my messed-up car), I realize what an imperfect world we inhabit…and what an imperfect piece of work I truly am. The guinea pig’s bedding is strewn all over the kitchen floor; a sweeping tonight will only guarantee more mess in the morning. The laundry basket is emptied and clean clothes are lined up in my drawers; tomorrow, dirty socks and tennis clothes will fill up that space. A candlelit dinner is enjoyed in our dining room and china has been washed, dried and put back in the cupboard; breakfast will bring another round of dried cereal and milk in bowls that will not quite find their way into the sink.

And so it goes. On and on and on. A relentless stream of accidents and mishaps and messes. And mistakes. Innocently enough, yet inevitable. Life is messy. And motherhood can be even messier. Sticky. Dented.

And would we have it any other way?

As you go through these years carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, I hope that someone—your spouse or your kids or your parents or your best friend—will give you grace. Let you get through the messes without being too hard on yourself. (My own husband’s reaction to the discovery of my dented fender? Laughter.)

As laundry and dishes and things and puppies and toddlers mess up your days, give them plenty of grace. Sweep or wipe or mop as need be. And try to let it all roll off your shoulders. Try to smile and believe: “No big deal.”

And then go and have a good day.

Easier said than done. Yup. Especially when hormones impair our best-intentioned good humor. But we are, after all, in the season of Lent. Reflection is in order. Perspective.

I wish you all blessings on your week,

Carolina

Happiness Revealed Through Family, Girlfriends…and Chocolate

2007-03-12T19:37:00.000-07:00

And great food and drink. Sunshine. Dancing.

I just spent my birthday (“the big one”) holed up in a hotel room and conference center in New Jersey where I was committed to a three-day business meeting. Nothing against New Jersey; I could certainly think of worse places to be. I had, after all, heat, hot water and electricity. Plenty of coffee. But the days were long. And my heart yearned for home. My familiar and favorite spots. My own bed. Shower. Closet full of clothes. And hubby, kids and Bichon Frise pup snuggled up on my legs during my just-before-bedtime ritual of watching the news sprawled out on my down-cushioned sofa, plump pillows supporting weary head.

But work responsibilities called and, truth be told, there is something extremely satisfying about living up to work responsibilities. So I attended this meeting without too much whining. It helped a lot that we had a treat awaiting us with—as serendipity would have it—perfect timing (which took away any of the pain I was experiencing.) For my husband happened to have qualified for a recognition trip gifted by his company which took us both to South Beach (Florida) for four days (in the middle of winter) conveniently convening as soon as my New Jersey business meeting ended.

On the last night in New Jersey, my husband met me in my hotel so as to spend my actual birthday night with me. He surprised me with the dozens of cards and emails that you—my wonderful and faithful readers of this Rocket Mom Newsletter—sent to me. He organized them all in an album and wrapped up the whole thing in a beautiful box, presenting it to me at the end of a long work day which found me too exhausted to even find my way downstairs for a bite of dinner. So I just sat in my hotel room—facing my husband who sat across from me to watch my reactions—with dark chocolate bar in one hand and the card-and-email-stuffed-album in the other.

It was a lumpy-throated hour. Some of your notes, frankly, totally choked me up. Others filled the room with gut-busting laughter (the “Carolina Machina” was priceless, Deborah! I laughed and laughed until I cried. ) As I leafed through notes from my oldest girlfriends as well as from new ones, those of you who, though scattered across the globe and whom I shall probably never meet, have become connected to me each week through this Newsletter—I understand with every cell of my being the value of family and friendship (OK, and chocolate, too).

To those of you who wrote to me: thank you from the bottom of my heart. I laughed and cried out loud. This was a tender time spent in a quiet hotel room in—of all places—New Jersey. With the love of my life. And with you all. Your notes invigorated me to continue writing despite the increased demands on my days, a tough day job and book contract being the two heavy “new-ish” factors in our family’s already bulging equation.

Your friendship—along with the great food and drink, sunshine and dancing for which SoBe is famous and of which my husband and I appropriately indulged in celebration of “the big one”—meant the world to me on my birthday. As it does on this day, too.

Thank you for being my friend. For celebrating with me one of my life’s greatest days.

Big hug,

Carolina

Daring to Be You or Why Lime Green is My Black

2007-02-26T07:35:00.000-08:00

If it hadn’t been for my lime green corduroy bell-bottomed pants, I’m not sure that I would have as many toddlers in my circle. Or strangers, for that matter. Nope. Most people expect to see blue denim rather than green corduroy on one’s legs and so when they see lime green, a conversation—or upturned nose—is usually the next step. (I actually bumped into the only other woman on the streets of New York City over the holidays who was also wearing lime green cords; we gave each other a high five). Yet these wonderfully worn-in pants are the mainstay of my at-home winter wardrobe…and an identifiable part of who I have become over the years.

I’ll turn fifty this week. So it’s a turning point. But hey. Fifty’s the new thirty. (And Thursday’s the new Friday.) And lime green is my black.

Turning fifty gives one pause. It’s time for reflection. Where one’s been. Where one would like to go. The world is a-changing, that’s for sure. And today, there seems little that will stand in the way of living life to its fullest when middle—or old—age settles in. We went skiing this weekend, and although I avoided the black diamonds, I managed some decent runs down the blues. Didn’t see a lot of older folks out there, but the diehards still do their own thing. Always have. Always will.

Daring to do your own thing—to be different—takes some guts. But it gets easier as you get older. You just don’t care what other people think as much as you used to! Sticking your neck out to express a dissenting opinion, wearing clothes that buck the industry standard, or rearing your kids in ways that make you seem like an odd duck are all part of living life creatively. Wearing green cords instead of blue jeans.

None of the world’s greatest leaders followed the crowd. Nor have its greatest artists. Or brilliant minds.

Each one of us is gifted with a birthright of virtually unlimited creative potential. Ability to leave your mark. You need to figure out how to tap into your potential and more significantly, unleash it for the benefit of others.

How to get started? Or move father faster? At fifty, here is how I see it:
• Travel more. Taking a break from your usual daily scenery will free up your mind to enjoy different cultures, different accents and languages, different foods, different air, different smells, and different sights. It will inspire creativity in the deep recesses of your mind.
• Expose yourself to the arts. Immerse yourself. Through museums or theater, the symphony or in a class: study the masters. Their works will motivate you.
• Become prolific. One characteristic of creative people is that they produce. Geniuses never seem to run out of brilliant ideas. Bach wrote a cantata every week, even when he didn’t feel like it.
• Think like a child. Get in touch with the child inside you. Look at issues in life and ask: “How would I look at this situation if I was six years old?” It makes wearing green corduroys fairly easy.
• Give yourself the freedom to act creatively. Let yourself act like a creative person, whatever that means to you. Buy yourself a pair of red shoes.

Or green pants. And wear them. You will feel more brilliant instantly. Trust me.

Playing Hurt

2007-02-12T18:44:00.000-08:00

When we got the call at 2 AM last Saturday, I hopped
out of bed with the thought that anyone faced with a
ring in the middle of the night would have: "Who in
the world would be calling us at this hour?"

I looked at caller ID and, not recognizing the
number—and seeing that it was not Nick, our son away
at college some thirteen hours from home—I yawned and
crawled back into bed, pulling the down covers way up
over my head.

Forgetting all about that middle-of-the-night-call, I
moved through Sunday morning as always: early morning
tennis, cherub choir rehearsal, church. I felt
particularly moved to go up to the altar that morning
to lift up little Katie, our 3-year-old friend who has
been in our hearts for the past couple of years. We
met in the same clinic where our son was treated for
leukemia. She was having a tough time and had been in
our family's near-constant thoughts and prayers.
Barely leaving the altar, my daughter ran up and
grabbed me, forcing her cell phone into my jaw: "Mom.
It's Daddy. He said it's urgent."

Heart pounding, I heard the news we had dreaded: Katie
had passed away last night. It was her mother who had
called us at 2 AM.

Last week was Super Bowl Sunday and it was my turn to
write my annual "Playing Hurt" newsletter. But I
couldn't move. Couldn't talk. Couldn't think.
Certainly couldn't write. I was playing hurt. And was
immobilized. Right in the middle of the field.

Monday took me to New York City to meet with the mom
and dad. I told them I'd like to be with them. Help
them do errands in preparation for the next couple of
days ahead. Visitation. Cremation. Could I be their
hands and feet? Walking eighteen blocks in the blazing
cold of the northeast last week, arm in arm the three
of us as we walked down First Avenue in search of the
florist who had come highly recommended, we began the
painful process of selecting the flowers for Katie's
casket.

Sometimes when we play hurt we understand what's going
on. We accept the hurt as part of the natural state of
affairs. A grandparent dies and we are sad, certainly.
But we look at his or her long life and we accept the
end. Sometimes accidents happen and we agonize over
the injuries sustained by a loved one. Yet we
understand that healing will eventually occur and that
bones will eventually mend.

And then sometimes we endure things that never make
sense to us. Will never. Crib death. Death of a
toddler. Childhood cancer.

Playing hurt this year finds many of us in the Katie
Camp mourning her passing, something which none of us
could have ever imagined as possible. The spunkiest,
brightest, funniest, cutest kid one could envision had
left us. We had all sensed that she would fight the
leukemia and go on to live a very long and happy life.
She brought each and every one who had ever come into
contact with her unspeakable joy! She locked eyes with
mine two years ago and crawled into my heart, only to
stay there forever. The sadness I feel over her
leaving us is, frankly, nearly unbearable.

I am trying to stay focused on Katie's spirit, and my
faith leads me to believe that she is in a better
state. Watching us from above, I know that she has
joined the heavenly realm and that she is dancing with
the angels. Staying focused on eternity is the only
way that I am able to get through the motions of these
days.

Most of us are carrying around a burden or two every
day. Illness. Separation. Prodigal children.
Brokenness. It is not the playing hurt that separates
you from me. We are all playing hurt. Daily, to one
degree or another. Playing joyfully while playing hurt
is the most difficult thing in the world to do. It is
our ability to play hurt with some level of abiding
joy that marks us as victorious in this daily thing
called life. Being able to infuse joy into the
patterns of living—while playing hurt—is one of our
greatest earthly challenges.

I pray that you are well. And that if are hurt—like I
am right now—that you shall try to find joy in the
morning. As shall I.

Blessings on your week,

Carolina

Nagymama’s Hungarian Chicken Soup for Your Family’s Soul

2007-01-29T18:42:00.000-08:00

OK. I promised you my Hungarian chicken soup recipe. Being that we are suffering from an arctic blast, with wind chills in the negative 15 to 25 degrees, it seems that a wonderful pot of simmering chicken soup is the perfect anecdote for the bone-chilling days we’re experiencing in many parts of the country. Here is the way I remember Nagymama, my Hungarian grandmother, making it. I’ve carried on her tradition by making it this way for my own family as well:

• Fill up your stock pot about two-thirds of the way with water. No need to measure; just fill it so that there’s enough room to add all of the following ingredients. (two-thirds should be just about perfect.)

• Rinse your chicken with cold water and add it to the pot. Use either a whole cut-up chicken with the insides removed or three to four split breasts, with skin. Season the pot with ground kosher salt and pepper. Partially cover the pot and bring to a boil.

• When it boils, remove the lid, reduce the temperature to a roaring simmer, and once you get the boiling under control, partially cover again. Cook at this temperature for around 30-45 minutes, until the chicken is tender when poked with a fork.

• Turn off heat and remove the scum from the top of the pot. Then remove all chicken from pot. De-skin, de-bone, cut into bite-size pieces and put it back into the pot. Add peeled carrots (the authentic Hungarian way is to add them whole, not cut up), diced celery (again, add whole stalks if you want to be authentic) and quartered peeled medium size onions. Check your seasonings, now adding genuine, sweet Hungarian paprika (I also add a healthy does of thyme, although Nagymama never did!) Simmer on low heat for at least a couple of hours, until the flavors have a chance to mingle. (You can also let it simmer all night long on the lowest possible heat, removing it from the stove first thing in the morning.)

• Right before you’re ready to serve it, add thin egg noodles right to the pot, turning up the heat so that they cook through (about eight minutes.) Enjoy!

Nagymama always served this with homemade bread and pure butter. A European pastry was also served, as was a good cup of after-dinner coffee or tea.

Fewer aromas fill up your home better. Fewer memories of your children’s home could be stronger than the ones this will create. Try to keep a pot of this going for the rest of the winter. I am trying to do the same……

Until next week,

Carolina

Whipping Your House into New Year’s Shape

2007-01-23T17:02:00.000-08:00

It’s not quite fair of me to write this newsletter. Not yet, anyway. Normally one to be completely on top of this kind of thing, I’m nowhere near ready this year. I have a litany of wonderful excuses—none of which you want to hear—but wonderful excuses they are and hey, one’s reality is one’s reality after all! And my reality this month left no room for un-decorating after the Holidays. So whipping my house into New Year’s shape is, today, a hypothetical at best. Heck: my Christmas tree still stands (proudly, I might add) in my foyer; angels and Father Christmases still line my kitchen window seat; and candles still stay light in every window (which, frankly, this year are staying up until Easter. But that’s another Newsletter). Friends are coming in from out-of-state next weekend (no time to whip things into shape before then either). So, looking at February for me is about the best I can do (and if this gives you liberty to lag along with me, well, that’s what rocket mom friends are for!)

But hypothetically or for real, it’s time to at least start thinking of de-constructing your home’s Holiday wonderland. Time to throw out the gingerbread houses and un-eaten cookies. Time to put all of those hard-to-find-home-for gifts away. Time to read the Christmas cards one last time and organize the photos.

So some thoughts:
• The first thing to come down is the tree (obviously). Ours is a 12’ tall artificial one (our kids have allergies to the real thing). It could stay up year round (and one year it really did. Funny story: it was in my living room and was easily visible to anyone passing by as I kept it lit most of the day and we lived on a very busy street. One night in May—so like five full months after Christmas—my pharmacist, who still made house calls—called and asked if I knew that my Christmas tree was in my living room. Duh?!? Like I could walk through my house and miss it….Had no time that year to take it down so left it up all year. Hmmmm. Looking like a great idea this year, too. ) But if you’re less eccentric than I, take the thing down, put all the ornaments in green and red plastic boxes so you’ll be able to find them next year, and get it all neatly put away and stacked in your attic.

• Next, dismantle any of the artificial greenery and pinecones or anything else that you might find at your local greenhouse (which is artificial) and wrap it up in plastic boxes or plastic bags and keep it all organized together. I take all of this stuff down, blow off the dust, wrap them in clear plastic garbage bags with a tight twist tie, and put them in my garage on a high shelf so that they’re airtight and out of sight until the next year.

• Pull down all of the Christmas things that cannot stay up as “winter decorations.” Santas should come down. Angels could stay out forever. This could be a tough call; if your house is like mine, once everything comes down, the house looks like it just had a bad haircut. So if you need to leave a few things up, so be it. The decorating police will probably cut you some slack.

• Lastly, organize those cards and photos. My girlfriend, Leslie, wrote to me that she takes all of her cards and organizes them by size; she also takes the photos and punches a hole in the corner and strings a ribbon through, making a nice and neat little keepsake in the process. When they visit friends throughout the year, she can easily pull out the photos to remind the kids who they are going to see. She also uses the opportunity to take the cards and photos to her computer where she inputs and updates the names of the kids. I take those same cards and pitch them (sorry!) but I do save every single photo. I store them by year in the hopes that one day when my hair is white I’ll drink herbal tea and eat crumpets in my conservatory and fill up archivally-correct books with all of them. In chronological order of course.

And when you’re all done doing this wonderful little yearly ritual, get out the vacuum cleaner and whisk away all of the dirt. Dust, too, but only if you’re in the mood. Make yourself an espresso and if you happen to have a cookie in the house, treat yourself to one of those, too. Whipping—houses or heavy cream or thighs-carrying-extra-Christmas-weight for that matter—requires a lot of energy.

Blessings on your week,

Carolina

Rocket Mom Takes on Winter Old Wives Tales

2007-01-09T19:23:00.000-08:00

A weekend is meant to be spent doing all of the things that you love…or at least doing all of the things that you hate but know that you have to do anyway (laundry, bill-paying and grocery-shopping come quickly to mind. Urgh!)

So imagine my disgust at having to spend the entire weekend in bed—and I’m talking entire as in twenty-five-hours-in-bed-without-getting-up-or-able-to-move-my-pounding-head—without the ability to do any of those things which I love (writing books, playing tennis, going to the symphony; yup: all three were on my weekend agenda) or hate (yup: laundry, bill-paying and grocery-shopping were there, too). Seems I caught not the flu (got my flu shot weeks ago) but an especially virulent stomach virus. Probably from my twelve-year-old son, who brought it home a couple of days before. Or perhaps from a colleague, who came to work the morning after being up all the previous night in the bathroom. Thankyouverymuchforsneezingonme.

Spending precious time in bed sick does not come easily to me. I had plans, for crying out loud! And grand ones at that. But it got me thinking, once my head stopped pounding that is, about all of those old wives tales that your mom and mine—and our grandmothers, too—told us when we were little kids. About keeping colds and flu’s at bay. Believe it or not, some of them are true and some of them are just plain silly. De-bunk or adhere as you see fit. Here goes: Rocket Mom takes on Winter Old Wives Tales:

1)OWT: Going out with wet hair will make you catch a cold. Sounds perfectly sane. But actually, I believe that going out with not really wet but slightly damp hair helps your body stay immune from catching colds as it builds up your resistance to the elements. I leave the gym almost every morning with slightly damp hair. The doctor’s take: an old wives tale. Going out with wet hair doesn’t make you sick; viruses do. (OK. So the docs and I agree on this one.)

2)OWT: Catching a chill gives you the flu. I am convinced that this is the truest of all old wives tales. I can re-count five times that I caught the flu within 24-48 hours of getting chilled. By that, I mean that I shivered. Complete wisdom from our mothers. The doctor’s take: While doctors for years have always claimed that only viruses give you colds and the flu, the latest research supports me. Researchers placed volunteer’s feet in cold water for twenty minutes and found that they were more likely to catch a cold within a few days than those who did not. Ha! My kids, who are convinced that I am soooo wrong and who refuse to wear winter coats to the bus stop, will hate me for doing the research on this one. But the docs and I agree. If you shiver, you get sick. (Period. End of story.)

3)OWT: Chewing garlic and eating onions keeps you healthy. Completely convinced. Except there is no need to chew it. (You’ll have no friends, after all). Instead, take one or two caplets daily to keep weirdo germs away. I completely swear (and I use the word gently here) by this. Have taken garlic for over thirty years. Almost never get sick. Have plenty of friends. The doctor’s take: garlic is good for lowering your cholesterol. May have some preventative aids. (C’mon. It’s my numero uno biggest health secret ever.)

4)OWT: Chicken soup is Jewish penicillin. Absolutely! Are you kidding?!? The best cure in the world. (And I’m not even Jewish.) Drink it in spades when you’re sick, when your tummy hurts or when you’re feeling blue. The doctor’s take: we can fly a man to the moon but we still haven’t figured out a cure for the common cold. So eat it if you feel like it, but don’t expect it to be an immediate cure-all. (They don’t know what they’re talking about. Make buckets of it when viruses are floating around your whole family. And if you need the Hungarian recipe for Jewish chicken soup, email me.)

5)OWT: Starve a fever, feed a cold. Or is it the other way around? Why does everyone mix this one up? I think it best to starve a fever. Your stomach just can’t handle too much food when it’s busy fighting away those nasty germs. The doctor’s take: it doesn’t matter. Eat if you can. You need the nutrients to get better. (OK. So eat then. But if you throw up, don’t call me.)

6)OWT: Sweat out a cold. I never exercise when I’m sick unless I’m at the tale-end of the cold or illness; I just don’t have the energy for it. But the minute I feel a little better, I’m right back at it. The doctor’s take: don’t exercise when you’re sick because you need your strength to fight the cold. You can’t sweat it out or burn it out or exercise it out or sauna it out. (Humph. I’m convinced I can swim it out or weight lift it out or tennis it out. I am.)

7)OWT: Colds and flu’s are most contagious before the symptoms even appear. I’d think this is true, except in the case of when the sick-o is sneezing right on you or coughing and then touching you. Yuck! The doctor’s take: not true. Colds and flu’s are most contagious when the symptoms are the strongest or at their height. So stay away from someone if they have a runny nose, are sneezing like crazy or coughing up a storm! (Carry hand sanitizer with you and use it after you shake someone’s hand. It’s flu season, for Pete’s sake! And ditto for after touching door knobs or being anyone who is obviously sick.)

Lastly, if you are sick, please do not go to work! Do everyone at the office a favor and stay home! And really lastly: the myth that chocolate causes acne is just not true. Daily usage reaps a beautiful complexion. The secret is eating it everyday. And dark only. It has been scientifically proven in every major university study throughout the world—and for centuries—to keep colds and flu’s at bay.

Hmmm. I must not have been eating enough of it.

Happy, healthy week!

Carolina

5 Fast Gift Ideas for the Holidays

2006-12-11T19:20:00.000-08:00

You undoubtedly have five minutes to spare these days, period…..no time to read a lengthy newsletter (and no time at this end to write one!)

So here goes: five fast gift ideas for the Holidays:
1)Give away whatever your local school or orchestra or sports team is selling. They’re most likely raising funds for something significant. Our youth symphony is selling specialty coffee to raise money for our trip to Vienna in the spring. Nuf said.
2)Give soap. Everyone needs it. If it’s difficult to find (as is pure olive oil soap), your friend will love it all the more.
3)Give gift cards. Rather than just sending hard cash, gift cards read “I have given thought to something you might like.”
4)Give home-baked cookies, pies or cakes. I recently baked a few pecan pies and took them to dinner parties. Wow! They were such hits. Simple.
5)Give your time. Offer to spend an afternoon with a friend or with her toddler. Read a book to a nursing home patient. Sit with someone in the hospital.

Spinning off last week’s Newsletter (Simplify Simplify Simplify), this is my M.O. for the Holidays. Based on the dozens of email responses of the week, it appears that I’ve struck a chord.

Keep it simple. Easy. Fast.

Next week: a wrap up on the year…as well as the highlights of our upcoming Quinceañera!

Blessings,

Carolina

Simplify Simplify Simplify

2006-12-06T17:36:00.000-08:00

Quick Rocket Mom Newsletter. Too many cookies-to-bake-gifts-to buy-photos-to-take-cards-to-address-parties-to-host. Did I mention laundry?!? Behind in that, too…

Busy month. OK. So let’s get serious. And get real. For the first year EVER, I am sticking to my guns to follow the motto I have never been able to live by. You guessed it: “Simplify Simplify Simplify.”

Officially gone are the shipments of eighty out-of-state Christmas packages, endless lines at the post office and department store cash registers, toys for tots I hardly know and expensive gifts for friends who need not. I have resolved to spend my time, energy and money, instead, on those friends and relatives in my inner circle who have cared enough about my family during these past few years…and who have stayed in touch through thick and thin. Call it (almost) reaching fifty (and finally reaching maturity.) Call it getting a reality grip (of sorts.)

I have decided this Christmas to help those who need help and put “on hold” those who do not.

So I will spend time in the hospital with my friend whose daughter is fighting the ugly disease of leukemia and I will sit on that park bench whether I like it or not because that is the bench that has been put in my earthly path. I will bake cookies with a six-year-old because she wants me to spend some time with her at Christmastime (yes, Heather, that would be Rachel). I will have coffee with aching friends experiencing loneliness and isolation. And I will host a party for my closest friends and neighbors because when life got really icky for us, these folks came through with shining colors.

This Simplify Simplify Simplify thing might sound harsh…but life seems quite short to me these days. So I have officially changed course and I am giving you official license to do the same. I have decided to honor charities that hit an inner nerve of mine but not those which don’t; laugh and cry with those who have done both with us over these past few years but not spend my time with those who have no clue at to what we’ve been through; and love deeply those who have remained in our family funnel through thick and thin but filter out those who have blown us off. Sounds harsh, huh? Nope. It’s a reality check. And, truth be told, Christmas is a time when the rubber hits the road. When you truly get what happened in the little town of Bethlehem a couple thousand or so years ago and you have chosen to celebrate it ecstatically. I totally get that. And I want to share that joy with you. But what I don’t get…and I will no longer let myself get sucked in to…are those things that have no relation to the message of Christmas. Things that look great on the surface but that don’t really count.

So I will love my neighbor and love the sick. Help the hurting and help the little ones come to Him.

The rest of it? Almost all of it over the top. Out of season.

So when I run out of time, out of energy, out of steam and out of conviction…which I have already done (and it’s only the first week in December!?!).... well…it’s just going to have to wait. Until January.

That’s what that month is for. Right?!?

I send you all my best at Christmas. And to my house for a long cup of coffee and to celebrate the season. And friendship. And the gift of Christmas. And the things that really matter. You know who you are. Why you’re in my life. Just show up. On Thursday morning, the 21st. 9:30. Come and break bread with me around my table. Laugh and cry with me. Share with me, truly, in the real message of Christmas.

All blessings to you and yours,

Carolina

Writing Your Way through the Holidays

2006-11-27T05:07:00.000-08:00

A pleasant surprise awaited me today when I opened my first red-and-green Rubbermaid Christmas box during our annual decorating ritual: written instructions as to what went where. I had completely forgotten that I had stapled instructions as to where to place holiday decorations the year before; when I opened up each box, I didn’t need to scratch my head wondering what I did with the snowman, Father Christmas, angel or feather tree in years past. I just followed—lazily, I might add—my own prescriptive for how to do things in the status quo. That the angel went in the kitchen and the snowman went in the family room; the Father Christmas went on the tea table in the living room and the garland went on top of the dining room welsh dresser.

Now, this may not seem like a big deal. “So what,” you probably ask. OK. Well, here’s the deal: as we get older, life gets more complicated. It’s not filled anymore with just carpool and homework drills, or job-juggling and dinner preparation. It’s filled with bigger kids, bigger appetites, bigger shopping trips and bigger laundry loads. College applications. Tuition. More travel. Harder violin concertos. Life just gets busier. Hectic-er.

And so having someone or something tell me what to do—even if it’s just a silly index card stapled to an artificial ivy skewer with directions on where to put the thing—it helps my already overloaded brain. And it will yours, too.

So here’s my big Holiday tip: write stuff down. Everything. Journal everything. Gifts you need to buy for whom to ship where. Menus you need to plan. Trips to which stores you need to shop. Parties you need to squeeze in when and where. Obligations you need to fulfill to whom.

Let’s face it: the holidays can be stressful times. We all feel over-stretched, over-extended and over-worked. It doesn’t really matter where we find ourselves. At home or at work, we are committed to the max. School parties and neighborhood dinners and business lunches spread their dates across our collective calendars and keep us on our toes. Wiped out physically, emotionally and even financially, we collapse into bed each night wondering how we’re going to get through the next four weeks or so. Gift buying and wrapping and shipping and lines and credit card swipes get us completely whigged out just thinking about them!

These next weeks ahead call for nerves—and buns!—of steel. So go into them with the organizational finesse typically reserved for the pro’s. Planning a party? Write down the menu and the guest list and stick it in your Filofax or your Blackberry. Record menus in your recipe box and refer to them year after year. Write down every gift you purchase for whom. Check your list so that each year, when you prepare for the upcoming Holiday shopping trips, you’ll have a record of every single person on your list. And also record who gave you what. It’ll help jog your memory when you do this year’s gift buying.

Make a plan. Stick to your plan. And write write write. Trust me: when next year comes, you’ll breeze through these days with extra energy and extra time on your hands so that you can truly enjoy this month.

The month of December should be amongst the best of your year. Friends and family gatherings should be the happiest celebrations you could plan and attend. But you need to be prepared. Organized and fortified.

So go get ‘em. Go to the end–of-year concerts and recitals and block parties. Bake those cookies and decorate the gingerbread men. Indulge in gorgeous gift wrap and put the curlicues on the cards.

And if you figure out how to do all that each one of us rocket moms needs and wants to do AND get dinner on the table: please send me an email with exact instructions. It remains the most elusive of my daily responsibilities. And if you can get it on an index card and staple it somewhere….well, you’ll move to the head of the class.

Blessings on your week!

Carolina

Celebrating Traditions—or Why Hosting a Quinceañera is a Grand Thing

2006-11-13T05:05:00.000-08:00

Several years ago, while we were living in Miami, our son, Nick, took part on the court of a Quinceañera party (a “Sweet Fifteen” for Latin girls) of a gal who was a friend, to be sure, although not necessarily a “best friend.” Never having encountered a “Quince” before, we had not the foggiest idea of what was involved.

Turned out, this was ”the event.” Private dance lessons were on tap for everyone involved—everyone being the Quince princess, the seven fifteen-year-old girls on her court (think homecoming) and the accompanying seven fifteen-year-old boys. And not once, but twice, a private dance instructor gave them all private dance lessons so they would all dance perfectly when the appropriate time came (as in private dance instructor came to their house and gave private dance lessons for a couple hours each time…you do the math.) Girls wore floor-length gowns, coordinated to the white Cinderella-esque wedding style gown of the Quince girl; boys wore rented tuxedos. Nearly three hundred guests were invited to a sit-down dinner and professional photographers, cake makers, dance instructors, set designers, make-up artists and hair stylists all played their own distinct roles.

Now, my husband and I attended, invited as we were by virtue of the fact that our son was on the court. But our other children were not; they were simply told of the event after it occurred.

Fast forward five years. Our daughter vividly remembers every single detail of that Quince…lock, stock and barrel…and, now fifteen-years old, wants a complete and total re-enactment of the whole Cinderella bit.

Given that our pockets are not that deep, that we have no intention of doing the whole pumpkin-turns-into-a stagecoach thing on a revolving platform (no, I am not making this up), we have told her that, yes, she may have a Quince and yes, it can even have a Cinderella theme (she is our only princess, after all) but that the line needs to be drawn in the proverbial sand by mom and dad with clearly-delineated markings.

Well, “clearly-delineated,” “pockets-not-that-deep,” and “Cinderelle-esque” are all relative concepts.

To live in Miami, which, let’s face it, has a clear majority of Latinos from all Spanish and Portuguese-speaking countries of the world, one embraces Quince parties because they occur each and every weekend in each and every year. To attend a Quince there at some point in your life is like, well, living in South America and celebrating “sweet fifteen” as a fact of life. Like breathing. To live in Fairfield County, Connecticut and host a Quince party is like living in the North Pole and hosting a luau. There ain’t none.

So when our daughter announced that she was having a Quince, to all non-Spanish- taking high school freshman, they had no idea what in the world she was talking about. But to those who took Spanish in middle school, they had some inkling of the impending brouhaha. But as these girls had never lived in South America—or heck, even Miami—they truly had no clue.

OK. So she chooses her court. Seven girls. Seven guys. (Can you imagine what that was like?) We order the gown, and it is, indeed, a wedding gown. It’s very Cinderella-y. Billowy. Lots of tulle. We order the dresses for her court (with the tearful note that her dearest friend from Miami who was to hold center court cannot make it up here for the event as she’s in the middle of exams. A sad late note for both girls.) We order the shoes (yes, they have a glass-like heel). We order the invitations. (An ordeal in and of itself. Have you noticed the cost of stationary lately?!?) Order the jewelry for each girl on the court. Ditto on the venue, the food, the DJ, and yes, if you can believe it, the dance instructors.

And then we start looking at tiaras. Now, I’m not Latin. (Nope. Pure-blooded Hungarian.) But even I know that Quince girls wear tiaras. And they are like, very expensive. And I’m saying: “Cristina, can’t we just go to the mall and get you a cheap one at Claire’s?” You’d think I had committed heresy.

So we look at every friggin’ tiara on the display shelf at David’s bridal shop. They make these things from Swarovski crystal, you know! And I just had to draw the line. I mean, this thing was getting out of hand. So I start pacing back and forth and back and forth on the floor of the bridal shop, turning over and over in my mind what I’m teaching my daughter about money and budgets and celebrations and indulgence and EVERYTHING is now all of a sudden riding on a stupid tiara.

She volunteers to pay for the difference between the one she really wants which is way out of my budget and the proposed one from Claire’s (which had an imaginary value anyway) and I coalesce and buy her the tiara.

And when I talk to one of the court-gal’s mom the next day, we kibitz about these girls and teenage-hood and money and rites of passage. Having hosted two bat mitzvahs herself, she had perspective. And then she said what would hit me like a ton of bricks: “You’re not just having a Quince. You’re preserving a whole cultural tradition.”

And I stopped and thought about how these traditions come and stay. About how generations of children have celebrated religious heritages with bar/bat mitzvahs and christenings and baptism parties; about how American girls have Sweet Sixteen’s and how Latin girls have Quince’s. About weddings. And how these events occur just once in a lifetime. Once or twice in a family.

And I decided that making a big deal about a life event is a grand thing. That it thrills me to no end to have a daughter, and a precious, beautiful one at that. That few of us take enough time out to celebrate life. To enjoy laughter and fellowship and good food and good cake.

We’re getting ready to celebrate Thanksgiving next week here in America. Embrace it. And those you love. With good cheer.

For celebrations—Quinceañera’s--are grand things.

Blessings on your week,

Carolina

The Pluck Factor

2006-11-06T05:02:00.000-08:00

Plucky (pluk’e) adj. Brave and spirited; courageous.

Have you ever noticed how few people possess radiating energy? How eyes lack sparkle and how few real smiles there are out there? How almost no one looks you in the eyes when you talk or how few people have truly gracious social skills? One thing that never ceases to amaze me is the lack of charisma or magnetism or exuberance among people everywhere!

So when I met Lorraine and Cam, I was immediately drawn to their energy. To their lit-up eyes, frequent laughter and bubbly personalities. Now they’re not particularly bubbly as in “effervescent.” No, they are actually more on the subdued side. But when one talks to them, their eyes twinkle. They smile when they talk. They maintain fabulous eye contact. Good upbringing? Perhaps. I’ve met both of their parents, even though one set lives in Scotland and the other in England (and we live up here in Connecticut in New England) and they are, indeed, darling people.

It’s even more amazing that we were drawn to each other with laughter and happy-talk considering the common thread that brought us together in the first place: leukemia. Their sixteen-month-old daughter, Katie, was diagnosed just before our seventeen-year-old son, Nick, was. Both children are treated by the same team of doctors. We met, for the first time, in the west wing of Yale’s Children’s Hospital. All of us were scared and admittedly, in a rather sad state.

Yet we continued, throughout treatments for our kids, to help each other get through them. I chased Katie around the chemo clinic when Lorraine and Cam were simply too worn out to do so, or held her when she needed a finger-stick and kicked the nurses too hard to get it done; we read stories together and sometimes she let me rock her to sleep. We colored, watched Dora the Explorer and played with puzzles. Cam engaged Nick in talk or made coffee and bagel runs for all of us. Lorraine kept me company and together, we helped keep each other’s spirits high.

They are back at the hospital, this time at Sloan Kettering, as Katie has undergone a bone marrow transplant this past week. It required weeks of pre-transplant consultations, tests, radiation and chemo. It also required Lorraine and Cam to temporarily set up house in New York City, in a rental apartment a couple blocks from Katie’s hospital room.

Some of us might complain about the difficulty of this situation. About lack of personal time, poor hospital food for weeks on end. Of watching our own children endure rigorous testing and annoying, seemingly endless blood work. Of the unfairness of the circumstances.

But not Lorraine and Cam. They maintain a positive attitude and continue to deal with every little detail with spunky, feisty attitude. They possess an enormously high “Pluck Factor.” They have a “to-heck-with-you-attitude” when people get in their way. They trudge through their days with laughter and verve. Hospital food the pits? No worries. Lorraine brings to Katie’s hospital room a crock pot along with bags full of groceries. When nurses wander in from the aroma of a slow-cooking roast and firmly let her know that she’s breaking all the rules, she tells them that she’s not dealing with the crummy food they’re trying to serve her. When little Katie does something adorable, Lorraine sends out an email blast for all of us to enjoy the moment. During the actual transplant, a video was made and we all got to witness closely (albeit from a distance) what it was really like. The video clips were amazing…..And afterwards? She and Cam celebrated with champagne and scrumptious food at a local French bistro.

Forget sad faces and going along with the ho-hum motions that most people simply accept as part of the circumstances. Lorraine and Cam have decided to maintain a spirit of resolve and a completely positive mental attitude in order to get through these days with grace. They let no one, and nothing, stand in their way. Katie’s well-being is their over-riding concern, and all of their efforts are directed to that end.

Strong-minded people serve as tremendous inspirations for me. When life throws you a curve ball, a U-turn, a disappointment or an unpleasant surprise, the outcome will oftentimes be greatly dependent on the way in which you handle yourself during those times. It takes practically no strength of character to be charming and adorable when everything is going your way. It’s when things get dicey that your true character reveals itself. And that’s when you need a high Pluck Factor. When you need to be courageous, to turn the ordeal into a once-in-a-lifetime adventure. To show your true colors, and your grit and the stuff of which you are made.

Many readers of this Newsletter are going through ordeals at this very moment. I know so because you write and tell me of them, and my heart goes out to each and every one of you. I hope this letter finds you determined to increase the Pluck Factor by just a little bit. To hold your head up high and courageously get through these days as have my dear friends Lorraine and Cam. You will serve as wonderful role models for someone else who, one day, will need to exhibit a high dose of pluck, too.

Please continue to keep me in your loop. Your concerns become my concerns and I will keep your needs closely guarded in my heart and in my prayers. I wish all of you—and especially those many dear readers who have written to me this week—all blessings as you go through these next weeks with as much strength, and pluck, as you can muster.

Peace,

Carolina

Minding Your Manners

2006-10-30T05:01:00.000-08:00

This weekend found me in New York City and in Philadelphia, working on my book and catching up with my oldest friend and on some window shopping, too. A good walk down Madison Avenue in the fall is always a good thing. As is a good book store browse, a slow coffee-brownie indulgence in a side street café, and a peek inside an antique shop or two. We did all of the above in spades.

There are few things that bring me more pleasure while in the city than shopping. Not real shopping, as in buying, but leisure shopping, as in looking and touching. I need not, so I am rarely tempted. And certainly not at Madison Avenue prices. But the enormity of selection, the newness of collections and the entertainment value of people-watching is just too wonderful to ignore.

And so it was with great fun that we ventured into and around the flagship Ralph Lauren store on 72nd and Madison (a must-stop on anyone’s agenda. No kidding.) It evokes awe. Masterfully designed, with gilded-framed oil paintings lining every wall, densely-piled carpeting lining every step and attentive sales assistants lining every aisle, one certainly glides through the store as if on cushioned ballet shoes. It would be difficult to escape without feeling better for having had the experience. For having tasted “Ralph’s” genius.

And so, as I walked down the heavily-cushioned staircase on my way out, I couldn’t help but feel as if I had experienced civility at its New York best. That attention to detail and to good manners was contained, if nowhere else, within four large walls on one city block in my favorite city on the face of the earth.

My visit wasn’t long and it became time for me to retrieve my car from a soon-to-expire meter on Lexington Avenue. I walked quickly toward the exit and as I leaned against the heavy glass door onto the sidewalk, a gentleman (and he was, indeed, a gentle man), called out to the two ladies who were entering at the exact time that I was exiting.

“M’am. M’am,” he called, shoving what looked like a ten-dollar bill towards them, as they looked back over their shoulders, puzzled. “One of you dropped this on the sidewalk.”

I could hardly believe it. I said, rather softly to him, “Now there’s a real gentleman,” but he either didn’t hear me, or he ignored me, as if to suggest that chasing ladies who had dropped money out of their wallets was a perfectly normal everyday thing to do and that there could simply be no other alternative.

Picking up pennies on city sidewalks is a silly thing to do. But giving them away to the first child to cross one’s path makes it a worthwhile adventure. But picking up a ten-dollar bill and chasing down a complete stranger to give it back is hardly a common occurrence in a big city. And it caught me completely off guard. It gave me renewed faith in mankind. In young men in general. I smiled thinking of the mother who, some time, somewhere, had—over the years—taught her son well.

Holding doors open for people, shaking hands firmly, smiling while talking and expressing genuine thankfulness, are all wonderful gestures of civilized people everywhere. I vow to work on that this week with my own brood. To make sure that my boys know how to treat young ladies and that my daughter knows how to treat young men. And to remind them of the rules. That they say thank you for treats and for gifts. Always. And remember to write notes by hand. That they speak clearly to adults. And look them in their eyes when they talk. That they always answer the phone or the front door cheerfully.

Little things count. And minding one’s manners—one of those littlest things of all—is one of those little things that counts the most. I trust you feel this way, too!

Blessings on your week,

Carolina

7 Must-Do’s for Fall

2006-10-23T04:58:00.000-07:00

These past few weeks have found me busier than ever: my new job has kept me with a textbook in my hands every day for the past four and a half months as I became re-licensed and certified in virtually every area of the financial services industry; working on a new book has kept me traveling throughout the northeast, interviewing homeowners and photographing magnificent interior design; and spending these past two weeks out of town in back-to-back meetings, leaving the hotel before sunrise and returning at dusk, has prevented me from reveling in the majesty of Fall. How awful it is to be unable to enjoy these glorious colors to the fullest!

Perhaps it has been, as some well-intentioned friends have suggested, a need to return to a very full life after dealing with childhood cancer and care-giving for two solid years. Point made and well-taken. I think there’s some truth in that. Perhaps it’s the need to finish out a career I started twenty-plus years ago. Or perhaps it’s my way of simply helping out with four college tuition bills (they come whether we’re ready for them or not, y’know!)

But along with that busyness comes much-needed respite. For time to take a simple yet meaningful pause. I’m hearing from lots of moms that it’s just that time of year again. When the rush of back-to-school has taken a backseat but when other stuff hits: parent-teacher conferences, Fall recitals, and soccer and football practices every other day. We’re anxious to regain equilibrium. To get perspective before the anxiety-provoking Holiday rush. To catch your breath, delight your senses and enjoy the company of family and friends in the beauty of this season we’re finding ourselves in.

Here, then, are seven must-do’s for celebrating this fabulous season:

1) Go for a drive in the countryside. Last weekend, to celebrate our son’s birthday, we attended a college football game; the timing couldn’t have worked out more perfectly as the stadium was located within twenty minutes of the hotel where I was staying out-of-town for those two weeks on business. Afterwards, we drove to a charming Connecticut village to have dinner with the photographers who are collaborating with me on our upcoming book. The roads to their home were winding and narrow, but oh!!! The colors of the New England countryside were beyond description! Red competed with gold, along with orange and violet, in some of the most beautiful foliage I’ve ever seen. As wood smoke mingled with crisp air, we became intoxicated by the sensual delights of the area. (For all of you old friends in Florida, a trip up East within the next couple weeks is a must-do!) Please try to carve out some time in your everyday busyness to spend some time out in the country.

2) Visit a pumpkin patch. Hopefully by now you’ve already picked out the best of the best and plunked it down on your front stoop. Smaller gourds and miniature pumpkins, arranged on tabletops and windowsills throughout your home, make for charming displays. Don’t let too much time get between you and fall decorating, or the Christmas tree will be up before you know it.

3) Make a big pot of homemade soup. While admitting to buying commercial stock for the boys (fewer things fill them up faster after long, hard football practices in the crisp fall air up here in New England), I have not had time—nor been home—to make the stuff from scratch. But now it’s on my list! Chicken noodle, beef stew and cream of tomato are our family’s personal favorites. Settling back into the routine (oh, those good ‘ole days!) of always having a large stock pot of soup simmering on the stove sounds like a good thing to me. The days ahead will only be getting colder after all.

4) Bake a pie. I admit to skimping on time in the kitchen. Somehow, baking has not yet made it onto my short list. Too much to write, too little time. If you’re feeling like I am, how about at least trying to bake one easy pie this Fall? Pumpkin is a no-brainer. Sweet potato and apple both work perfectly, too. Or how about a cobbler or crisp?

5) Rake leaves with the kids. What a great way to get your blood moving! Fall yard work is especially invigorating. And just think: within the next few weeks (if you live in the north anyway), your lawn may be covered in snow.

6) Set out fall flowers. Ornamental kale, mums and pansies look splendid against the deep colors of fall foliage. Cluster flowers together for fuller impact. And while you’re at it, make time for planting bulbs. The ground will be completely hardened in but a few short weeks.

7) Take a hike in the woods. And if you don’t live near one, shy of coming to visit me, get out of the city for awhile and dive into nature. My husband’s favorite daily ritual is a solitary walk in the woods surrounding our home. Being alone for an hour is nourishment for one’s soul. Fewer things could provide more glorious time for personal reflection. With leaves crunching underfoot, babbling brooks singing their own songs and foliage screaming for one last look, meditative woodland walks rank as absolute necessities.

Enjoy these next few days before the leaves fall completely off the trees. Go for a few last bike rides. Play with the kids outside. Walk. Breathe deeply. Fall is upon us so briefly.

Blessings on your week,

Carolina

On Spread

2006-10-16T04:54:00.000-07:00

I’ve been giving much thought lately to “spread,” or to the impact I’m having on those around me. Most days find me frustrated that I don’t have very much of it, feeling that once I’m gone, my legacy won’t be large enough, that enough lives won’t have been positively affected by my having been here, and that I won’t have had the effect that I always hoped I would have had.

Our society is celebrity-driven and success-oriented, so oftentimes I feel that unless I’m doing something that’s truly in the limelight, nothing I can say or write will have enough impact to much matter. I suffer from the “little ole’ me” syndrome, which is rather unfortunate, as I feel quite certain that little folks and little words generally matter more for all eternity than most of the great “success” stories alive today.

I realize all too well the impact of small acts of kindness. Of gentle words spoken to a neighbor, funny lines imparted to a weary colleague, or the impact of taking time out of a busy schedule to visit wounded, frightened or sickened loved ones.

I realize, especially as I get older, that serendipity happens, and that we need to rejoice in it. That people come into our lives for but a short time and that each one plays a distinct role. That circumstances are oftentimes orchestrated by our Creator. That His mysteries should be embraced, reveled in with joy and wonder, and celebrated for what they are.

I’ve also made the conscious decision to divest out of activities that take me away from my passions. I realize more than ever how my time is limited and that I need to invest it where I feel called to impart the largest spread. Teaching our church’s cherub choir of three, four and five-years olds is one of the highlights of my week. I have the distinct sense that serving these little ones is where I need to be one day a week. As I reflect back on my own childhood and on those dear souls who had significant spread during those years, I can count them on two hands. One of them was my Sunday School teacher who, forty-five years ago, had such a strong impact on me that all these years later, she always bubbles to the top of my list.

I’m still out-of-town on a business trip. I’m meeting new people daily and wondering where in the world my place is in all of this. Wondering why I’m supposed to be here, away from my own family. What I’m supposed to be learning and imparting. Whose life will cross mine. Who needs a kind word. A laugh. Encouragement. Trying to find out if I’ll spread.

How about you? Where are you? Are you supposed to walk alongside someone this week? Are you supposed to spread? And if you feel too spent by motherhood, by your spouse, or by your daily four loads of laundry, will you recognize those moments when you’re supposed to spread? Or those people put into your path who you are supposed to impact? We’re all on the journey together, that much I know. It’s figuring out the important stuff that keeps me up at night…..

Blessings on your week,

Carolina

2006-10-02T19:04:00.000-07:00

What’s Your Story?

The unfortunate and surprising news this week of a friend’s sudden passing has caused me pause. Healthy fortysomethings are expected to live long enough to take full care of their young. Deaths at this age are termed “untimely,” and they always knock the wind out of our sails. And while I don’t use the particular phrase of “untimely death” often, as it generally cuts across my own religious beliefs about life and death and the role of the Creator in both, I do admit to feeling at ease with the thought that indeed, one’s death at this age seems to be out of the natural order of things.

Combined with the uncanny timing of my re-taking (some twenty-plus years after taking it the first time) the licensing exam for life insurance, I’ve given more thought than usual to my epitaph. I’ve been thinking about what my husband would write about me. About which handful of words he’d engrave into stone which would preserve my memory for all those who will come after me. Perhaps I’ve been studying the rules and regulations too hard; perhaps it’s getting to me. Perhaps I’ve spoken with one too many associates this week. Been forced to be too “net” when describing someone, or when describing myself, for that matter. At a business dinner on Tuesday, I had to stand up and give my own “elevator speech,” those two minutes which were supposed to shed light on just exactly who I am to a roomful of complete strangers.

And at our Society meeting this week, we discussed how to “get our groove back.” We talked about how we choose to participate in activities and how we de-select out of others. How the bottom line to involvement is passion. How we need to direct energy and time into those things that define us according to our natural gifts and talents and interest. And pass on those that don’t.

When I think about those things that will shape my own story, I know that certainly those organizations in which I’ve chosen to be involved will add texture. That how I’ve chosen to spend my time has shaped the person that I’m becoming. That the people I’ve surrounded myself with will add chapters. That they’ll color it or highlight it or punctuate it. With spice or laughter or compassion, as they have been placed into my life to add accordingly. That my children will further develop me. That my life work will help others construct measurable boundaries in attempts to describe me.

What’s your story? If someone had to work on your epitaph, what would they write? If you sat twenty of your closest friends and associates around a table to distill your story into a handful of words, what would they be? Do your everyday activities reflect the real you? Do your friendships help you to become the person you feel destined to become? Is your work life representative of your life work? If you had to choose just one word to define you, would you be able to come up with one?

I’m not thinking about my epitaph in a morbid way. I believe that each one of us needs to reflect on our own story at one time or another…or at many different times throughout our lives.

For me, it’s not even the “live life one day at a time” thing…although I appreciate now more than ever the gift of each day. For me, it’s the going through the motions of each day, the tough driving-through-traffic-eating-your-lunch-at-your-desk days and the getting-kids-ready-for-school-while-trying-to-catch-up-on-laundry days that give me the most food for thought.

For I don’t believe that it’s necessarily the mountaintop experiences that provide the most food for the soul. I believe it’s how you live the day-in-day-out that means the most. That makes people notice. That provides teachable moments. Mentoring opportunities.

Fodder for your epitaph.

Blessings on your week,

Carolina

2006-09-26T18:49:00.000-07:00

Something to Wake Up For

2006-09-25T17:35:00.000-07:00

Driving to work one morning last week, I was stopped at a light behind a large SUV, the woman driver scurrying madly through rush-hour traffic. Her vehicle proudly displayed two college decals, one from Harvard and the other from Dartmouth.

“Wow!” I thought. This mom’s got a couple of really smart cookies on her hands.

The light changed to green and as she got a little further ahead of me, I noticed a bumper sticker at the bottom of her SUV which read: “I have no idea where I’m going.”

What a contrast! This mom who raised two kids smart enough to gain entry into two of the toughest schools in the world…and she has no idea where she’s going?!? (“B-I-M-B-O” crossed the synapses of my brain…)

If you wake up in the morning without a plan, with no idea of where you’re going, how in the heck are you going to get anywhere worthwhile? How are you going to enjoy the dizzying liberation that naturally flows out of living a life with purpose? With no roadmap, no idea of where you’re going, the prospect of waking up to the same old same old, the humdrum, the mundane responsibilities that face all of us: getting breakfast ready for the family, separating the reds from the whites, driving carpool, fetching groceries, answering old emails…you’re likely not “zoo-ed” up to even get your tired little feet out of bed!

I’m not dismissing the role of motherhood, or its everyday oftentimes mundane realities. Hardly. I’ve been doing its drills for twenty years, quite happily thankyouverymuch. And children or no children, we all face everyday tasks that are capable of draining the lifeblood out of the most enthusiastic amongst us. Let’s face it: few people face those proverbial four daily loads of laundry or paying overdue emails with unabashed gusto!

But there’s more available. And it’s well within reach.

This weekend found me in Washington, D.C. for an annual conference of like-minded men and women across the country. It offered leadership training of the highest caliber. Having attended this forum regularly for the past ten years, I always look forward to reconnecting with old friends and to making new ones during the September conference ritual. I hung out, as usual, with three of my favorite women on the planet; Alyse and LaNeil are each eighty-two years old and Shirley is sixty-five. They each possess vitality rarely seen in people half their age. Their faces glow. Their eyes twinkle. They are warm and wonderful, healthy and vibrant, curious and generous.

They devote their time to causes which they enthusiastically embrace. They are passionate. They work diligently. Without pay, they serve as foot soldiers for the critical issues of our time. They have something to wake up for. They have a following; people depend on their leadership. Young people rely on their mentoring. Still others seek their wisdom and knowledge of the issues in an effort to become better equipped to deliver the same message with vigor to listeners entangled in their own network of friends and associates.

One of the secrets of discovering your significance is to find that for which you were created. I can assure you: we were not created to live in isolation. Nor in self-serving, self-indulgent behaviors that bring immediate but short-lived satisfaction. We were created for community. For service. For expanding our little corner of the universe for the benefit of others. To take on missions larger than self with far-reaching implications for the generations to follow.

If you are looking for a secret to living with exuberant vitality, find a cause. Join a mission. Seek to connect your inner passion with the vision of someone who has come before you. With one who is working in the center of the universe to effect massive change.

Want glowing skin? Sparkling eyes? A youthful bounce to your step? Longevity? Vitality? Find something to wake up for. Be it your own kids or your spouse, your neighborhood or your elected officials, worldwide hunger or inexcusable illiteracy: get involved! It’ll help you put that foot on the floor every morning and encourage you to truly get up and at ‘em.

Onward and upward!

Carolina

2006-09-20T17:46:00.000-07:00

Reconnecting

2006-09-18T17:27:00.000-07:00

Reconnecting through the hurdles of distance and time is never easy. It involves travel. Interruptions to busy schedules, alterations in the normal routines of family life and unforeseeable frustrations as things, along the way, go awry.

Such was the case this weekend when my husband and I made a quick trip to Miami for a fundraising gala supporting one of our favorite organizations. The invitation had been on our calendars for weeks, but as the date approached, we wondered how in the heck we were going to be able to logistically re-shuffle an already-bewildering matrix of work; football games; an out-of-state orchestra retreat for one of our kids; and dog care, lawn care and child care. Add to the equation delayed flights both there and back (weather problems on the way and mechanical trouble on the way back), and one stands amazed that anyone can pull off reconnecting at all.

But oh my, few things beat reconnecting with old friends! My drive from the airport to the hotel was made easier by a phone call to an old Miami friend; breakfast was a celebration with my cousin and her husband; and the gala itself was one huge reunion with friends we hadn’t seen since our move three years ago back to New England. The complete change in countenance on our fearless leader’s face when he saw my husband and I enter the ballroom made the entire travel ritual worth it. Arms extended wide, warm kisses to both cheeks and long reconnecting conversation was all I really needed. I could have left at that point, without even eating the scrumptious awaiting spread; his embrace alone did it for me.

Many of us do not enjoy the indulgence of one home base, surrounded by family and friends of decades-long journeys shared. We bounce around counties and countries, in and out of homes and neighborhoods and friendships at dizzying paces. Gone are the days of one employer, one school district and one set of girlfriends. We settle down one year only to uproot the next, ushering kids and spouses into strange communities with perplexing new realities—and strange people—to match. Keeping up relationships, once formed, is logistically arduous. But once committed to the idea, making the effort to reconnect becomes an inspired process. Ensuring that the logistical details will take you safely there become worth every ounce of the struggle.

Children grow and reconnections to their life-shaping forces and faces must be re-kindled. How’s your daughter doing? Where is she applying to college? When’s the new baby due? What’s going on in your business? How’s your mom? Did you get through that awful physical therapy? Have you recovered from your surgery? We share common struggles, questions and dilemmas. Three sets of parents waiting for cars outside the valet area all shared in the common experience of raising fourteen-year-old daughters. Two other moms and I commiserated about the college application process. Complaining about the real estate market and where we might settle in retirement were other common topics of conversation.

Keeping relationships alive provides nourishment for our souls. Refreshment for our spirits. Continuation of ideals. Succession of friendships.

I’ve been blessed these past few weeks by more than my share of wonderful reconnections: with my sister and her family in North Carolina for a quick lunch en route to vacation; with my oldest friend and her family in Pennsylvania while working on my book; next weekend will take me to D.C. to a conference where I’ll reconnect with friends made over the past decade of almost-yearly attendance.

Especially as we struggle to just get through the daily responsibilities of motherhood, with toddler’s needs matched by those of busy spouses, with home and work demands matched by those of community service, it’s important to factor in reconnecting—at an intimate level or on one less complicated—to ensure that the cycles of life will be shared with those whom we love. That rituals will continue for our lifetimes and perhaps even for those of our children. That connecting—and reconnecting—will carry us on into the unspoken joys that bring beauty and meaning into everyday life.

Happy week!

Carolina

A Quick Note

To read a full account of my life-changing trip to Panama with Alfalit, the organization which our family fully embraces, copy and paste this link into your browser window:

http://carolini.ehost.com/sitebuildercontent/sitebuilderfiles/PovertyoftheHeart.pdf

More info can be found at http://www.alfalit.org.

A Rocket Mom Society Note

Reminder: Our fall kick-off meeting will be held at the Mother Ship next Wednesday at 7:30. We’ll figure out how to “Get our Grove Back.” Please bring a fellow rocket mom and plan on having an evening filled with fun, food, fascinating discussion and fabulous new friends!

2006-09-12T14:41:00.000-07:00

If the Devil Wears Prada, Can a Rocket Mom Wear Jimmy Choo's?

2006-09-11T18:26:00.000-07:00

Anyone who laughed through this summer’s hit movie, “The Devil Wears Prada,” knows that clothes can, indeed, the woman make. If Andy Sachs’ transformation from journalist neophyte into couture fashionista was not enough, surely the svelte fiftysomething profile of Miranda Priestly (played by Meryl Streep) along with her perfectly coiffed white hair, beautifully-shaped eyebrows and colored matching stockings got your attention.

Throughout the movie, I found myself asking questions about appropriateness. For while Andy’s cheap, mass-produced sweaters from the Gap were certainly appropriate for her college years, they seemed grossly out of order in her new role at the fashion magazine empire which employed her. Far more appropriate were her Aubrey-Hepburn-style hat and swing coat ensembles, knee-length Prada boots and Chanel skirts; the fact that they were borrowed from the excess stash made no difference. She needed them to look right in her job. Fashion was her job. (Well, sort of.)

Women have always had an interest in fashion. For good or for bad, we’re judged (by men and by other women) by our looks and by our fashion sense. And let’s face it: we’ve been playing the dress-up game since toddlerhood.

That said, the question of appropriateness remains. Would Andy’s wardrobe be appropriate if she held the position of elementary school teacher? Of landscape designer? Nuclear physicist?

Now that I’m back in the ranks of corporate America, I am ever-conscious of the way in which fellow working women dress for the workforce. Frankly, I am shocked by how casual my colleagues have become. Almost gone are perfectly matching jacket-and-skirt suits, closed-toe pumps and buttoned blouses. Shoulders, cleavage and toes are de rigueur and have received more exposure (no pun intended) than ever. (I was, frankly, shocked, to see three women legal analysts on Fox News espouse commentary with breasts falling out of tank tops; I can hardly find a women in my office building with covered shoulders; toes…and painted toenails…are definitely in the “no worries” zone. Personally, I find it yucky even thinking about my manager knowing what my toes look like.)

So what’s the story? I mean, if the devil wears Prada, can a Rocket Mom wear Jimmy Choo’s? Can she—no, should she—wear Kate Spade to pick up the kids from the bus-stop, Ralph to the grocery store and Lilly for supper on the terrace? Can a Rocket Mom facing four college tuitions allow herself the indulgence of thousand-dollar Manolo’s?!?

As you swim through the ebb and flows of the cycles of motherhood, consider the role of fashion in your everyday workaday world. At-home moms with baby burble on their shoulders look ridiculous in silk; anyone would think you had lost your marbles in the grand push of childbirth if you even attempted the combination. And yet older moms sharing Abercrombie with their pre-pubescent daughters deal with the ridiculous factor in yet another way. Should fifty-year-old moms (with badge-of-motherhood poochy-bellies to prove it) really be squeezing into low-rise bell-bottoms? Should the start of menopause be the start of more serious wardrobe expenditures and serious attention to personal hygiene? (I watched “Extreme Makeover” this weekend. Words cannot describe…) Or is that the time (for crying out loud!?!) to say enough obsessing already!!!

As you move on with your week, standing as I know you do in front of your clothes inside your closet, staring hazily at clothing both old and brand-new, with that “What do I wear today?” look on your face (will this make me look too fat, this make me look too pale, this make my butt look too wide…) ask yourself what will make you look the most appropriate…and move forward with the assurance that hey, if you could get through all of the trials and tribulations of motherhood, you can figure out a few ensembles to get you through these next seven days.

Happy week!

Carolina

A Quick Note

The Rocket Mom weekly Newsletter has resumed after its traditional summer hiatus. It’s been busy, busy, busy (!!!) back here at the Mother Ship. I started full-time “outside the home employment”—after nearly twenty years out—re-entering into the exact same position that I left way back when. I’m working as a Financial Advisor in a large office about forty-five minutes from home. Four days before I received the official job offer, I was offered a (fabulous) book contract for a project which takes me traveling most weekends. The ubiquitous work-life-family balancing act facing all moms working both inside and outside of home fronts has not escaped our family, either. We’re reinventing the equation weekly as variables (one son decides to play football at the last minute, one daughter decides to up the ante in tennis lessons, etc.) act like moving targets, rotating on a near-daily basis. As a result of all of this wonderful change, this blog will not appear before Tuesday (all must run through a compliance check as per my new job).

A Nick Note

Nick has settled back into Wake Forest University, but not without a few frustrating inconveniences. He got a case of shingles, which is apparently very painful, and wound up being briefly hospitalized to get that under control. Three difficult weeks later, he is feeling totally back to normal. He should continue maintenance chemo throughout the school year and will hopefully be finished with treatment in the spring

A Rocket Mom Society Note

Our Fall kick-off meeting :”Getting Back Your Groove” will be held at the Mother Ship on Wednesday night, September 27, at our usual time of 7:30 PM. Please note that the time has stayed the same, but the night has changed. We will discuss a permanent meeting night for the 2006/2007 school year at this meeting. Current members, please bring a friend! State chapters have formed over the course of the summer. Interested in joining? Visit:

http://RMS.clubexpress.com

Contact Info

FourQ Press, PO Box 569, Ridgefield, CT 06877 POSTAL

203.438.7164 OFFICE

425.650.2457 FAX

emomrx@yahoo.com EMAIL

www.rocketmom.com WEBSITE

http://rms.clubexpress.com ROCKET MOM SOCIETY WEBSITE

ISBN 0-9744187-1-4

Copyright (c) 2006 by Carolina Fernandez. All Rights Reserved

Ordinary Souls. Extraordinary Acts

2006-05-29T18:17:00.000-07:00

Their silent wounds have speech
More eloquent than men;
Their tones can deeper reach
Than human voice or pen.
~William Woodman

While I stand on the sidewalk during our town’s Memorial Day parade, I will fix my thoughts on the extraordinary acts performed by ordinary men and women on my behalf. I stand in awe at their bravery and wonder how they were able to stir up such courage in order to put their lives on the line for the ideals which they held so dear. They did it for me. They did it for you. William Woodman said it well: “their tones reach deeper than human voice or pen.” Words cannot convey —nor can the mind fully comprehend—the generosity and unadulterated self-sacrifice bestowed on us by ordinary people throughout the ages.

I urge you to pray for the men and women in our Armed Forces who are this day putting their lives on the line in far corners around the globe in order to protect our personal freedoms and to defend the liberties which we hold so dear. Pray for the families who are fervently praying and awaiting their loved ones’ safe returns.
Blessings on Memorial Day to you and yours.

“Are they dead that yet speak louder than we can speak, and a more universal language? Are they dead that yet act? Are they dead that yet move upon society and inspire the people with nobler motives and more heroic patriotism?” ~Henry Ward Beecher

A Quick Note

FourQ Press will close for the summer, starting today, Memorial Day, through Labor Day. I will officially re-enter corporate America next Monday. My new job, along with a new writing project, the Rocket Mom Society, our four kids and my husband (and dog and guinea pig and house) will occupy my summer days—and you will undoubtedly be too busy to read my Newsletters anyway! Please feel free to email any time! I’d love to hear from you. My weekly ROCKET MOM! Newsletters will resume the Monday after Labor Day. Until then, enjoy everything that the summer has to offer.

A Rocket Mom Society Note

The final society meeting of the school year will be held on Tuesday night, June 27 at 7:30 PM here at the Mother Ship. Our guest speaker will be Sherry Artemenko of Play on Words. LLC. She’ll teach us how to use games and fun, playful activities with our young children in an effort to increase language development.

2006-05-23T12:27:00.000-07:00

2006-05-22T07:33:00.000-07:00

Going the Distance

Without a doubt, the last few weeks of school are amongst the busiest in the calendar year. Graduations, recitals, concerts, sporting competitions and final exams all exert undue influence over the time and energy of students and parents alike. Most days find me traveling across the county shuffling kids to one event or another; May and June find me barely able to navigate the logistical gymnastics required for all of the above.

This weekend was no different. Batting clinics, lacrosse games and a year-end orchestra concert in which three of our kids played, took up most of our time. Thankfully, a quick visit (and fun May ritual) from my oldest friend from out-of-town provided just the fresh spark I needed to keep my enthusiasm level high throughout. It was a happy, happy weekend, filled with family, friends and fun.

Anecdotes throughout the weekend presented a resounding theme: going the distance is worth it. It’s worth the time. It’s worth the energy. It’s worth the driving around. It’s worth the work.

A visit to an antiques shop in Connecticut—and a wonderfully long chat with the owner—convinced me of the need to counter our “fixed in a flash” modus operandi with a longer term perspective on life. The antiques dealer winced at the notion that young people today desire their homes to be instantly furnished and decorated, using a few clicks of the mouse on eBay to supply them with everything from linens to lamps to dining room tables. Few young people today are willing to take the time and energy to wisely shop for their homes anymore. To scour antiques shops in faraway towns. To put in the time for adventure. To find thrill in “the hunt.” The pursuit, which used to take center stage, has been replaced in these bustling days of ours with “the catch.” We become satisfied with second-rate, because hunting for “wonderful” is just too cumbersome.

Friendships, too, take years and years to develop. They blossom eventually, through years of coffees and lunches, movies and trips, phone calls and postcards. They start as budding relationships, and grow and grow and grow if well-watered. Surviving a few inevitable bumps in the middle, like acne on our teens’ faces, they eventually develop into beautiful models of faith and trust and love. Like our children, friendships require years of nurturing. Of time and energy and good old-fashioned hard work.

Some of the most talented kids in our town performed in the end-of-year concert for the youth orchestra this weekend. My husband and I got lumps in our throats watching our own children play a Beethoven symphony in its entirety. No “fixed in a flash” model there. Obtainable only through years of lessons. Of weekly practices. Of discipline. Persistence. Vision. Determination.

I know that this month—heck, this week!—may find you physically exhausted. Parenting rarely finds a busier time of year. Class parties and field trips exert unusually high demands on our time. Our kids—and their teachers and coaches and conductors—tend to simply wear us out right about now. I hope that as you travel down the home stretch in these days and weeks ahead, that you’ll find renewed optimism in the knowledge that your energy invested in your kids now will find enormous rewards a few years down the road. It can be so difficult to see this through bloodshot eyes. But keep the course. Maintain the energy. Stay focused on the vision. For as parenting is wonderfully relentless, its fruits are wonderfully delicious. And you need to go the distance so that you’re guaranteed to taste them.

Blessings on your week!

Carolina

A Rocket Mom Society Note

Join us this Tuesday for our monthly meeting at Chico’s on Main Street at Bailey Avenue, Ridgefield, CT, at 7:30 PM for a “Shopping and Sipping Soiree.” Chico’s has generously offered a 10% discount on all purchase made by members (and their guests) that night! Members, please bring a friend or two so they can see what we’ve been talking about. Guests will be welcomed at the door. Questions? emomrx@yahoo.com.

2006-05-15T18:11:00.000-07:00

2006-05-15T06:49:00.000-07:00

Infusing Heart into the Hearth of the Home

"There is no reason, either in prose or in rhyme, why a whole house should not be a poem." Ella Church Rodman

With any luck, your Mother’s Day weekend was as wonderful as was mine. As one day cannot hold the full celebration, the “holiday” has been elevated—in my family anyway—to the entire weekend. It starts on Thursday night and extends ‘til midnight on Sunday. Extra lounging in an excusable indulgence, as is extra chocolate, extra newspaper perusing, and extra sleep.

And if that’s not quite enough, in this section of Connecticut where we make our home, kitchen tours have been perfectly calibrated to Mother’s Day “weekend,” and so I became happily transplanted to two different towns…with a third this coming week…all in the name of “Happy Mother’s Day.” Call it wonderful coincidence or perfect event planning: celebrating the hearth gets to us mothers’ hearts whether we like it or not.

These tours, quite spectacular in every imaginable way, go beyond the familiar house tour offered by many historical societies or trusts for historic preservation in cities across the country. They zoom in specifically on the most honored room in the house: the kitchen. Architects and kitchen designers stand for the duration of the tour, beaming with pride over the perfectly appointed rooms they have created for their clients. As they should. Most of the work is exquisite and deserves recognition.

And recognize we patrons did in full force. Attended by hundreds of would-be renovators scourging the tour for ideas, curiosity seekers anxious to see what the next-door neighbor has been up to, professionals simply checking out the competition, and HGTV and Food Network junkies by the truckloads, the kitchens on tour scratch our collective itch.

As a wannabe kitchen renovator (my oven is falling apart, my fridge door hardly stays shut and my stove is on its last leg), I had a strong desire to see what folks are doing in kitchens around my neck of the woods. Granted, Fairfield County, Connecticut can be a rather daunting neck to grasp; the most difficult part is simply getting my brain wrapped around the scope of the kitchens on tour. For we’re not talking merely ripping up vinyl flooring and replacing it with hardwood here. We’re talking six burner professional ranges, imported marble countertops, double Sub Zero’s, handmade tile backsplashes and handpainted friezes. Copper countertops and double-wide limestone farm sinks. Trips to Europe—with interior designer in tow—in search of that perfect armoire. Or vacations spent trolling through the Paris flea market for the grandest chandelier. One of the homes undertook a four-year renovation; granted, its 10,000 square foot size required a committed team of experts in order to eventually pull it off. But its final result—impressive, certainly—boggled my mind.

Now, there’s certainly nothing wrong with any of these indulgences. We can call it “protecting our investment” or “infusing our home with beauty” or “doing careful research.” The kitchens on tour were, with few exceptions, veritable works of art.
And as a visual artist, I appreciate the need for transformative beauty as much, if not more than, the next person. Indeed, my need to fill my kitchen with things that I love, things that I find beautiful, is a highly motivating adventure for me. Ever in search of wonderful roosters or lamps or linens or candles: I’m almost always on the hunt.

But as I tromped through house after house, I remained inspired most by understatement, as always. By the antique and smallish house that didn’t scream “Look at me!” Which spoke to me through its quietly unassuming authenticity. Of wonderful proportions, clean color and organic materials. Of beautiful, yet simple, fabrics. I like things that are gorgeous. But I like them to come at me in the same way that nature does. “The earth laughs in flowers,” Emerson wrote, and certainly their beauty is inescapable for those willing to slow down long enough to fully appreciate it. But flowers don’t scream. They softly persuade. They whisper “Come hither.”

As I go about the initial steps towards a complete kitchen re-do, I hope I can translate my need for organic beauty to the designer with whom I will eventually work side-by-side. I hope my desire for open shelving, a rather common solution in kitchens across Europe, overrides designer’s dreams of expansive (and expensive) full-scale cabinetry. I hope that my desire for a glass-doored refrigerator, one which I’ve held for more than two decades, is not met with skepticism by well-intentioned planners who worry that children’s fingerprints and messy living habits will intrude on the assumptive need for impeccable order and cleanliness. I hope that my desire to impart my own stamp, through my collections formed over nearly a quarter century of marriage, will not be met with a “professional’s” desire for something less artsy. Or for something that appeals to his or her aesthetic, rather than to mine.

For the one thing I had hoped to see more of in these wonderfully designed kitchens was the owner’s handprint. Or that of their children. I would have loved to have seen a crumb or two. Or some suggestion that the owners actually cooked there. That dough was, on some days, actually rolled out on the marble countertop and that vegetables were stir-fried on one of those six burners. Indeed, the phrase “working kitchen” has evolved in order to distinguish between those kitchens which are designed to be merely beautiful versus those in which homeowners actually cook.

I’d like to think that some kitchens stand—from decades of use or from recent renovation—where roasts are basted and hearts are repaired. Where bills are paid and where lunchboxes are packed. Where we value the notion of nurturing: through meals and through conversation. With preparation along with presentation.

Few things tug at our heartstrings as do our kitchens. We have long recognized them as the hearth of the home. Let’s just hope that in the real estate frenzy—as well as in the overly-consumptive age in which we find ourselves—that we keep the heart in the hearth of our homes. And that we are able to translate it aesthetically so that our loved ones can benefit. Via fabulous aromas or soothing patterns and color. Through folk art collections or through hand-crafted dinner plates. Through pottery or placemats.

For therein lies the challenge. As always. Infusing the hearth with heart.

May you find beauty in your week.

Carolina

A Quick Note

My wish for a new digital camera and photo printer was happily met by my husband and kids. They understood quickly—and precisely—my specs for an idiot-proof system, and we found one. Send me an email if you’re on a similar hunt, and I’ll tell you what we wound up with: emomrx@yahoo.com.

A Rocket Mom Society Note

Please join us at 7:30 PM on Tuesday night, May 23, for an evening of shopping at Chico’s. They are paying special homage to our Society by extending a generous discount on all purchases made that night. Bring a friend. You need not be a member to come. You just need to know one (that would be moi!)

2006-05-08T05:38:00.000-07:00

What Mom Really Wants for Mother's Day

2006-05-08T05:14:00.000-07:00

When I told my fourteen-year-old daughter that what I really wanted for Mother’s Day was to hear her perform the Bach A-minor concerto onstage in Woolsey Hall at Yale University, she rolled her eyeballs and said in that teenage girl voice that only bona fide teenage girls can do: “That’s not what I had in mind, Mooooom.”

“But it’s what I really want,” I replied.

My completely earnest request was met with more eye ball rolling, swooshing of the hair over the neck, arms crossed under the chest and complete silence for most of the hour-long drive to New Haven.

We wound up going, my daughter and I, and, as far as I’m concerned, I got what I really wanted for Mother’s Day. She played beautifully and the afternoon concert more than filled my cup. So I don’t want the flowers. Don’t want the chocolate (okay, so maybe if it’s extra dark, I’ll cave in). And certainly don’t want the plush animal (seriously, who are the teddy bear companies kidding?!?)

My daughter had “in mind” a mani/pedi, my favorite indulgence on the planet…and maybe even in the entire galaxy. Give me freshly sculpted fingernails and fiercely loofahed feet and I’m one smiling mom. So I felt confident that, with the “what I really wanted concert” behind me and a possible mani/pedi ahead of me, that the week leading up to Mother’s Day would be smooth sailing.

And then a flyer poked out of the newspaper and a gadget caught my eye. Well, not really a gadget per se. It was a digital camera. Well, it was a digital camera attached to a photo printer, if you want to be exact about it. And it looked so, well, easy. It was small and slick and adorable all at the same time. And, most importantly, it looked like it was idiot-proof. It appealed—strongly—to me, the resident technology idiot.

Now, I’m not pretending to be an idiot. Not wanting to sound humbly self-effacing or anything of that nature. No. I’m a rather smart cookie and I’m proud of that. But technology? Well, you see, the tech craze just happened to coincide with my rearing of that fourth kid as well as the premature onset of menopause, and, while not using either as the perfect excuse for being technologically-retarded, given that the final push of childbirth (and the mere experience of pregnancy) depletes brain cells and that menopause in and of itself has been scientifically proven to cause severe lapses in mental prowess, heck: if it’s good enough for the American Medical Association, it’s good enough for me. Childbirth and premature menopause cause technological retardation, OK?

So spying an ad for an idiot-proof digital camera really sparked my interest. And I thought, “Now that’s what I really want for Mother’s Day.” I am dreadfully and hopelessly behind in organizing my “memories” (does anyone even use the word “photos” anymore?) and the whole conversion of film to disc to online storage to email ordering thing has really gotten me down. Just when I got the whole take-the-photos-to-the-drugstore (now there’s an archaic word for you)-to-get-developed ritual down pat, along came digital photography. (I think I was in childbirth #4 around that time). With fewer brain cells with which to figure this one out, I turned the photography division of labor over to hubby. He got a kick out of it, and about four digital cameras later, has a multitude of files stored on my laptop, which I can never quite find when I need them. But he’s convinced me that they are in there somewhere.

Now lest you think I have completely lost my mind, let me assure you that there is a whole segment of women in the universe who are in exactly the same age group/life stage/hormonal imbalance level who understand EXACTLY what I’m saying: we got caught between the proverbial rock and technology hard place because we failed to time life perfectly. We’re bright, highly educated women who desire more than anything to have perfectly preserved memories of our children’s happy childhoods—but we now have no clear idea how to do it. The lady I met at the “drugstore” a few weeks ago confirmed my observation: we struck up a quick friendship while scanning photos into the machine and kibitzing about the technology rock-hard-place thing. We commiserated with each other about the inherent difficulty of it all (and while we were at it, swapped cell phone data entry horror stories, too) and we shared ideas of how we did—or did not—do the new technology photo/memory bit.

What I really want for Mother’s Day is a new digital camera and a matching photo printer. I do not want the manual nor do I want to read anything; I want my husband to sit down with me for a half hour and tell me exactly how to do it. I do not want to know all the tricks of this new trade; I just want him to sit down at my laptop and tell me how to retrieve all of the files he created for me which I cannot find. And then I want him to tell me how to print them out so that I can organize them into the beautiful books I bought after childbirth #2 when I merely glued those suckers in and wrote captions out long hand. No stickers. No brads and studs. No countless, colored versions of the alphabet printed on plastic-coated sheets. Just tell me—or show me—how to take a picture, print it out and get it into an album. Show me how to go from the push of the camera’s button to the computer. Show me how to plug a very short cord into something so that by the count of “three” I have a photo not just in my hand, but archivally preserved into my album!

I figure that there are at least ten million of us moms out here (if I’m doing the math correctly) who will find ourselves in this predicament on Mother’s Day. We’re haplessly watching the technological world swirl by, fazed by our lack of familiarity with it and by our inability to tackle it, yet unfazed by whippersnapper moms who already have all of this figured out (for we have the luxury of recounting wonderful successes, albeit technologically un-savvy ones, accomplished over the past ten to twenty years that techie-guru moms strongly desire, even if they haven’t yet verbalized or consciously realized it yet).

What we mothers really want for Mother’s Day is a husband or a teen—or heck, even a toddler—to show us how to do this stuff. To move us, slowly and tenderly, out of the place in which we have so lovingly settled, and into the fast-moving technological world which frightens and confuses and amazes us.

And if I can’t get all of the above, what I really want for Mother’s Day is just a few great pictures of my family. You could throw in the mani/pedi just in case—and dark chocolate never hurts—but some pictures taken, printed and gosh, maybe even organized onto a page in my album, and I’d say that Mother’s Day would be just swell.

Happy, happy Mother’s Day!

Carolina

2006-05-01T09:58:00.000-07:00

Keeping the Train on Track

2006-05-01T09:36:00.000-07:00

“Talent is 99 percent perspiration and 1 percent inspiration.” Thomas Edison

I experienced the privilege and joy of sitting back and watching my daughter perform in a Suzuki Festival this weekend at Yale University. In its glorious Woolsey Hall, oversized, magnificent gilded pipes for the front-and-center organ stared us parents (and more-than-proud grandparents) in our faces while we watched a couple hundred musicians balance pint-sized violins, maneuver mini-cellos and stroke lightweight guitars on stage. Classical and folk music filled the air, starting with Copland’s invigorating “Hoedown” and ending with the Suzuki signature “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star,” which we parents have enjoyed (or endured) anywhere from a hundred to a zillion times, depending on our length in the Suzuki program. But we sat there, all of us, mesmerized and busting with pride. To think that our kids could have multiple books of music permanently ingrained in their brains; that their thin little fingers could glide over the strings at lightning speed; and that they could produce such beautiful music with complete strangers in perfect harmony, their only bond being the study of the same music under the same pedagogical training, was almost too much to comprehend. It was nothing short of splendid.

It was a sadly striking observation—especially given the glory of the occasion—to note the high rate of “de-selection” out of the system as kids grew older. While dozens upon dozens of little ones proudly played “Twinkle,” only a handful of teens took to the stage for the advanced pieces.

Now, this could be said of practically anything. How many toddler girls enjoy all of that pink tulle for those first few years of ballet, after all, only to drop out right before going on to pointe? Or enthusiastically embrace early morning lap swimming with the neighborhood gang, only to drop out when the coach asks them to swim five hours a day? How many unused drum sets, guitars, easels and athletic equipment are collecting dust in garages across the globe as overly-ambitious pursuits—quick shots out of the blocks each one of them—fizzle to a grinding halt once the realization of all of that hard work sets into our youngsters’ collective consciousnesses?

Let’s face it: it’s a lot more difficult to stick with something than it is to get something started. Drumming up enthusiasm for a new project, be it taking up the oboe or taking up oil painting, is no harder for most of us than getting our fannies up and off the sofa. We order the new gear, new art supplies or new instruments, practically salivating at the vision. We enthusiastically walk into our new lessons, proudly toting new stuff, bubbling over with excitement and energy for the newness of it all. Like staring into a new baby’s eyes and understanding that this life holds such promise, we zealously embrace new projects, and realize, all too slowly, the terrific sacrifices demanded for growth.

One of the most difficult challenges of parenting is discerning how long we require our children to stick with something…keeping the train on the track…and knowing when it’s okay to let them jump off.

Do we decide at the point when the frustration level becomes unbearable that “now is the time”? Or do we grit our teeth and understand that this is all just part of the process? When our kids slam the door, stomp their feet and scream “I hate this!” do we take that as a sign that we should stop now? Or do we simply acknowledge that as a good time for a strong cup of coffee, a bit of dark chocolate and a time-out?

I have remained amazed—over these past almost twenty years—of the number of parents who throw in the towel too soon, as well as the ones who manage to hold on through their children’s mastery. I have taken my own fair share of well-intentioned yet unsolicited advice from honest parents who simply see things differently than I do. There is a great deal of difference here and it’s a tough one to sort out. And it was particularly glaring today.

As there are, of course, vast personal differences among children and families; in constraints on time, energy and financial resources; and in personality variances of pure persistence (or of pure stubbornness), one can’t devise blanket generalizations for keeping—or moving—the train on track. There are just too many variables in the equation. Regardless, one bottom line is true virtually across the board: children despise hard work, and anything requiring mastery demands hard work! As parents, we need to figure out when to chalk up something unpleasant—violin practice or spelling drills or swimming regimens or frustrated painting sessions—to hard work, pure and simple—or to “it’s time to get the train off the track.” There are few things couples argue more over, few questions moms ask me more frequently, and few things that cause me greater personal angst, than this issue.

I wish I had the answer. I wish every situation had a pat solution. I wish it was as easy as encouraging every parent to stick with it ‘til the bitter end! To battle it out until the final victory is achieved! ‘Til you hear “the” recital, witness the home run or hang the blue ribbon you’ve been waiting for. That you won’t let him quit until he finishes that tenth book of violin music or makes it all the way through the majors in Little League. That she has to take Spanish all the way through high school. Or must enroll in art school until she uses up all of her expensive supplies.

But it’s never that easy. Nope. Parenting is always full of surprises. Our kids can out-smart us, out-maneuver us and out-last us…and they will. Just when we think we’ve got this parenting thing figured out, we face another trick or challenge or dilemma and we feel like we’re back at square one. Or we realize that what worked for the first kid has no power over the second. Oh geez.

One thing I know for sure: mastery commands respect. As does consistency. Perseverance. Persistence. Stick-to-it-ive-ness. We reward singers who make it all the way on American Idol and athletes who make it to the Olympics. We love stories of persevering against all odds and of sticking it out even when it hurts. And so while that certainly doesn’t mean that it’s never okay to let the train jump off the tracks—because some times that truly is the right thing to do—make sure that you don’t trade common everyday impatience for quick fix solutions. For increased peace and quiet in the home. Or increased harmony. For less fighting or foot stomping or door slamming.

Remember, always, the dirty little secret of parenting: it takes far more nurturing, far more patience and far more energy than anyone ever warned you about. That it takes years of hard work and practice. That practice is hard work and that hard work is just practice. And that it will all be worth it when you receive the joy—as I did today—as you simply sit back, smile, and think: “We done good.”

Blessings on your week,

Carolina

2006-04-24T10:24:00.000-07:00

Very Talented

2006-04-24T09:41:00.000-07:00

Ahhh. Travel. One of my favorite things about going away is meeting up with old—and new—friends and seeing how the other half of the world lives. And of how different spots in the world look! I am well aware that my own little place on top of this Connecticut ridge of ours would be unimaginable to much of the world, particularly if one were not familiar with the topography of New England…or with much of America for that matter. When I traveled to Florida last week for spring break, I felt somewhat out of my element; indeed, had it not been for the two years we spent living in Miami, I would have felt like I landed on another planet. Its juxtaposition to the northeast could not have been sharper. What with the dreary weather we’ve experienced for gadzooks, what seems like an eternity and the complete void of greenery and pops of fresh sprouts, waking up to sunshine, warmth and brightly-colored flowers was nothing short of glorious. It didn’t hurt, either, that my “second mom” (with whom I stayed) spoiled me half-rotten, with al fresco lunches on her patio, extravagant treats at local eateries, dinners at candlelit tables overlooking the bay, late night chats over dark chocolate, and late morning coffee, served piping hot on that proverbial silver platter.

While in Naples, I had the wonderful fortune of sharing lunch one afternoon with my “mom’s” best friends…and the delightful luck of being seated next to one of my favorite people in the world. Artist extraordinaire, world traveler and the author of three books, Very California, Very Charleston and Very New Orleans, she is, needless to say, Very Talented.

I first met Diana Gessler about five years ago when her first book debuted and she did a signing at a private home in Naples. A good friend of my second mom, I became instantly attracted to her. She radiates warmth, sincerity and, of course, talent out the whazoo. We toured the gallery which represents her work and talked about her book project, which propelled her to super-stardom seemingly over night.

But we know that overnight sensations are illusions. And Diana is no exception. Her story is quite remarkable and, as it is loaded with some great life lessons, I feel especially inclined to share it with you.

Her parents recognized her artistic talents very early on, and they promptly equipped her by providing her with the best instruction that they could both find and afford. She studied intensely for years, working both in the fine and in the graphic arts. She is now best-known for her watercolor landscapes and renderings of historic or architecturally-interesting homes and buildings, all of which command truly respectable rates. She also paints gorgeous florals and still lifes. Anyway, she has always “paint-journaled” her various world travels, choosing to capture scenes, people and experiences in watercolor renderings rather than through photographs or words (as the rest of us mere mortals do). Twenty-five years later, she has a huge collection of travel journals, all hand-painted and hand-lettered.

If I have the story properly recollected, it was shortly after she returned from a lengthy trip to California when she visited a publisher (on short notice) and inquired as to whether or not they might find some commercial value of her handpainted travel journal of her trip criss-crossing the state. A short interview there was generously concluded with a book contract, and the rest, as they say, is history.

I met Diana when Very California was hot off the press. I “got” her work…and its long-term potential…in a nanosecond. “Diana, you’ve got a real concept here. There’s not a city in the world you couldn’t do.” Sure enough, that first book was followed by Very Charleston and the recent Very New Orleans, which was, coincidentally, being printed as New Orleans was literally sinking in the flood of the century. Thankfully, Diana’s book preserves the city perfectly.

Diana and her work have taught me a lot about life in general, and about being an artist in particular. But they’ve also shed light on the process of parenthood. They have taught me, first of all, the value of recognizing innate giftedness early in a child’s life. And of fostering genius when it is first glimpsed. Diana’s parents get gold stars for doing that so generously. We all need to be on the lookout for flashes of genius in our own kids. And be willing to bring it to an honorable conclusion so that the rest of the world may benefit.

Secondly, I learned that it usually really does take a couple decades—at least—to bring out true talent. That practice, practice, practice gets you to Carnegie Hall. And that it takes dozens of journaled trips to get you to publisher’s attention and best-seller status. There is really hardly ever flash-in-the-pan success that’s worth writing—or reading—about. So don’t let your kids moan and groan about drills and workouts and practice….in whatever area in which they are currently working or struggling. It takes more years than we care to think about to finally “arrive.”

Thirdly, serendipity happens. Diana confessed that she wasn’t thinking about publishing her journals into books at the time she was actually painting them. It wasn’t until much later that the inspiration struck her. The important thing was that she kept practicing her talent so that when the opportunity presented itself, she was ready to accept it and go for it. How many times have you seen the same thing happen with others who have faced similar good fortune? As they say, there is no such thing as good luck; it’s just preparation meeting opportunity.

Lastly, seeing Diana again reinforced how much I appreciate mingling with a humble spirit. Diana is Very Talented. But she is extremely humble about it. Hasn’t gone to her head. Or to her attitude. She’s quietly unassuming about it all…which is particularly refreshing in these days of obnoxious, celebrity-driven headline news about trivial baloney. (Do we really need to know day-by-day accounts of baby Suri Cruise?!?) It’s wonderful seeing someone of Diana’s talent and stature maintaining a low profile and an accurate sense of self.

You may have a similar story of parental nurturing. Of grown-up success. Of being Very Talented. If so, I hope you take some of these observations to heart. Or perhaps you’ll use them as encouragement in addressing your own children’s needs. Of being attentive to flashes of brilliance. Or of unusual giftedness. Of extremes in the senses. Great visual acuity. Great kinesthetic awareness. Great sense of taste. Or of touch. Gifts that can all be cultivated. That can be boosted with time or energy or money or teaching or mentoring.

For we can all aspire to be Very Talented. And Very Wonderful, too. Just like Diana.

Happy week,

Carolina

A Quick Note

Diana Gessler’s web site provides some of the best eye candy on earth. Go to: http://www.dianagessler.com. Her books of course have special appeal if you have any connections to California, Charleston or New Orleans. They make perfect gifts!

She also provides free tips and tricks of the journaling trade at: http://www.gellyroll.com/craft/journal/gessler/gessler.html

2006-04-10T09:49:00.000-07:00

It's Not About the Bunnies

2006-04-10T09:39:00.000-07:00

Just when we thought spring had finally arrived, we got blasted with snow flurries and wretched weather all day Saturday. Rain mixed with snow and sleet…and spring spirits dashed right along with hopes of getting anything done outside in the garden…or of simply catching a whiff of fresh spring air. Because my calendar tells me that spring has officially arrived—we’re ten days into it for crying out loud and chocolate bunnies, eggs and marshmallow chicks line rack upon rack of grocery store shelves after all—yet my eyes tell me that winter is indeed, still in our midst—we cannot leave our homes without bulky overcoats and sweaters—I’m caught between the desire for celebrating spring’s freshness and vitality with the inescapable resignation that winter, at least up here in New England, is still here.

Such is Holy Week. We want so badly to celebrate the Resurrection at Easter, but we feel overcome with the passion and trial of the days leading from Palm Sunday through Good Friday. This season signals—around the world—time for reflection. During Holy Week, we move—day by day—from sadness to enthusiasm. From the valley of darkness to the tunnel of light. And that entails conflict.

Many of us feel conflicted these days. Overall, general “conflictedness.” The war in Iraq might be bogging us down in one way or another; college acceptance and rejection letters might be cause for overall malaise or even panic; and figuring out the calendar for summer activities for your kids in light of your own schedule might be more than you can emotionally handle.

I’ve been unusually conflicted lately. I’ll most likely be re-entering the official workforce in the next few weeks or months, and I’ve been interviewing, taking tests and talking with lots of different folks from varied areas of the work-world in an effort to nail down what I should be doing with myself, professionally, for the next oh, twenty years or so. A huge decision. We’re trying to figure out how to transition from having a mom in the home to having one gone during the day; how to shuffle kids to various activities without a mom-chauffeur yet with a new teen driver on our roster; and yet how to deal with the financial reality of multiple college tuition bills for most of the foreseeable future which, in and of itself is enough to cause discomfort. Perhaps my family just has too many balls in the air. Too many unanswered questions. Too many variables in the equation.

Yet as I look around, I see so many others facing conflict and discomfort. I cannot go one week without receiving an email or a phone call from a reader whose family member is struggling with one problem or another. Financial problems, health concerns, relationship issues. Most of us hate being uncomfortable. We hate conflict. Hate uncertainty. Hate dealing with the struggle in order to celebrate the victory. And yet that’s the real lesson of Holy Week.

However tempting it is to focus your thoughts and energies this week on the celebration of Easter—on resurrection and renewal—I hope that you allow yourself some quiet time to sort out the conflicts and discomforts of Maundy Thursday and of Good Friday. To focus on the sacrifice. For as you grow more fully aware of the sacrifice that Christ made on your behalf, you will gain immeasurable joy at the power of the Resurrection.

And if you are of another faith, please be sensitive to the fact that this week brings with it introspection for millions of people around the world. Passover will be celebrated by Jews and they will have rituals and holy remembrances, too.

So as tempting as it is when you’re in discomfort, confused…or just in a funk…to focus on spring’s lightheartedness and brightness, on chicks and on chocolate, remember that for a few days anyway, it’s not about that. It’s not about the bunnies. Even though, I admit, they’re taking up inordinate amounts of windowsill and tabletop real estate in my own home these days, and as much as they emotionally lift me out of the doldrums of winter, out of my own confusion and state of disequilibrium and into the sublime celebration of spring, they have little to do with the days ahead of us this week.

Go ahead and splurge on chocolate and on baskets. On flowers for your home or in a new outfit or on travel. This is a time for celebration, to be sure, come Easter Day. But allow yourself in the next few days, to internalize the conflict of Holy Week. It is one time of year when your internal struggle should be palpable. For we cannot get to Easter, to victory, without coming to grips with the sacrifice of Good Friday. Throughout life, we cannot get to true celebration without coming to grips with life’s struggle.

Until next week,

Carolina

A Quick Note

Thank you to rocket mom, Serena, who emailed me with these fun statistics after reading last week’s Newsletter.

• If shop mannequins were real women, they'd be too thin to menstruate.
• There are 3 billion women who don't look like supermodels and only eight who do.
• Marilyn Monroe wore a size 14.
• If Barbie was a real woman, she'd have to walk on all fours due to her proportions.
• The average American woman weighs 144 lbs. and wears between a size 12 and 14.
• One out of every four college aged women has an eating disorder.
• The models in the magazines are airbrushed-they're not perfect!!
• A psychological study in 1995 found that three minutes spent looking at models in a fashion magazine caused 70% of women to feel depressed, guilty, and shameful.
• Models twenty years ago weighed 8% less than the average woman, today they weigh 23% less.
(http://www.randiwortman.com/stats.html)

Resources:
• Body image, Date of access: 13 Jul. 2005
• Hartline, Christine MA. Dying to Fit In- Literally! Learning to Love Our Bodies and Ourselves Date of access: 13 Jul. 2005. .
• Lightstone, Judy. Improving Body Image Date of access: 13 Jul. 2005. .
• Maynard, Cindy MS, RD. Body Image Date of access: 13 Jul. 2005. .
• Surprising Stats and Facts Date of access: 13 Jul. 2005. .
• Size and Self-Acceptance for Achieving Healthy Weight Date of Access: 11 Jul. 2005..
• Weight and Body Image: A Problem for Boys and Girls of All Races Date of access: 11 Jul. 2005 .
• Women’s Body Image Date of access: 13 Jul. 2005. http://www.wellesley.edu/Health/BodyImage/

A Rocket Mom Society Note

The next meeting is a spring Make-n-Take here at the Mother Ship. We’ll be planting bulbs in decorative containers for beautiful tabletop centerpieces. Start going through your favorite containers and come ready for a night of fellowship, food and fun. Bring a friend! Please RSVP so that I can get an accurate head count.

Rocket Mom in the News

Do you struggle with self-sabotaging habits that you’ve tried to break over and over again only to find yourself fighting them well, over and over again? Pick up a copy of this month’s (April) Redbook magazine and read Charlotte Latvala’s article in which my advice is given to readers. Her article, “Make over your bad habits!” deals with everything from impatience to sleeping late. See how yours truly struggles with these issues, too.

2006-04-03T05:48:00.000-07:00

Weighing In On Spring

2006-04-03T05:37:00.000-07:00

As I sit down at my laptop with thoughts of responding to Sunday’s Headliner, “Before Spring Break, The Anorexic Challenge” in the Style section of The New York Times (April 2, 2006), a banner flashes across my home page with news of the hunger challenge facing millions of women in Africa.

The juxtaposition frightens me.

Apparently, anorexia and bulimia, advocated by teen girls throughout the northern western hemisphere and affectionately referred to as “pro-ana” and “pro-mia” respectively, have taken our daughters by storm. Thousands of teens are forcing themselves to 300-calories-a-day diets in order to fit into string bikinis for spring breaks in resorts all over the Caribbean…while millions of young girls on the other side of the world are sent to school in order to get just one half-way decent meal within any 24-hour period.

As my own daughter and I were lunching with the family on Sunday, she asked me how many pounds I thought she could reasonably lose before she went to Florida to celebrate spring break with a girlfriend and her family. We chatted about the need for daily exercise (and she spelled out their plan for daily visits to the gym as well as for long beach jogs) and the forsaking of sugary snacks (my husband at this point adding his own two-cents worth of the need to stop eating ice cream and cookies as well as to check fiber content in white vs. whole wheat bread and his estimate that she could, indeed, expect to lose seven-and-a-half-pounds in the next two weeks pre-bikini season.) With his tongue clearly in cheek, my daughter, frustrated and a little angry at his underestimation screamed: “But Mooommmm! You said I could lose ten?!?”

So what’s a mom to do when her teen daughter gets regularly bamboozled by peers who post photos of super-skinny models on their home page of Facebook.com (called “thinspiration” or “thinspo” according to the Times article) and by hosting dieting marathons of their own; by celebrity advertising using the skinniest and prettiest of human creation; and by her own mom who is desiring to get back into bathing suit season with stringent expectations of her own? (I confess to verbally, i.e. in front of my own teen daughter, dreading my need to shed the unwanted seven L.B.’s picked up post-Christmas and hidden underneath layers of New England polar fleece; my own visit to Florida in two weeks to visit my “adopted” mom brings internal freaking out about not fitting into my cutest Lilly Pulitzer skirt unless I move and re-sew the waist button.) This sounds so bizarre, even as I write it, and yet I know I am striking a nerve (or cellulite dimple) as many moms have confessed to me (and to friends whose friends have confessed to them) that we could all stand to lose at least ten ugly pounds apiece.

The New York Times article goes along to quote Dr. Margo Maine, a clinical psychologist specializing in eating disorders: “Every year spring break seems to get bigger and bigger,” adding that “body-image pressure also rises…(sic) with expectation that you have to ‘party like a rock star and be over the top” including ‘looking like a rock star, that is, fashionably, even dangerously skinny.’” (*)

Let’s face it: cultural expectations demand leanness. I read a quote two decades ago in a magazine article apparently earth-shattering as it has stayed in my long-term memory all this time, that “the ultimate status symbol is a fit and thin body.” So times haven’t changed all that much, except in the intensity and extremes with which we move toward that end.

That said, and given the enormity of the problem (which might be better understood by reading the fascinating yet deeply troubling article in its entirety…see NOTE at end of this article) here are 7 Ways in which we are weighing in on spring in our own household:

1)Continue to stress radiant health rather than compulsive weight-checking and clothing size comparisons. Granted, this is easier said than done on some days, like on Friday when I had my annual OBGYN check-up. I half-jokingly asked the doc what the deal was with the stuff around my middle, grabbing a couple inches of ugliness and looking up quizzically at my doctor’s face. He picked up my chart and reviewed my own weight trend during the past three years. “Let’s see,” he dead-panned. “The first year you saw me you refused to get on the scale, and last year you were ten pounds lighter.” While I explained to him that this was not exactly one of my lighter weeks—if you get what I mean—and that these heavier weeks consistently carry with them an extra five pounds of pure water weight, and that I just ate breakfast and was fully clothed so that the delta was more like two to three pounds, he did affirm that I looked “great.” While that was clearly code for “don’t feel like you need to lose weight but if you’re asking me about your middle, it’s called ‘fat,’ he did place a premium on being fit and strong over being super-skinny. The fact that I had my tennis skirt and shoes on along with a scheduled game immediately following my check-up was good enough for him. And it’s what I stress over and over with my daughter: just keep exercising and eating in a healthy manner and the rest will take care of itself…even if some weeks are “fat weeks” and some weeks are “thin weeks.” (I realize this is a foreign concept to rocket dads, but trust me on this one.)

2)Strive for a diet that is as natural as possible. Avoid processed foods, refined sugars, refined flours, excessive sodium, and chemical additives. While this might make packing the kids’ lunchboxes more challenging (those cereal bars, juice boxes and mini-bags of chips are awfully convenient) it’s far healthier to pack a piece of whole fruit, some raw nuts and a water bottle. Try to cook as many meals from scratch as is humanly possible, avoiding packaged and prepared entrees that are loaded with preservatives and artificial flavorings and coloring.

3)Drink lots of water. Forget sodas and fruit juices loaded with unnecessary refined sugars. Train your kids to drink that proverbial eight to ten glasses a day. And add a squeeze of lemon or lime whenever possible as the health benefits of doing so are tremendous.

4)Eat several small meals a day or three solid ones, never skipping breakfast or eating on the run. If it means getting up in the morning a half-hour earlier in order to get some healthy food on the table, it’s important that you put this practice into play with consistency and longevity. Just because your kids are old enough to make meals on their own does not mean that you should give up on the practice of seeing them out the door in the morning without this wonderful foundation. Sliced fresh fruit or a protein fruit smoothie is far better than a sugary doughnut or processed fruit roll-up. Make sure that when you pack snacks into lunchboxes, too, that they’re as healthy as manageable. I tend towards organic nuts, yogurt and fruit, or dark chocolate chips or whole-grain, organic cookies. (My husband is still trying to decipher the “organic” in Paul Newman’s wonderful—and my personal favorite—organic chocolate or ginger cookies, each crème-filled and especially delicious. “Does he use organic cream to make the icing or is it the flour that’s organic?” he wonders out-loud every time I open a bag. Who cares? They’re a great alternative to the junk that’s out there being peddled as food.)

5)Recognize clear genetic differences in body style. While I subscribe to the fruit theory of women’s body shapes (you really are an apple or a pear), your DNA plays a huge role in body shape, weight, clothing size and in what you will eventually look like. Stop obsessing—and teach your daughter to do the same—about the body-type that you or she will never have. My daughter is built almost exactly like me; I can teach her about my trouble spots, as I know they will be hers, too. But I also need to teach her to treat her body respectfully, which means that she needs to give it the right fuel as well as daily aerobic workouts and regular strength training. And, given that you know your areas of weakness, try not to dissect your body. Try not to say: “I love my waist but I hate my thighs” or “I’d like my body so much better if my hips weren’t so wide.” You can’t change your basic bone structure so learn to live with the genetic hand you’ve been dealt.

6)Practice proper skin care. Teach your daughter how to take care of her skin, especially her face, so that when she’s older, the habits are well-formed and firmly in place. (And she needn’t resort to botox or chemical peels while young.) Using a high-quality olive oil soap with warm water is still the best cleaning technique possible; don’t succumb to all of the expensive glamour-puss products on the market. I confess to perking up my ears when I over-heard a friend talk about a foundation make-up she uses that she jokingly refers to as face spackle, as it apparently covers up all of one’s skin imperfections. I’ve yet to really check it out, but the word picture of spackling my face—sunspots and all—was tempting. Imagine how much more tempted your teen daughter is with the plethora of celebrity and rock star advertising for beauty products in magazines, MTV, movies and billboards everywhere.

7)Focus on shining eyes, hair, teeth and nails. You can’t hide good health. If you’ve got it, your body will show it. Your eyes will sparkle and your hair will shine in the sunlight. Your nails will be strong and your teeth will be white. These have always been hallmarks of radiant health…and they should be your family’s goals. Compliment your daughter when she exhibits these signs of glowing good health. Give these things your attention. Praise her for bouncing through the day with rosy cheeks and laughing eyes and always give priority to health and well-being rather than to weight or dieting or clothing size analysis.

Bathing suit season is upon us, whether we like it—or care—or not. Perhaps as we struggle through “the anorexic challenge” before our nation’s young girls—as well as our collective desires to be tan and thin and able to fit into a bikini (or one-piece or heck, even a pair of shorts), we can get a grip by getting our arms around the situation…and around our own daughter’s shoulders.

Until next week,

Carolina

* NOTES: All references to the article “Before Spring Break, The Anorexic Challenge” by Alex Williams are found in The New York Times, April 2, 2006. The online edition can be found for a limited time at: http://www.nytimes.com/2006/04/02/fashion/sundaystyles/02BREAK.html?_r=1&8hpib&oref=slogin

A Quick Note

While hoping to not sound like a shameless self-promoter, I want to make sure you know that I have devoted an entire chapter of my book, ROCKET MOM! 7 Strategies to Blast You Into Brilliance, to personal health and well-being. It is clearly a foundational block of parenting with excellence; you cannot give exceptional care to your children unless you are functioning at peak physical performance. And you cannot perform at peak unless you are in physical “fightin’ shape.” My seventh strategy takes up 40 pages in wrapping moms’ arms around this most important subject area. You can find my book extensively on the web, on amazon, or by calling my toll-free operators 24/7: 888-476-2493 (All credit cards accepted with same day shipping.)

The Surprise Factor

2006-03-27T05:36:00.000-08:00

Sometimes the weekend comes, and it’s time for me to write my weekly Newsletter, and I sit at my computer and have no idea what to write about. Some people call that writer’s block. But for me, it’s more than that. It’s the feeling that I have nothing of value to impart. No words of wisdom, no lesson-building anecdotes, no organizational break-throughs. No epiphanies.

So when my daughter bounced into my office—as I sat staring at my blank computer screen—I asked her if she could think of anything. Without a second’s hesitation, she said:”Tell everyone about my play.” (This is a child with little self-esteem issues.)

“What specifically about your play?” I countered.

“Tell them about how fleeting, but how special, it was.”

Still confused as to exactly what valuable lessons she had in mind, I asked again: “What about your play would anyone else care about?”

“Teach them the lesson that the play itself was so fleeting. That you practice and practice and then in two nights, it’s all over. But that it was such a blast.”

Now there’s a Newsletter.

Cristina went to school early for weeks ahead of the play, rehearsing at 7 AM when other classmates were barely rolling out of bed. Week after week of early-morning school drop-offs were followed by a solid week of three-hour after-school rehearsals. Mixed in with the various other extracurricular and sports activities that most of the kids in the cast are also involved in made for many road-weary moms and dads, too.

So many big life events require enormous prep times. Careful planning. Logistical hurdles. Financial and calendar challenges.

My own wedding required eight months worth of invitation-addressing, ring-shopping and reception-planning. Pregnancies involve nine months worth of dreaming and wondering. Of re-arranging rooms and furniture. Purchasing the layette and arranging it in closets and drawers. Painting and decorating the nursery.

I mentally reviewed the umpteen practice sessions for concerts and recitals of my own four kids. Of countless renderings of “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” on pint-sized violins. Of counting out rhythms and reviewing key signatures.

Life is mostly all about process. But sometimes it’s about the actual performance. And the surprises that come with it.

In the case of my daughter’s play, opening night brought with it a nearly flawless performance by the entire cast. Cues were spoken on time, words were delivered with perfect memory and dance and vocal numbers went off without a hitch. But on the second night, the kid who was to have delivered my daughter’s cue forgot his line, my daughter ad-libbed, and giggles interrupted what was to have been a serious song at the end of the show. The bloopers gave rise to incessant chatter on the drive home; the surprise factor proved priceless.

Sometimes, because not all parties are involved in the process and because the law that “things that can go wrong sometimes do go wrong” is always at play, the end result—the big event—holds the most value. Sometimes the wedding ceremony is the much stronger memory than the months of preparation leading up to it. Sometimes the birthing experience erases those months of anxiety and preparation, because it is life-altering in and of itself. Sometimes the play or the recital or the concert is so marvelous that, when the music or the drama is heard or seen for the first time, the surprise factor takes over and all thoughts of carpooling, early-rising and practicing take backseat to the performers on stage and the actual spotlight. My husband and I never attended any of our daughter’s school play rehearsals, so sitting in the audience and seeing it for the first time was a fun-filled experience. Watching our daughter and her many friends perform—the event itself—was what it was all about for us. The surprise factor took center stage and we were perfectly happy that it did.

We were privileged to have taken part in a surprise birthday dinner party for a dear new friend this week. Not having had anything to do with any of the arrangements (her more-than capable husband took care of everything beautifully), we were able to simply sit back and thoroughly enjoy the surprise factor. We enjoyed watching the look on her face as she entered the room; we enjoyed the food and the drink and the cake and the conversation with dinner companions without any anxiety. The event in and of itself was enough. The surprise factor took center stage.

Saturday night, my husband and I attended a comedy club at our church. It was good, clean fun and, given that it was a weekend date night that was out of the ordinary—and that the headline act and every one of the participants was very, very funny—it had a wonderfully high surprise factor. Sunday night, my husband took the boys to a concert by the Navy Band at our local high school; they had no idea what to expect and wound up completely dazzled by the surprise factor. While they were at the concert, I took my daughter out for a quick movie…a rare treat on a school night. It wasn’t just that the movie was cute; it was the whole mom-takes-teen-daughter-on-a-movie-date thing. The drive over, the theater, the getting out on a rainy Sunday night.

Sometimes we get blessed by serendipity and by surprise. Of meeting an old friend for lunch because she happens to be in town visiting or housing a total stranger because the extra room in your house it is needed. It is that catching us off-guard quality that provides the best memory. That getting away or doing something off-beat…and laughing in a way that we don’t usually do. And we ignore the process because it wasn’t the main thing or because we simply had nothing to do with it. We realize that the main thing is to just enjoy the main thing.

I find myself sometimes taking myself—and life—too seriously. We are dealing with childhood cancer over here, after all. And other kids and a house and a dog and bills and cleaning and chauffering and conflicting calendars. Sometimes, it’s good to just let the surprise factor completely take over.

Here’s hoping that your week brings a wonderful surprise or two and some laughter-inducing serendipity your way!

Carolina

A Rocket Mom Society Note

Our final G.A. T. meeting will be held at the mother ship on Tuesday night, the 28th, at 7:30 PM. Our topic: “Getting your Act Together: The Papers of Your Life.” Find out the single secret for dealing with the daily mail…and how it revolutionized paper-handling in my own household. Discover tricks for getting calendars coded, bills paid, and personal notes written. If magazines, newspapers, journals and photo albums have ever bogged you down, you need to come and learn from fellow rocket moms! Questions? emomrx@yahoo.com.
Come and taste a meeting and see if you’d like to give the society a try.

Fighting March Madness Fully-Armed

2006-03-20T05:09:00.000-08:00

"I hope that while so many people are out smelling the flowers, someone is taking the time to plant some." Herbert Rappaport

The first official day of spring doesn’t exactly bring with it the same anticipation as does, say, Christmas, or one of my kid’s birthdays. It’s not as though gifts need to arrive on time or one has cultural expectations or deadlines to meet. But a palpable angst about greeting it fully prepared meets me most every year. And this year was no different. I felt an overwhelming need to have all of my little duckies in a row before today. I wanted closets weeded, drawers re-organized, kitchen cabinets swiped. Winter stuff boxed up. And spring’s cheer to pervade each and every one of my living spaces.

I wanted fresh air, literally and metaphorically, to invade my mind, my family and my home. I longed to roll up my sleeves and wipe away cobwebs and crumbs. To donate outgrown clothing to a local charity. To go through my medicines and check expiration dates. Go though my business invoices and put them in chronological order. Clear out my files and discard un-interesting material. Delete months-old emails from my inbox, for crying out loud!

And all that my husband wanted was to see Kentucky beat UConn. He longed to lounge on the sofa in front of the tube—chips and salsa within immediate, easy reach—all weekend long, while I faced the daunting task of cleaning up my entire life.

Add to that the news that my mom was having some health concerns, and I felt particularly guided to drive the 150 mile trek to her home and spend all day Saturday visiting with her.

Motherhood brings with it a near-constant feeling of unsettled-ness. Of never really feeling like you’ve truly got it all together. Because just when you finally make it past one hurdle you’ve got another one staring you in the face. You watch your teen sail successfully through mid-terms only to sit through an unpleasant parent-teacher conference discussing her deficiencies. Or you get your whole family safely through flu season only to deal with each member contracting that dreaded stomach virus. You shovel out from underneath one last snowstorm only to get hit with high winds and hail. Or you finally breathe a sigh of relief that you’ve successfully battled the winter blahs only to find yourself emotionally unprepared for the perpetual cheerfulness of spring.

March madness.

I woke up Sunday morning feeling particularly unsettled. Having just returned home from a long day out-of-state visiting my mother and other family and friends, I looked around at my house and felt an overwhelming need to get my act together. Perhaps it was from dealing so personally with the realities of old age. Perhaps it was the lunchtime banter of aches and pains amongst the seventysomething set. Perhaps it was the long drive home giving me far too much time for introspection. But I returned feeling compelled to infuse a “Lysol moment” into my life. I craved cleanliness and orderliness. Freshness and vitality. Spring cheer.

Perhaps your circumstances are dissimilar to mine but your goal is the same. Perhaps you, too, desire to greet spring with enthusiasm. With a fresh start. With energized focus. Here, then, is my formula for fighting March Madness fully-armed:

Be well-rested. It’s hard to face organizational and creative challenges, not to mention a whole new season, deprived of sleep. Research tells us we need at least 6-7 hours a night. You should find yourself generally able to conquer the world if you get this one thing right.

Be strong. Get plenty of aerobic exercise and strength training. Gliding through spring requires you to be in fighting shape. You need to be sure that the endorphins are swirling through your body, so make sure that you’re moving, lifting and sweating. Whether you’re already biking and hiking, or you’re inside swimming or doing Pilates, keep at it. You want to shed those extra seven pounds that winter inevitably brings (I picked them up, too) and get down to your best shape. (And bathing suit season is just around the corner.)

Be disciplined. Be mindful of what you’re eating, what you’re reading and what you’re watching. Spring brings with it too many chores to allow sloppiness or laziness into your days. That can wait ‘til summer. There are gardens to tend, decorating projects to undertake and end-of-year school events to plan. Leave the self-indulgence for later, after spring’s demands are fully met head-on. Attack closets and cabinets with a vengeance now so that you might enjoy summer’s own rewards later.

Be helpful. The sure-fire way to settle any feelings of unsettled-ness is to do something nice for someone else. My own quick trip to visit my family this weekend brought me deep-seated feelings of satisfaction. It did my heart good to see my mother looking as well as she did; it calmed any anxieties I faced about possible health concerns for her. The fastest lift out of the doldrums is service to others. So look around and see where you might fit in community service. Or of simply providing a meal to a neighbor or friend in need.

Be optimistic. No other season spells optimism as does spring. New life bursts through both grass and eggs. The sun shines. Clouds disappear. Allow yourself to be liberated by its uplifting, energizing days. Take a walk around your neighborhood or a quick spin through your nearest mall. Enjoy the visual delights of spring: the yellows, purples, pinks and greens. Pick a flower. Grow wheatgrass for your kids’ Easter baskets. Plant some herbs. Think of ways in which you might introduce new life into this world.

I confess to not having met all of my goals for this first day of spring. There are still a few messy cabinets and sticky floors begging for attention. But I am focused on fighting this madness before the day is over. Fully-armed. And ever so thankful that spring is finally here!

Yahoo!

A Rocket Mom Society Note

Our final G.A.T. meeting to discuss “Getting Your Act Together: The Papers of Your Life” will be held at the Mother Ship on Tuesday night, March 28, from 7:300 until who knows when. If you can’t see your desktop, your kitchen table or the light of day, you need to come and learn strategies for coping. Call or email me: emomrx@yahoo.com Bring a friend and check it out! And check out our developing site while you’re at it: http://rms.clubexpress.com.

Wiping Out

2006-03-13T11:48:00.000-08:00

Spring sprang this weekend in New England. We enjoyed temperatures in the low 60’s, a veritable heat wave considering that a mere seven days before we got clobbered with snow and ice that required school closings and road closures to boot. And with it came the requisite spring fever: that irrepressible itch to get outside along with the hope that someone—or something—might come along and scratch it.

I’m not complaining that winter lasts well, seemingly forever up here in the northeast. It starts in November and extends fully into April or May, with trees never budding before then. And kids require sweatshirts or the ubiquitous North Face zippered fleece until almost summertime. So come one weekend with sunshine and warmish weather and we all get rather feverish. Crazy for the outdoors. With several rituals of the season begging to get underway.

Ritual number one requires a general purging of junk from my house. Spring cleaning at its best. Closets, drawers and cabinets get a thorough going through. Outgrown kids’ clothing gets donated and outdated medicines get thrown out. The cleansing in and of itself makes me feel lighter…a good thing considering that winter always makes me carry several unwanted pounds around my middle. (Ugh!)

Ritual number two requires a decorating and window-staging effort. Out go the snowmen and the sleds. In come the bunnies and the butterflies. Indeed, few things energize me more than re-decorating corners of my home with seasonal visual delights.

Ritual number three requires a long walk around our garden. Or I should say our “yard,” as we do not yet have a “real” garden. When the weather warms up a bit and we finally get to go outside, my husband and I love walking around the yard in an effort to figure out what we shall eventually do there. With steaming mugs of coffee in hand, and perhaps the sound of birds chirping in ear (I heard my first one the other day), that first spring walk-through brings a comforting sense that hope really does spring eternal.

Ritual number four requires that I pull my mountain bike off the ceiling hook in the workroom. A fresh pumping of its tires and a good wiping of its seat get me all zoo-ed up for a good race down my street and an hour-long ride around a nearby lake.

Such was Saturday. I looked forward to the impending warm weather since I first learned of it on the TV news a few days before. I longed for the purging and the decorating. For the garden walk and the first bike ride. For going through, wholeheartedly, the rituals that signaled that spring was finally on its way.

The sunshine begged first for ritual number four. And so with newly-inflated tires, newly-wiped seat and a newly-cleaned helmet firmly planted on my head, I raced down my street for what was to have been that luscious first rite of spring. Oh, it felt good! Oh, to be in that seat again! The air was still crisp and my thighs were still flabby, but to be on my bike again was nothing short of glorious!

I got to the bottom of my street, just a few minutes from my house, and turned the corner as I had done a hundred times before. It was my familiar path. The one I had looked forward to for so long. I turned that familiar corner and I totally wiped out. I felt it coming along with that dreaded sense that I was going to have a serious accident and would be unable to do anything to prevent it. I felt my brain caught in slow-motion, knowing that I was about to be flattened. My bike flew out in front on me and I lay sprawled on the street, directly in the path of oncoming cars. Seems some snow had not yet disappeared and, mixed with gravel, provided just the right texture for a good wiping out.

Realizing that body parts both up and down, left and right, were throbbing in pain, forced me to pull myself up and figure out where—exactly—the pain was and how badly—or not—I was hurt. I wanted so much to just get up, wipe myself off and get back in the saddle. To carry on with this favorite spring ritual and enjoy the day as I had anticipated and planned. But one look at my aching, bloodied elbow and its many layers of missing skin, along with my throbbing knee and left thigh, and I knew that I was a mess.

A few minutes later, a woman drove by slowly in her car and, seeing my bike and me scattered across the street, offered to help pick me up and get me home. Too shaken up to fully understand exactly how bad things were, I at first declined, only to realize that the throbbing pain would most likely keep me from walking the ten minutes home. She helped me to the car and drove me there; I stumbled inside the front door a veritable basketcase, crying out from the pain that freshly-abrased skin always evokes. I was a messy sight, and a rather loud one, too, and my yelps brought my husband and kids running to my rescue.

Wiping out is the worst. It stinks. Having done it quite a few times in my day, I thought I was done with it for awhile. Thought I was immune for at least a few years, anyway. (We have had a time of it over here, after all!) As my husband cleaned me up and my kids gagged at the sight of my raw elbow area, I re-traced the many times I have wiped out on my bike. The couple times in Miami where wet sand caused me to spin out of control, or where protruding Banyan tree stumps caused me to flip over so fast I never knew what hit me. Or of when the driver of a car failed to look both ways and hit me while I was riding on the bike path. That one was the worst, requiring surgery as well as a year of physical therapy (and a permanent scar and ever-present achiness during our bitterly cold winters).

Yes. Wiping out is the pits. When I wipe out, I can never quite tell if I am angrier that I wiped out and got hurt…or that my perfect plans for the day got completely derailed. Certainly, on Saturday, I was thoroughly ticked off that I missed out on that glorious, long-planned hour-long bike ride. As I lay on the sofa watching too many hours of HGTV, I couldn’t stop thinking of the rituals of spring that just didn’t get done. No walking through the yard. No staging of the house. No cleaning of the closets.

And I kept thinking (but only because my husband kept reminding me) of how it could have been worse. Of how I could have broken bones or dislocated shoulders or permanently damaged my one and only brain. And my mind kept going to friends who had recently wiped out in far more serious ways. My friend wiped out skiing in Colorado last month and completely tore her ACL; she endured surgery last week. And others completely wiped out in the financial arena. Made bad decisions and are living with the consequences. Others wiped out in the personal arena. And are dealing with relationships in disrepair.

Truth is, we all wipe out at one time or another. We screw up a friendship or fail a test or don’t make it to the next interview or file for bankruptcy. It stinks and it hurts and it seems so unfair. And we try to clean it up or clear it out. And it hurts even more. When Ernie dumped hydrogen peroxide in my open wounds I thought I would go berserk. It stung and it bubbled and I screamed out for mercy.

Wiping out stinks. We think to ourselves: “Say it ain’t so.” And we look around and realize that this is our reality and we wonder how we got here and how we’re going to get out.

I hope this Newsletter doesn’t find you recently wiped out. But if it does, know that I am feeling it with you. My thigh hurts and my butt hurts, too. And my elbow is raw and my knee doesn’t feel too great either. It hurts to walk and I’m a little grumpy. So I’m eating way too much dark chocolate in an effort to feel better. But I’m forcing myself to get back in the saddle. I’m playing tennis in the morning. Playing hurt.

Wiping out is all part of the deal if you want to play at all. If you step into the arena, you’re going to wipe out sooner or later. It’s not wiping out that separates you from the rest of the world. It’s how you wipe yourself off after you wipe out.
Wiping yourself off slowly and retreating to the sofa might be a wonderful short-time fix (as it was mine almost all day Saturday), but you gotta get up and at ‘em at some point. Wiping yourself off angrily doesn’t help much either, although I confess to doing a lot of that, too. Wiping yourself off reflectively? Well, maybe there’s something to be said for that. Wiping yourself off gratefully? Now there you go.

I wish you smooth sailing all week long! No wiping out! But if you do, a wiping off that separates you from the rest of the pack.

Carolina

7 Lessons I Learned from Bunny

2006-03-06T15:35:00.000-08:00

It’s officially time to spring clean. Not because it’s officially spring. Heck. We got another four inches of snow dumped on us last week. And temperatures still hover in the teens. But last week’s Newsletter raised the issue and prompted an onslaught of emails in response. Moms out there who are rolling up their sleeves and attacking cabinets, closets and drawers with fury. And it was the topic of discussion at our Rocket Mom Society meeting Tuesday night…and those moms are holding each one of us accountable. I even got a phone call with a request for where to send all of that cleaned-out “fluff”! (See details below). So strategies for slaying Fluff the Magic Dragon were addressed head-on. And lively discussion followed.

Three days later, I received Bunny Williams’s new best-selling book “An Affair with a House” as a birthday gift. Talk about juxtaposition! Just when I was walking through every room of my house pondering how, exactly, I could pare down, Bunny’s two-hundred-plus page tome stared at me in the face, begging for a good read. This beautifully-illustrated book chronicles the thirty-year journey of Bunny and her antiques-dealer husband’s conversion of a century-old house into a home. Pretty incredible. Not only is every single room in “Manor House” filled with stuff, but buildings scattered though-out the compound are literally loaded to the gills, too.

Now, I certainly can’t knock Bunny. She’s obviously struck a chord with readers, as her book has catapulted to the top of best-seller lists and book clubs everywhere. Who am I to argue with success? And I can’t knock her vision or her passion, either. I love the whole vision meets passion meets courage meets energy thing in any person. But I admit to almost not buying it because of its title alone. Any book named an affair with any ‘thing’ is a fairly good clue that the value system of the author might be different than my own. And while I admit that it’s certainly better than “An Affair with a Neighbor,” for example, it’s obvious from the first word that this is someone who takes her “stuff” very seriously.

Bunny certainly has a beautiful life. She has built a beautiful world with beautiful taste and beautiful things. The fact that she has seemingly unlimited funds at her disposal as well as a head gardener (“head” implies team) as well as the absence of the pitter-pattering of little feet prompts a knee-jerk reaction of “As if….”

But there are some lessons from Bunny, and because it’s the “spring-cleaning season” and because some of us are still struggling with getting our acts together, and because you may very well hear about her book, here are seven points to ponder on “creating a beautiful life” that I gleaned from her book:

1) Take time to entertain friends and family. Seems like Bunny has this well under control. Easier said than done when one doesn’t have small kids running underfoot. But my hat is off to anyone who is willing to open up home and hearth as freely and generously as does she. She has been blessed with abundance, filling houses and barns to overflowing, and she shares it graciously with others.
2) Take time to garden. Even if the only space you have allocated for such is a sunny spot outside your window for container gardening, allow yourself this small indulgence. We’ve lived on our new home for two years, and have yet to design the garden of my dreams. Bunny has several carefully-planned gardens and she took her time with each one, first allowing the land to speak for itself before she settled into a grand plan for it. Give yourself the luxury of time, if that’s what you need, as I certainly do.
3) Take time to sit. Seems like Bunny does a lot of this, too. Lemonade on the patio. Coffee on her balcony. Iced tea in the garden while listening to the birds. I admit to being a lousy sitter. And I imagine that if you’re chasing toddlers or working full-time while running a household, you may have a hard time with this, too. But I’m really going to try doing a little more of that.
4) Take time to cook. Few things are more difficult for me than getting dinner on the table. (Stay tuned for a Rocket Mom Society meeting when Chef Silvia will share her secrets on this one!) And Bunny admits to doing none of the cooking; it’s an area taken over by her husband. So, OK, this is a dream world. But preparing meals on the weekend, especially during the spring and summer months when al fresco dining is possible, seems much more do-able, and she includes a few recipes for doing just that. Look through some of your favorite cookbooks and find a few menus that suit you and your family well, and stick to those. Or experiment freely if you prefer living a more spontaneous lifestyle.
5) Take time to edit. Only bring those things into your home that you really like. If it doesn’t “speak to you,” sell it or give it away. Chances are, it’ll mean something to someone else and the world will be better for you having shared it.
6) Take time to grow some of your own food. Whether it’s tomatoes or lettuce—or fresh organic eggs from your own chickens (Bunny has a chicken coop and aviary, too)—there is nothing quite like home-grown produce. A friend of mine built a chicken house for his wife; their young son tends it. They love the idea of teaching their family the cycle of life…that eggs come from chickens rather than cardboard boxes from the grocery store. Granted, this elevates conviction to a level unclaimed by most of us, but it’s an idea worth exploring. And it has certainly inspired me to at least set out some basil and tomatoes this year.
7) Take time to reflect. While Bunny’s twelve-acre Connecticut compound is over-the-top by anyone’s description, she has certainly done a fine job of deliberating on her lifestyle. She proceeds with confidence on everything from entertaining houseguests to decorating the barn to stocking the pantry to lining up her table linens. She has taken time to reflect on the way in which she wants to infuse beauty into her everyday life, and I applaud her for that. Like creating happy childhoods for your children, beauty doesn’t just happen by chance. You have to think about it and plan for it. Granted, sometimes serendipity sneaks in. And thankfully so. But reflection is a good thing.

The success and elevation of the likes of Bunny Williams’s (and Martha Stewart’s, Rachel Ray’s and others’ for that matter) work on the homefront certainly seals the fact that women everywhere are yearning for domestic direction. Given that none of these famous folks are dealing with young children— or obvious budgetary constraints—makes it difficult for most of us rocket moms to relate. The challenge—and quite frankly, the fun!—is figuring out how to take the best ideas and translate them into realistic ones for your home and your family. A life-long process, to be sure.

And be ever-mindful that materialism is a relative concept. Remember that you are blessed beyond measure with what you have: health, family, friends, food, clothing and shelter. And that becoming your best and making the best of what has been entrusted to you should be your focus.

Wishing all blessings on your week!

Carolina

Fluff the Magic Dragon

2006-02-27T11:25:00.000-08:00

A significant date in the secular world will converge with a significant date in the religious world to give me significant pause. April 15th stamps the due date for tax collection and March 1 will mark—literally—those of us who honor Ash Wednesday.

As my husband and I completed our tax returns over the winter break (believe me, it was not because we couldn’t think of anything funner to do…), we were forced to examine—in the absolute light of day—where exactly, the resources with which we’ve been entrusted went. The process is not a particularly appealing one to us creative types; pulling out receipts and lining up invoices in perfect little piles pales in comparison to putting oil to canvas, needle to linen or voice to song.

My left-brained hubby, by contrast, gets a veritable kick out of creating Excel sheets, affixing percentages to line items and developing beautifully-colored pie charts in an effort to show me visually where every single penny is spent.

Amazing that these two types of people can happily co-exist, huh?

But as it usually turns out, the experience of examining one’s stewardship over financial resources provides valuable clues into the very essence of how well—or not—one’s life is lived. When one can clearly see the percentage going to charity versus entertainment, for example, or for increased lifestyle, one grasps a fuller understanding of where priorities really lie.

Combined with the significant upcoming event of Ash Wednesday, where Christians around the world grapple with the mystery of sacrifice, I have been forced to squarely deal with the stuff of our family. With how much we earn and how much we spend, versus how much we save and donate to those facing less prosperous life circumstances. Throw on top of that this week’s Rocket Mom Society meeting in my home where our topic will be “Getting Your Act Together: The Stuff of Your Life” and the recipe cooking up in my kitchen casts a heavily scented aroma of introspection.

So how do you grapple with stewardship and sacrifice?

I have come to this understanding through years working in investments, as a former stockbroker married to a former stockbroker, as well as teaching and counsel from people in my life whose input I value. You may profoundly disagree with my perspective, and of course I respect the fact that yours may be quite different from mine. But as I look at the stuff of life: how to acquire it, manage it, share it and leave it, I grapple with a few basic principles. Sensing the timeliness of these matters, given that March 1 and April 15 are just around the corner, perhaps you are grappling with them, too.

1) We do not own resources; we merely exert stewardship over them. We did not create the beauty of the universe; our Creator did. He can do with it whatever He chooses. He has entrusted our universe to us in the best hopes that we will take care of it wisely. Our financial resources are not really ours, either. They have been provided to us through God’s grace with the hopes that we will use them wisely, too. So I don’t think of the things in my life as “my stuff.” It’s certainly stuff—and it may reside in my home—but I merely exert stewardship over it while I’m on this earth. I will leave it exactly as I entered it: utterly naked.

2) Resources come and resources go; we need to be content with both much and with little. My family has had much at some points in our lives and we have had little at other times. I like it better when we have more. I’m human. But there are always lessons to be learned in leanness. And our family has made a concerted decision to become leaner. It will have its own rewards.

3) At some point, stuff simply becomes fluff. It’s no longer a needed pair of shoes; it’s a luxury pair added to the other luxury pairs lining our closet floors. How much do we really need, after all? I read that tennis great Serena Williams owns at least fifty tank tops. She has an affinity for them. Obviously. I admit to having an affinity for certain things, too. And I have made a conscious decision to stop my affinity. How much do I really need? At some point, we need to rationalize a freeze to spending. To freeze lifestyle. Your freezing point may have a different degree than mine. But it’s a question worth asking.

4) Sacrifice always feels better than self-indulgence. While indulging in occasional whims is gratifying and permissible on almost all counts, it never provides long-lasting satisfaction. Sacrifice, on the other hand, requires personal denial, and leaves one feeling like a positive legacy has been cast as a direct result. I highly encourage everyone to sacrifice one tenth of their resources to those less fortunate, whether you believe you are able to do so or not. Begin slowly, if you must. And work up to any amount over and above a ten percent benchmark. When we sought counsel from one of our ministers at to a “before- tax” or “after-tax” ten percent, his response was simple: “Do you want before-tax or after-tax blessings?”

5) Give thanks for each and every blessing and count them often. Take nothing for granted. Not your health nor your strength nor your relationships nor your home nor your job nor your leisure. It all comes from above and needs to be acknowledged as such.

As you sift and sort through the receipts and bank statements that in many ways define how you are living your life, I hope that you take some time to think of how you can become an even better steward…and of ways in which personal sacrifice will lead you to a more saint-like existence.

Stuff really does become fluff when too much stuff occupies your everyday spaces, your everyday finances and your everyday thoughts. That’s when it’s truly Fluff the Magic Dragon. Don’t let its fire breathe too heavily down your neck.

Blessings on your week,

Carolina

Simple Love Acts

2006-02-13T08:23:00.000-08:00

“Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” The Bible

The third-biggest retailing holiday is one day away. Just behind Christmas and Father’s Day, Valentine’s Day will be celebrated by spending $13 billion on anything heart-shaped, chocolate-flavored or rose-scented.

While never refusing dark chocolate nor snubbing floral deliveries, I’m just not into either this year. OK. Maybe I’m still into chocolate. My hubby will be out-of-town on Valentine’s Day, so it just won’t be a very big deal; it’ll be celebrated upon his return. But apparently, very few others feel the same way. A recent report by Kiplinger’s found that men out-spend women three to one, spending an average of $92. Last year, 175 million roses were produced for Valentine’s Day alone, more than enough for every adult in America to get one.

Frankly, I’ve never been one to fall wholeheartedly into the whole Valentine’s Day ritual. Don’t buy my hubby silk boxers with little hearts all over them; don’t question our marriage if he walks in the door sans roses. So rather than give you yet another creative take on the Valentine’s Day “holiday,” I’m going to brag about a fellow rocket mom.

My friend, Kim, rocket mom to four kids (all within five years) sent out via email an invitation to a “Chicken Soup for the Soul” luncheon at her home. I had assumed that she was including her closest friends, but it turned out that she was inviting only those women who were serving in various caretaking—or shepherding—capacities at our church for her children. She wanted it to be casual; again, I assumed it was kind of a “drop-in-as-you-feel-like-it” kind of a party. But instead, it was a sit-down affair, with homemade chicken soup, salad, rolls and home-baked cookies.

Kim made a conscious decision to make adult friendships a high priority in her life, and despite feelings of being overwhelmed, or of being intimidated by entertaining styles of some of her other acquaintances, she was inspired to do something simple, yet meaningful.

After a lovely afternoon of lunching with new and old friends, Kim presented us with Valentine’s goodies bags: chocolates tied with a pretty ribbon and a quote, each of us receiving something unique.

“I believe your quote will speak directly to you,“ Kim said as, one by one, we read our quotes and nodded, some of us with lumps in our throats, about the uncanny effect that this little ritual had on us. (Sort of like opening a Chinese fortune cookie to discover what seems like a “fortune” written just for you, only better…)

When I reflect back on those memories which evoke the strongest sentiments, invariably they include those times when someone enveloped me into her cocoon, wrapping me with simple things, like hot food, fresh coffee and undivided attention. When a girlfriend grabbed me for my birthday or for moving away or just after childbirth, to enjoy a warm meal surrounded by all the creature comforts of her home. Those special times don’t come all that frequently, and so we remember them with special fondness. And so the older I get, the more convicted I become to practice hospitality to others when opportunities spring into my path.

This weekend, we had the opportunity to extend hospitality to a traveling drama troupe from Cape Cod. They were to perform the 15th century play, Everyman, in our town, before we got buried under the 26” of snow which hit the entire northeast corridor early Sunday morning. The team of eight needed three different homes in which to stay, and we offered ours as one of them. The plans took an obvious shift when we became stranded at home, as we sit on top of a mountain at the mercy of a private snow plower. So what we thought would be a weekend of entertaining for a couple of meals and a few warm beds turned into a solid two days of long chats by the fire, a half-dozen pots of coffee and a few more times around the kitchen table than we had originally planned.

And we were all so blessed. One of the gentlemen whom we housed remarked: “I’ll bet in twenty years you’ll all look back on this weekend and say ‘Remember when those three guys from the Cape came and stayed with us and we got stuck in the biggest snowstorm to have ever hit New England?’”

And of course, we all will.

There’s a game which is frequently played in adult discussion circles which goes something like: “Write down the names of three Academy Award winners for Best Actress; write down the names of three Olympian gold-medal winners; write down the names of blah-blah-blah.” (You get the idea) It finishes by asking you to write down the names of three teachers you had an impact on your life.

And of course, we can do that without batting our eyes.

Human connection. Extension. Intimate interaction. That’s what has impact. That’s what has meaning. Evokes the strongest memories. Conveys true love.

So on Valentine’s Day this year, I will try to do those seemingly small yet powerful love acts that might, in some way, have eternal significance. Flowers? Chocolate? Yeah. They’re all great. But opening my door to a stranger. Giving my hubby and my kids undivided attention. Leaving simple gifts on my children’s pillows. Writing a meaningful letter. Calling a long-lost friend. Following Kim’s example of hospitality. Those will be my inspirations for Valentine’s Day this year.

I hope you have a love-filled Valentine’s Day. In whatever form you think best defines it.

Hugsandkisses,

Carolina

Playing Hurt

2006-02-06T10:13:00.000-08:00

“Do not look forward to what might happen tomorrow: The same God who cares for you today will take care of you and yours tomorrow and everyday. Either God will shield you from suffering or God will give you unfailing strength to bear it. Be at peace then and put aside all anxious thoughts and imaginations.” St Francis Desales

“Hands down,” my husband said. “It’s Super Bowl Sunday and you need to write another “Playing Hurt” Newsletter.

It was a tradition started by our old pastor and dear friend, Wayne Smith, arguably one of the most influential Christian pastors in America. He preached tirelessly for over forty years to the faithful who, Sunday after Sunday, both drove great distances to hear him preach as well as sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic for endless miles of the stretch down the only highway leading to the mammoth church in Kentucky. His message was always divinely inspired, but it was his yearly “Playing Hurt” sermon on Super Bowl Sunday that drew the ravest reviews.

It’s because most of us are playing hurt. In one way or another.

And so I wrote my first “Playing Hurt” Newsletter last year, as I played “excruciatingly hurt” when Nick got diagnosed with cancer. Am I worry-free now? Completely walking in faith without shuffling in fear? Absolutely not. I’m only human. I still play hurt on some days, like I did this Thursday when I got a phone call from him saying that he had a fever and was in the doctor’s office. My stomach moved to my throat; my heart raced faster; and my mind played mental gymnastics that were something less than limber.

I admit to playing hurt this year for entirely different reasons. I’m a tad bit physically hurt...but it’s that “good hurt” that comes from exhausting exercise, the kind that I didn’t get quite enough of last year because of Nick’s treatment. It’s similar to the kind of hurt that the football players in the Super Bowl play through. Achy muscle hurt. Broken bone hurt. Sore ribs hurt. As the football players stay in the game despite their hurt (did you catch the player riding the stationary bike through a pulled groin?), I booked a tennis game for tomorrow morning. Despite a throbbing previously-broken shoulder and a throbbing-even-more previously-shattered leg. I need to play hurt to make my body even stronger. Professional football players stay in the Super Bowl with broken fingers, pounding muscles, and aching heads. They stick it out until the end. Keep their eye on the ball. Until the game is over and a winner declared.

This year finds many friends of mine suffering emotional pain, and I’m playing hurt with them. Fractured relationships, parenting challenges, strained marriages. Playing hurt while helping them sort out difficult issues. And I have my own playing hurt issues to resolve, too. Disappointments on the business and personal side that require healing.

And these long, bitter days of winter don’t exactly help to lift our spirits, do they? Full of bleakness and of gray, devoid of sunshine and flowers, our landscapes are marked by leafless trees and barely-bubbling creeks. The dreariness makes it even easier to bathe in hurt and in pain. To become depressed with feelings of helplessness and hopelessness. With little in the next weeks to look forward to other than a possible delivery from the florist on Valentine’s Day or the surprise of some dark chocolate, it’s almost “natural” to walk around playing completely hurt. No bright, happy colors in wardrobes or nature to inspire and delight our senses, playing hurt in January seems a logical choice.

All of us play hurt at some point in our lives. It's not the
playing hurt that separates us from the rest; it's how we choose
to play when we play hurt. I am fully aware that when I play sad
when playing hurt, that I do not play my best game. Because I
wallow in too much self-pity and take my eye off the ball. I am
also fully aware that when I play scared when playing hurt I do
not play my best game, either. Because then I live in fear
instead of in faith. And when I play angry, I play a pretty
horrible game, too. Because then I get cranky with everyone
around me and take all the fun out of things. Playing angry when
playing hurt serves no useful purpose at all; I need to clean out a closet or sweep the hardwood floors on those days.

When I play hurt, I need to play strong. I need to abandon fear and worry and instead, incorporate a walk in faith. "The Lord is near the broken-hearted and saves the crushed in spirit." I need to stop playing angry and get on with the game. I need to enter into the game with joy and with hope, for "those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and
not grow weary; they will walk and not grow faint."

Playing hurt is never as much fun as playing pain-free. Not in football nor in tennis nor in life. But playing hurt is something that, every now and then, we are forced to play. And sometimes through it, but certainly in the end, we'll see the beauty in strength. "…strength that endures the unendurable and spills over into joy, thanking the Father who makes us strong enough to take part in everything bright and beautiful that He has for us." (Colossians 1: 11-12)

With daffodils and sunshine just around the corner, I pray that whether you’re playing hurt or playing strong, you will gain strength with each passing day and that you will eventually soar like the eagles. Just like the pros at the Super Bowl.

Blessings on your week,

Carolina

A Day in the Life

2006-01-30T09:57:00.000-08:00

I confess to being exhausted. Up early on little sleep anyway, I preached two sermons for Laity Sunday at our church, and then immediately drove the hour-plus drive into New York City to accompany 40 kids with our Youth Symphony to Carnegie Hall for a concert by the Met Orchestra (under James Levine’s conducting. It was glorious.) Beat up from the long drive back on an empty stomach, I came home to a sick 16-year-old and a husband who think he caught part of same. So rather than slave over a Newsletter—or search my soul for a tidbit of widsom—I am including a note that recently came in from a reader. It speaks perfectly to what we moms face on a daily basis, and I thought you might enjoy it as much as I did. (And please keep those emails coming…you never know when I’ll really need to use your material, too! Enjoy!

“Awoke this morning and assumed my position as Head Chef at Chez Michelle. This morning’s fare consisted of brightly colored perfectly toasted wheat morsels topped with a sprinkling of confectioners sugar and served with latte. (AKA cold cereal and milk.)

Then, as Vice President of Human Resources, I negotiated with personnel concerning the proper dress code for the daily workplace.

Next, I was off to the store to fulfill my duties as Purchasing Agent for a number of clients, including the Herbeck Corporation, Georgianna United Methodist Church, and South Merritt Island Little League. (Note: the previous Purchasing Agent (shop-a-holic husband, Gary) has been demoted for his inability to understand the concept of budgeting, thus plunging the Herbeck Corporation into deficit spending.) After carefully managing the supply chain for my clients, I came home to begin domestic engineering.

Using my skills as House Veterinarian, I applied medication on canine ear infections.

I am currently planning the afternoon’s logistics in my capacity as Director of Transportation. Today’s travel demands include musical education, chess competition, art education and physical education.

As Sports Team Manager, I will be providing for the nutritional needs of the players this afternoon. (See supply chain management above.)

Immediately following the teams practice, I will assume the duties of Wardrobe Director. The youngest personnel will change into their pajamas for a “Bedtime Story Night” at school.

Upon arriving back at Herbeck Headquarters, I assume my Superintendent of Schools duties, preparing the older personnel for her classroom activities tomorrow.

Whew! No wonder I am tired. I think I’ll take an OSHA required break now.”

By Michelle Herbeck, Rocket Mom of 13 year old girl and 7 year-old boy

A Rocket Mom Society Note

We kicked off the Society with our first meeting Tuesday night: “G.A.T.: Getting your Act Together: Goal-Setting and Vision-Casting. Notes are posted on our web site: http://rms.clubexpress.com for your viewing. Note: the parenting resources on the site are for members only. Details on membership are also on the site. Please check out our calendar, too, for a year’s worth of events. You can join as a virtual member if you do not wish to attend monthly society meetings or if you are not interested in forming a chapter in your area.

It's All About Process

2006-01-25T05:31:00.000-08:00

The northeast corridor got clobbered by heavy snow and ice this week, leaving many parts of the New York City metropolitan area without power for several days. Our tiny town was no exception; most of Ridgefield was without electricity all day Wednesday. Extended empathy for victims of Katrina and last year’s Asian tsunami immediately bubbled to the forefront of my thoughts. And everyone in our family reflected with some sadness at the extent to which we rely on electricity and running water. No water, no coffee, no phone, no internet.

There went my plans for the day. Enjoying a morning shower (something I take for granted after a tough workout) was like hanging my hat upon a star, as was working on my web site (I’m in the middle of an internet remodeling project), returning phone calls and catching up on laundry. Visions of escaping to the nearest town for both a mall and a movie theater experience was looking better and better, until I re-examined my schedule and realized that there were certain responsibilities that I needed to keep, if in any way possible. Conference call (hmmm…could be done by cell phone I suppose, even though I’d have to at least idle my car in order to charge my phone battery and aren’t gas prices at an all-time high?); violin lessons (no excuse there as the music school did indeed have power); bill-paying (turns out you can do that by candlelight if you have to). And, like it or not, even the reds can get separated from the whites on the laundry room floor in the light of day.

So we grunted it out, the kids and I. While hubby was in sunny Florida for a three-day retreat (fate has had him out of town during most of our power outages), we made do as best we could in the absence of all imaginable resources and well as my knight in shining armor.

We were sailing along swimmingly (it’s quite amazing what a large hot cup of joe can do for downtrodden spirits, even if one has to drive across two town lines to get it) when just before I turned onto the main street leading to the music school, a tire on my van went completely flat. Nada. Down to the metal of the rim. It would only figure. Ernie out-of-town. Perfect time to be a sweated-stinky-bad-haired-cold-hungry-damsel-in-distress. Happens every time.

Having just finished my conference call, I was, mentally at least, still absorbed in its message: it’s all about process. The lesson was being applied to the business of professional writing and speaking, but now, with two tired and thirsty kids in the back seat and me with a completely immovable lop-sided van in a town other than my own, I kept reminding myself: “It’s aIl about process, Carolina. Take a deep breath and move through the process.”

Like becoming a writer or lecturer of stature, becoming a seasoned mother is all about process. As a writer with a single published article does not an expert make, nor does a mother with a single newborn babe. It takes years and years of trial and error, mistakes and victories, rejection and acceptance to finally “make it.”

It’s a process.

I recalled rather quickly one of my first flat-tire experiences. Even though I do not remember it as occurring on a day in which we also lost power (a rather strange mixture of circumstances indeed), it was nonetheless distressing. Waiting for rescue with small-children-strapped-helplessly-to-car-seats in tow, eventual repair was not comfortable even ten years ago. And I was nothing short of a bumbling flat-tire novice (or idiot, depending on whom you talk to.) Didn’t know the first thing about how to deal with the task at hand. Call AAA or call hubby? Get out of the car or stay put? Get someone to put on the spare of get towed to the nearest tire store? Laugh about it or burst into tears?

But having lived through a number of flat tires…and power outages, coffee withdrawals and bad hair days….I endured the process much better this time around (even though the no-power no-food no-coffee combination thing was not especially enjoyable nor entertaining). But I understood (kind of anyway) what to do. Call AAA from my cell phone (which I charged on my car’s battery while driving the thirty miles to violin lessons); let the kids walk the three blocks to their lessons (despite my fear of foul play along the way); phone hubby for sympathy (enduring him telling me that my plan was wrong and that I should opt for Plan B); and take a cat nap while enduring the wait (versus the whole bursting into tears routine.) And after the spare is put on, celebrate by driving to the nearest mall-with-a-Sears-auto-shop-attached for a new tire, dinner and quick shopping experience.

The process took more than five hours to complete. And it’s not that it was funner than it’s been in times past. I was still thirstier than usual, I still had leftover sweat clinging to my un-showered body, and I was still suffering from an excruciatingly bad hair day. It’s just that I’ve come further in the process. I’ve endured more emergencies. Faced bigger challenges. Fought bigger battles.

The process of motherhood is not about immediate results. Quick fixes. Flash-in-the-pan success. Motherhood requires embracing the challenges that come our way on a near-daily basis. Embracing difficulty. And pain. Suffering. And growing in the process. The act of going through the process has its own lessons. And its own rewards.

Growing up is not especially easy. (Look at any pre-pubescent boy if you need further evidence.) It involves introspection. Hard knocks. Falling flat on your face. But the process is inevitable, and you won’t be the kind of mom you want to become unless you go through it.

Embrace the process. However painful, endure the growing pains. While they keep coming years after you think they should well be over, embrace your role through them. No one ever told you it would be easy. No one ever told you it would take this long. But it’s not about easily measurable—or easily attainable— results. It’s mostly all about the process.

Blessings on your week.

Carolina

A Rocket Mom Society Note

The first meeting will be held this week at the Mother Ship on Tuesday night, January 24th, from 7:30-9:00 PM. Email Carolina for directions: emomrx@yahoo.com. Please bring a friend, paper and (happy-colored ink) pen. Light refreshments will be served and a “G.A.T.” meeting discussing goal-setting and vision-casting—with specific strategies for both—will follow. Please see: http://rms.clubexpress.com to sign-up. You may also register at the first meeting.

Fresh Start

2006-01-17T08:09:00.000-08:00

You almost can’t help yourself: cleaning up the house after the holidays practically forces you to take the broom and vacuum cleaner…not to mention the Windex, counter scrub and mildew repellent…roll up your sleeves and wipe up any and all messes throughout the house.

Having spent the good part of last week settling Nick into college 650 miles from home, I needed to attend to the business of taking down my Christmas decorations at the earliest possible moment this week. When I could find a whopping eight hours with nothing better to do (mail-bill-laundry-catch-up notwithstanding).

If it were up to me, the tree would stay up all year long. In fact, about ten years ago, I did just that: never took my stuff down. Kept it all up ‘til the next Christmas. I loved everything about it: it provided enormous savings of my personal time, it was quite beautiful to look at—all lit up at night—and it served as a near-constant reminder to keep the spirit of Christmas alive each and every day of the year.

And then I got a phone call one night from the driver of our local pharmacy, asking a most perplexed: “Mrs. Fernandez, I’m just calling because as I was making a delivery in your neighborhood, I happened to notice that you had a Christmas tree in your living room window. Just thought you’d like to know.”

(So was he calling to make sure that I knew I still had my tree up or did he want me to know that he knew that I still had my tree up? As if I couldn’t see for myself….)

Point is, although it was truly wonderful, it was a tad bit too eccentric to carry off year after year after year.

So I endure the ritual—as you undoubtedly do, too—of taking everything down a week or so after the holidays. I spent the good part of Sunday dismantling swags. Lovingly wrapping angel wings. Putting my Spode Christmas Tree china back into protective boxes. And now my house looks lighter. Emptier, to be sure. No twelve-foot tree in my entryway. No lights in the windows. No angels. Nor Saint Nicks. No greens. Nor scent of Votivo’s “Joie de Noel” candles wafting through my home….

But it is cleaner. New Year. Clean slate.

Wiping things clean provokes an energetic response to action. To tackling resolutions. Writing letters. Paying bills. Organizing calendars. Initiating social invitations. Sewing on loose buttons. Removing stains. Filling in photo albums. Organizing closets. Donating clothing to charities. Throwing away garbage. Discarding old medicines. Filing medical stuff. Alphabetizing CD’s. Re-grouping books. Polishing silver. Waxing the furniture. Reupholstering. Finishing paintings. Hooking new rugs. Tying new flies.

OK. Now I’m exhausted.

But they don’t call it “New Year” for nothin’. It’s a time to start anew. To wipe the slate clean of all of your baggage, garbage and overage. And get on with brand spankin’ new. Fresh. Vibrant. Clear. Clean.

Surely you’re ahead of me. Did this a couple weeks ago. But have or have not: now is the time to grab the New Year by the horns and tackle ideas and issues, projects and plans, and agendas and activities and find homes for them. Be they homes within your home or homes within your brain; homes on your kitchen calendar pages or homes within your children’s drawers. Grab hold of the energy and power which this New Year brings and move forward. With creativity and verve! Take a step. Any step. And begin!

Until next week,

Carolina

A Nick Note

If you’d like to send something to Nick via the US Postal Service:

Nick Fernandez
PO Box 6031
Reynolda Station
Wake Forest University
Winston-Salem, NC 27109

A Rocket Mom Society Note

Mark your calendars for our first meeting: Tuesday evening, January 24th, from 7:30-9:00 PM at the Mother Ship. Email Carolina for directions: emomrx@yahoo.com. Topic: G.A.T. (Getting your Act Together) re: creating a vision for your family, crafting mission and vision statements and individual and family goals. Be prepared for “Show and Tell.” We want to know how you’re doing this, too! Pre-sign-ups at: http:// rms.clubexpress.com. Or feel free to do it at our first meeting.

You may also register as a purely virtual member. Or start a chapter of your own! Details: www.rocketmom.com. Or call or email me!

A Quick Note

If you live in Fairfield County, CT, tune in to Comcast’s Community Access Cable TV show “Moms Gone Mad” where Carolina will be interviewed on Wednesday at 10 AM. The interview will also be posted on the Rocket Mom Society site for members.

Releasing

2006-01-11T18:44:00.000-08:00

The New Year always starts off with its own set of issues. To-do lists left over from last year stare us in the face, and we resolve to check items off with rapidity just as soon as we find homes for new gifts, pack up Holiday decorations, and settle the kids back into school. Left with the blank canvas of a whole year at our artful mercies, we resolve to tackle things that had been put off in the frenzied moments of December. And so new diets get started, new exercise regimens take hold, and new promises get made for all of those things that we’ve been meaning to do.

As I sit in my hotel room typing this Newsletter, I reflect on the events of the past three days as we’ve been settling Nick into college life down here in Winston-Salem, North Carolina...and preparing ourselves for his healthy and happy release.

Releasing is tough stuff. It requires shedding of the old and welcoming in the new. Offering up the closely-held things of the past and ushering in the unknown mysteries of the future.

Nick has had fourteen months to think about his future at Wake Forest University, where he has just officially enrolled as a freshman today. He’s had fourteen months of anticipation, excitement and wonder at the unknown which lies just before him. Of wondering how he’s going to mix classes with chemo. Or fraternizing with fatigue.

And his father and I have had that time to think about letting him go. Of leaving doctors and nurses—who have taken such excellent care of him these past fourteen months—and embracing new ones with the same love, trust and enthusiasm. Of learning new procedures, new hospitals and new tests. And in the process, navigating around a southern city—with southern grits and southern accents to boot. Of how he’ll handle maintenance chemo without us checking up on him around the clock.

We’ve thought about what it’ll feel like to drive back towards home. All 650 miles of it. About how it’ll feel to no longer hear Nick’s Doc Marten’s clomping down the stairs from his third floor bedroom into the hallway. Or how our family will feel with one less teen. Quieter. Emptier.

Releasing one’s child—like releasing old habits—does not come easily. But sometimes you just have to let go. You know the time has come and, hate it as you do, you have to see if those wings which you have worked so diligently to make strong, will hold that child up by himself.

A couple of dear friends of mine are releasing spouses at the start of the New Year. They’re giving up marriages for reasons as different and as personal as they are. It’s tough. It mixes things up. Turns worlds upside down. Touches children’s lives in ways they never thought they’d have to reconcile. Forces them to fly solo when they’d been used to flying in partnership.

Releasing also sometimes requires thinking about those things that we know we need to get rid of in our lives…as well as those things we know we must let go of over which we have little or no control. Releasing bad habits isn’t exactly the easiest thing in the world to do. Perhaps you’ve resolved this year to eliminate baggage and clutter. Or stop smoking. Give up caffeine. Giving something up almost always leaves a void…as well as a nearly insatiable desire to fill up that space with something else. A different habit or activity. Or different people.

As you look out at the possibilities which this New Year holds for you and your family, first take some time to examine those things—or people—which need releasing. Maybe friendships need to be re-evaluated. Or family ties need to be strengthened—or bound more loosely. Perhaps you need to teach your child to be more independent. Or delicately encourage your aging mother to lean more heavily on your shoulders.

It’s always more refreshing to start anew if old baggage has been properly dealt with. The New Year will most assuredly get off to a better start if you wipe the slate clean before scribbling your long list of should’s and could’s.

So personal reflection is the order of the day. Examining your life and listening to that still voice deep inside you will help you release as needed. Or hold onto people and things that need holding onto.

I look forward to exploring the possibilities of the New Year with you. With enthusiasm and expectant optimism.

All blessings,

Carolina

A Nick Note

With three days away from home—a long drive on Friday followed by moving rituals on Saturday and Sunday—things had been sailing along quite smoothly. On Monday morning, we went to his new hospital to simply meet his new docs and to turn in some paperwork to assure that everyone is on the same page, medically speaking. We quickly discovered, through a routine and quick finger-stick, that not only had his counts plummeted to zero since we left home, but that he needed a two-unit red-blood transfusion as well. I was horrified. We wound up spending eleven hours on Monday in the hospital, where he was admitted for the transfusion ordeal. Our trip back home has been postponed by a day, as we wanted to be here with him while he underwent the transfusion in a brand new place. Needless to say, this was not exactly the release we had imagined. His spirits are great, and we thankfully report that Tuesday morning found him filled with renewed energy. As he is severely neutropenic, he needs to be especially careful to avoid crowds and germs…all of this as he embarks on his college career.

You might guess that this has posed some restraints on my enthusiasm! I will not be releasing Nick with the good cheer for which I had hoped. (It’s a lot easier to write about releasing than it is to endure releasing.) As you keep Nick in your prayers, please keep me covered also. Releasing a healthy first-born to college sends many moms weeping; releasing a neutropenic first-born to college on chemo for leukemia is a lot for me to handle. It will send me to my knees as well as to reach out to any and all friends willing to keep Nick totally covered in prayer. This is tough stuff indeed….

But there are blessings deep inside the experience, and I’m starting to just now see some of them. Maybe that’ll be another Newsletter….

A Rocket Mom Society Note

The newly-forming Rocket Mom Society (RMS) will meet at the Mother Ship in two weeks. The exact launch date and time are TBA tomorrow. (My delayed trip has caused some confusion here; apologies please!)

For the first three months of the year we’ll hold “G.A.T.” meetings: “Getting your Act Together.” January G.A.T.: Developing a vision for your family and outlining family and individual goals; February G.A.T.: Home Organization for the stuff of your life; March G.A.T.: Organizing the papers of your life, including school, office and financials. If you live in or near Fairfield County, Connecticut or Westchester County, New York, and would like to be a part of this group, please check out details at: www.rocketmom.com. Click on “Rocket Mom Society.” Or email Carolina: emomrx@yahoo.com.

Embracing the Spirit of Giving

2005-12-21T05:28:00.000-08:00

Embracing the Spirit of Giving

“Giving is the style of the universe. Giving is woven into the fabric of existence… Giving is what we do best”. Eugene Peterson

Every year—at about this time—I start writching around to crank things up a notch. To pull out all the stops. To get the house fully decorated for Christmas, get friends and family fully fed with a meal or two, and get special Christmas treats baked, ordered or picked up for festive holiday entertaining. I confess to anticipating the arrival of Christmas every year with a spirit open to its marvelous story. But I engage midway through Advent with a palpable anxiety about getting everything “done.”

Sometimes the pace of the four weeks leading up to Christmas wears me out, and I almost collapse at the mere thought of getting preparations done with even the tiniest bit of flair. And other times, I get a sudden burst of energy and am able to stand in long lines at the post office, the grocery store, my favorite shops or my wrapping counter without breaking a sweat or reaching for a dark chocolate bar. Sometimes, I can go for hours on end without nibbling on a single thing nor feeling the teensiest hunger pang; other times, I feel like I need to have an elephant in the passenger seat of my van so that I can take a bite after every Holiday errand.

Unfortunately, energy levels—and mood swings—are unpredictable. We oftentimes greet the day with the best intentions only to find ourselves surprised at how quickly a traffic snarl or an impatient clerk can make monsters out of the best and most energetic amongst us.

Part of the secret of preparing for the Holidays is to set a pace with which you can be comfortable for the entire month leading up to Christmas, so that along with meeting deadlines and fulfilling all of the season’s commitments, you find yourself truly enjoying the days. Experiencing joy on Christmas Day healthy and happy—rather than haggard and hapless—should be one of your primary goals. Moving closer to the One who forever changed the world—embracing the message and the miracle of Christmas—is, of course, the reason for the season.

I’m passing along, as promised, some strategies I personally use to prepare for Christmas. I don’t pretend to be smarter or more clever or more creative or more anything. I only hope that some of these tips will help you make more sense or obtain more order to these next few days. If you gleam even one tiny idea, this Newsletter will have met its goal. So here goes:

1) Outline the month. In broad, general terms. Believe me: I’m not that organized, I hate detailed bullets and anything even hinting of “red tape.” (This includes budgets set by my husband, time lines set by my kids and artificially-imposed deadlines set by moi). But getting a general sense of some of the things you hope to accomplish during the Holidays is extremely helpful in getting your act together. Do you want to invite the neighbors over for coffee? Host a luncheon? Babysit a toddler so her mom can go shopping? Take an elderly friend to the mall? Map out your idea of how you’d like—ideally—the month to play out. My own personal goals are to host a girlfriends brunch, to host dinner parties for four to five different families, and to host my daughter’s fourteenth birthday party. Admittedly, it’s taken some finely-tuned organizational skills to pull all of these off while simultaneously staying on track with all of my other Holiday responsibilities. But I’m more than halfway there….

2) Take this broad outline and look at it in context. Do your kids have violin recitals two weeks before Christmas? Are school concerts on your calendar? Do you need to work the pre-school party? Is your daughter coming home from college? Do you need to budget in some travel time? What’s on your calendar that is absolutely mandatory—barring illness or emergencies—and what can be done or enjoyed only if all of your little duckies line up in perfect rows? In our own family, we’ve already attended three violin recitals, three school concerts and look forward to our church’s Christmas Eve candlelight service, where two of our kids will perform violin solos. Holiday entertaining—along with shopping, wrapping and shipping—will fall into place within this context.

3) Pick your entertaining dates well in advance and get the word out expediently. I know I know. It’s considered tacky to issue invitations via email. Miss Manners would wring my neck if she only knew. My day will come when engraved invites to my annual Christmas brunch will seem perfectly normal…but that day is not today! For the sake of expediency—not to mention sheer economy—email invitations are the only way for rocket moms to go. Being sleep-deprived with young ones exhibiting serious signs of the barnacle-syndrome hardly leaves room for endurance runs in creativity. I admit that in not too many years past (two, to be exact) I hand-wrote, hand-addressed and hand-stamped every invitation that left my house. These days, I prefer to spend that time doing other things. You have my official permission to be tacky if you so desire. So go online and either write your invitation in Word, copy and paste it into your browser and send it to the group you’ve created in your email system; or get more official and go to www.evite.com, which will record RSVP’s automatically, send updates, and streamline the whole process for you.

4) Start getting your act together early. I’ve forever been of the mindset that I’d rather give simple presents to many people than give a mere handful of extravagant gifts to a select few. You might feel entirely differently. That’s fine. But to stay in line with my guiding principle, I start shopping for Christmas as soon as Christmas has past. No, I don’t deal with the day-after-Christmas-madness-at-the-malls (been there done that. Yuck). But I do keep my eyes constantly open for gifts throughout the year, I keep my list in my Filofax and refer to it frequently, and I always stay on the lookout for good shopping deals. Out of town and out walking around a few cute gift shops? Keep your friends and family in mind. Hitting a great clearance sale at the mall? Think Christmas gifts. Your favorite shop offering a one-time special? Buy in bulk. Or decide on a theme well in advance and buy things along that theme whenever you see them on sale. It might be wonderful soaps or candles or papers or stationery or perfumes for all the girlfriends on your list; or musical toys or books or games or puzzles for all of the kiddies; and robes or slippers or ties or unusual t’s or books or coffee or gift certificates for the men on your list. Start thinking along theme lines early on in the year, shop for such, and you’ll find that by the time Christmas comes, you’ll be in pretty good shape. You can shop this way and still be creative in your gift-giving. For example, I bought homemade natural olive-oil soaps for a few of my girlfriends this year and chose scents according to personal preferences or lifestyles, giving lemongrass-scented soaps to my gardening girlfriends, pine-scented soaps for those who use fresh trees, etc. The key is always keeping your eyes open and keeping your family and friends ever-present in your mind as you shop. Store purchases in your gift closet or on a few shelves in an obscure place in your house, record what you bought for whom, and feel the enormous satisfaction of greeting Advent with lots of things already checked off on your list.

5) Set your color theme early. You can’t imagine how tickled I was to watch the HGTV Holiday special on The White House Christmas and see that the decorators and florists opted to use a lime-green-and-red color theme throughout the mansion. Wow! Lime-green bows held up every wreath, lime-green bows adorned the ornaments and lime-green tablecloths draped every table. I’ve been using a lime-green-and-red theme for the last few years in an effort to feed my lime-green addiction (OK, obsession…or illness…depending on who you talk to) and it makes me happy to see that I’m not the only one out there who sees Christmas colors with this unusual twist. If you love using the traditional Christmas green and bright red, that’s perfectly wonderful, too. But perhaps you’d rather use hot pink. Or burgundy .Or purple or blue. Splendid. Go for it with gusto. Start purchasing ribbons and wraps and gift tags and gift bags early, so that when you line up all of your supplies, you have a very color-coordinated look. For example, I bought red striped cellophane bags, lime-green tissue paper, lime-green silk ribbon, white gift “tags” and wrapping paper that is all red-lime-green-and-white so that no matter what I’m wrapping, I can reach for a supply and know that it’ll work with whatever else my hand has grabbed off my wrapping counter.

6) Set up a wrapping and shipping schedule to beat the Holiday rush. Even before Thanksgiving, I laid all of the gifts I had purchased throughout the year on my wrapping counter, organizing by theme and by family. I laid out all of my supplies—including tissue paper, ribbons, tags (I buy rings from the office supply store), shipping boxes and bubble-wrapped envelopes—and mapped out an organized production line. As gifts were wrapped, they were immediately placed into my van, so that if I ever passed the P.O. and saw an open parking space, I could make a quick shipping stop. But I blew it this year in that I’m at least a week behind schedule. Dag-gone-it. With Thanksgiving hitting a week late, I am late accordingly. As I generally ship anywhere from thirty to forty gifts out-of-state, I need to make three or four runs to the post office in order to ensure that gifts arrive on time. I try to get this done in late November so that I can: save on shipping charges (by shipping parcel post rather than priority), beat the excruciatingly long lines at the P.O. (no one ships in November), and get the immense satisfaction of crossing this off my list early on in the season. I must have been a slacker mom this year, as I still have one more trip to go, I wound up being forced to ship everything priority, and I’ve endured excruciatingly long lines at the P.O. with this weekend’s record forty-five minute wait hardly being a super-fun way to spend my time. There’s always next year…

7) Determine a “signature gift” and send it every year. Last year, for the first time (and as an experiment of sorts), I shipped and hand-delivered a custom-ordered, custom-made candy-cane fudge from our local candy shop. The reviews on it were so hearty that it’s become my signature gift again this year. I ordered dozens of boxes and it’ll wind up everywhere from Texas to Florida to New York. Easy. Festive. Hassle-free. Already gift-boxed. Perhaps there’s something clever—signature—that you can do: turn digital photos of your artwork into stationery or greeting cards; paint miniature canvases; bake an unusual cookie from your ethnic heritage; make your special cocoa or spiced tea? One of my girlfriends has been making homemade vanilla extract for almost twenty years; it’s her signature gift. She pours it into old-fashioned brown medicine bottles (which she buys wholesale and in bulk) and affixes a festive sticker to the front. I look forward to receiving a bottle every year…..

8) Get your cards out as soon as possible and build in plenty of margin time. Ok. You got me here. I am never organized enough to get this done early (even though I vow to be better each year.) Taking a good pic of four kids, sending them to the printer, and addressing and stamping almost two hundred envelopes is sheer hard work. It always gets done, but it always takes a back seat to other, more pressing responsibilities. I figure, if I can slack on my timeline somewhere, it’ll be here. I always buy my cards on sale the year before (generally picking them up at half-price), buy Christmas stamps before Thanksgiving, and buy my paper at the office supply store in bulk. I still haven’t gotten the whole digital picture thing under control over here at our house even though we’ve been using digital cameras for the past three or four years (it’s that whole business of shifting over from print to online photos that’s still got me confused as how to best organize and execute); surely you’re better at this than I am. My advice: make it a priority if you enjoy the tradition, but give yourself some freedom in getting them out as no one minds receiving them after Christmas.

I pray at Christmas that you embrace the spirit of giving. Not just in your thoughtful gifts to friends and family. But that you practice generosity in your time and in your talents, too. That you sing in a choir if you acknowledge your talent as a songbird; cook a meal for a friend if you grasp the joys of hospitality; take an elderly neighbor to the grocery store if you understand the importance of sacrificial love. That you take dinner to a family in crisis because you realize the physical and emotional tolls of illness or injury. Or lift up someone in need because you’ve witnessed the power of intercessory prayer.

Eugene Peterson, one of my most beloved authors and translator of THE MESSAGE, writes: “Giving is the style of the universe. Giving is woven into the fabric of existence… Giving is what we do best. It is the air into which we were born. It is the action that was designed into us before our birth. Giving is the way the world is. God gives himself. He also gives away everything that is. He makes no exceptions for any of us. We are given away to our families, to our neighbors, to our friends, to our enemies—to the nations. Our life is for others. That is the way creation works.” (*)

May you be filled with all blessings on Christmas Day—and everyday—by fully embracing the spirit of giving.

Merry, merry Christmas!

Carolina

*NOTE: Eugene Peterson, Run with the Horses (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 1983), p. 42, 43.

Rocket Mom Shops New York City

2005-12-14T10:58:00.000-08:00

It was over-the-top, being treated to four days in New York City at Christmastime by the generosity of a Fortune 100 company. Its beauty was breath-taking, with a heavy snow preceding our trip blanketing Central Park; and lights, garlands and trees accenting everything from doorways to ceilings (Saks’ twinkling white lights strung along its ceilings and through tree limbs arching over every aisle is nothing short of glorious) to rooftops; and the temperatures, while nippy, were hardly bone-chilling. From Rockefeller Center to Times Square to The Met to The Park: New York was magical.

My promise to bring to you New York City bargains was ever-present in my mind as I pounded the pavements throughout mid-town Manhattan and much of the lower West Side. Due to the nature of our trip, I confess to spending much more time on Madison and Fifth Avenues than I did in Chelsea, Greenwich Village, SoHo and Chinatown, where bargains abound and where shops carry everything from the edgy to the kitschy to the fake to the cheap. So I’m going to share a little of both worlds with you. I also observed that in our corporate—and global—group, travelers from different parts of the world very much wanted to buy very different stuff. While this will seem overly-simplified and perhaps a bit stereotypical, the Western and Eastern Europeans desired American clothing (especially blue jeans), Clinique make-up, iPods and digital cameras, while folks from the Asia-Pacific rim shopped for expensive (Italian and French) handbags. Almost everyone was in search of some type of electronic device, with iPods and digital cameras being in the highest demand. The non-New Yorker Americans shopped for the run-of-the-mill, A-to-Z type bargain, looking for anything and everything that was either less expensive or more available than it is back home. As this Newsletter spins ‘round the globe, I’ll try to give everyone something to check out. Here goes:

• If you travel to New York City during the Holidays, be prepared to pay dearly—or in blood—for a hotel room. They are simply not to be had; ones that have availability are in extremely high demand with prices out the roof. Our room at The Essex House overlooked Central Park and was absolutely glorious, but my pockets wouldn’t be deep enough if I had to pay for it with my own MasterCard this time of year. One of NYC’s best-kept secrets is the Riverside Tower Hotel at 80 Riverside Drive (corner of Riverside Drive and West 80th Street; phone 212-877-5200.) Check them out first before calling hotels at more popular locations.

• Dining in NYC is a sport. Be prepared to play with the professionals. We enjoyed dinner at Michael Jordan’s in Grand Central Terminal, lunch at the 21 Club and a dinner party in the Rainbow Room at Rockefeller Center, among many other special dining treats. (I can hardly mention our private dinner party atop the ABC Studios in Times Square as it was one of the most incredible views…as well as one of the most incredible experiences I’ve ever had and one which I’m sure I’ll never have again). When my feet landed on NYC soil and I had to pay for things with my own nickel, I enjoyed a pressed sandwich at Europa Café. Also check out Cosi for cheap eats in the Big Apple. You would do just fine for a long weekend eating at either one of these places for breakfast, lunch and dinner…and they’re scattered throughout the city.

• Want something somewhere between Michael Jordan’s and Cosi? Try Cafe Saks Fifth Avenue (611 5th Avenue); Bloomingdale's Le Train Bleu (1000 3rd Avenue); Bergdorf Goodman - Goodman's Cafe for Women (2 West 58th Street); Bergdorf Goodman - Goodman's Cafe 745 for Men (745 5th Avenue) or Fred's at Barneys (660 Madison Avenue). I also have always had good luck at little bakeries strung along the Upper East Side on Madison. There’s nothing wrong with coffee and a bran muffin for lunch after all. Or hot roasted chestnuts from the street vendors. Yum!

• Allen Edmonds (551 Madison Ave. around 55th St.; phone 212-308-8305) is having a sale on men’s shoes right now. Men I spoke with found this to be irresistible. As most of their shoes are in the $200-300 price range, it’s nice to think that one might save a little by buying now, if treads are wearing thin. And one of the best reasons for buying their stuff: you can send your shoes back to Allen Edmonds for re-soling….at least once before buying again.

• Loehmann's (101 7th Avenue between 16th and 17th Streets; phone 212-352-0856) remains one of my longest-running favorites and is, by all counts, the grand dame of discount stores. I bought a fabulous pair of beaded flats by Kenneth Cole for less than $30. With black and red beads on a black satin background, they’re perfect for Holiday parties (with longish black-sequined peasant skirts and glittery tops). Loehmann’s stuff changes daily, so it’s hit or miss. Keep checking. And get into “shopping mode” before you head over there; lines will be long, the building is on the hot-ish side and you may have to spend an inordinate amount of time searching for something wonderful in your size. But it’s worth it.

• Century 21(22 Cortlandt Street-- Between Church and Broadway in Chinatown; phone 212-227-9092; www.c21stores.com) has been billed by native New Yorkers as the best discount place in the city and Zagat has given it top billing as well. Our guide dropped us off there for an hour’s worth of shopping and I walked out with nothing. Nadda. Zero. Truthfully, it didn’t grab me. Too much stuff. Poorly displayed. Not enough variety to make me want to pull out my wallet. But the Europeans on-board were thrilled. Great boots and shoes, apparently. And lots of Ralph Lauren fashion jewelry at ridiculously low prices. Handbags, too. Also spotted: trendoid Oliver Peoples sunglasses at rock-bottom prices. And if you’re shopping for Clinique cosmetics, you can find it here at really decent prices.

• Almost next door, check out J&R for great deals on electronics of all types (Park Row across from City Hall Park; phone 212-238-9000; Fax 212-238-9191; www.jr.com). Travelers on my tour found iPods, digital cameras and video cameras there that made their hearts sing.

• DSW is theeeee place for designer women’s shoes. (102 N. End Ave in Chinatown; phone 212-945-7419) Very hit or miss. The stuff—because it is so wonderful—moves out extremely quickly. I once eyed a pair of Lilly Pulitzer’s at a DSW store in Miami, hesitated, went back the next day and found that the entire stock of Lilly’s was gone. If you gotta have it, get it as soon as you find out it fits.

• While you’re in the lower west side, check out the deals on Canal Street. Cheap. Fake. Fun…if you must. Everything from fake designer handbags to cheap jewelry to hats and scarves to t-shirts.

• If you gotta have a drop-dead gorgeous Italian leather handbag for Christmas, call the good folks at Suarez on Park Avenue at around 56th St. (450 Park Ave; phone 212-753-3758). A family-owned business for something like three generations, their staff is courteous and their stuff is super-pretty. Their bags come in fourteen colors, including an absolutely incredible Tiffany-blue. But your pockets better be deep: prices start at $300 and rocket on up from there. They’re having somewhat of a sale, with their $550-on-up bags currently at 20% off.

• After sleeping on a Suarez purchase by my husband (for my Christmas gift) not one, not two, but three nights…I decided that with four kids to put through college (and two sofas to reupholster and yada yada yada) that an expensive handbag was a little bit too over-the-top right now. Ernie and I opted instead to buy a gorgeous Italian handbag, the “Kelly Bag” (think Grace Kelly) at a wonderful handbag store that is losing its building and combining two stores into one and therefore discounting all of its merchandise by 80%. Yes. As in 80% OFF. Their gorgeous $650 bags have been discounted to about $130. At that price, you can perhaps think about buying one in a color you wouldn’t normally entertain…and if you accidentally ruin one, you won’t be crying all the way back to the city to get a replacement. And you might even be able to justify buying two. Call Michel’s Bags (510 Madison Avenue between 52nd and 53rd Sts; phone 212 355-8309). Ask for Kathy and tell her the-gal-from-Connecticut-who-couldn’t-decide-which-bag-to- buy-but-who-finally-bought-the-Kelly-bag-on-Monday sent you. She’s lovely. And hurry up! The sale ends December 31 and they’re quickly running out of stock.

• Pearl River Mart (477 Broadway, between Grand and Broome Sts.; phone 212-431-4770; www.pearlriver.com) has not only cheap stuff with which to decorate—china bowls, tea services and placemats—but fun little no-nothings for stocking stuffers. I found—though did not buy—the cutest paper lanterns on the planet, and if I needed yet one more thing to put into my daughter’s bedroom, they would quite probably be it. I did, however, make my only afternoon purchase, because I hadn’t seen them elsewhere: pretty glycerine soaps for children with embedded “cute-isms” like “smile,” “joy,” “laugh,” “love,” etc. I bought a half-dozen to give to a family with four young daughters, along with silk draw-string bags in orange-with-white-polka-dots for festive packaging. All for something like $18.

• Kate’s Paperie (phone 800-809-9880; www.katespaperie.com) is still the best shop in NYC for stationery and super-pretty papers. Hands down. No contest. With four locations on NYC (its SoHo shop at 561 Broadway is incredible) it is a must-see if you are a paper lover or simply need some eye candy. Call to order, but if you’re in the city, do not miss the Kate’s Paperie experience.

• Dean & Deluca in SoHo (560 Broadway; phone 212-226-6800 or toll-free 800-221-7714; www.deandeluca.com) is the place to find all food-related things that you cannot find elsewhere. Glorious olive oil “brick” soaps, pots and pans, and gourmet candies are amongst my favorites there. See if they can special order you some chocolate-covered gummy bears. The best.

• Baking a lot for Christmas? Need cookie cutters? Baking pans? Icing tips? Try New York Cake at 56 West 22nd Street between 5th and 6th Avenue. Incredible selection. Phone or FAX orders: 800-942-2539; FAX 212-675-7099.

• Lee's Art Shop (220 W. 57th Street, between 7th Avenue and Broadway; phone 212-247-0110) has fantastic kids’ art supplies, stuff for adult artists, creative stocking stuffers and the best art tools in the city. If your area lacks a great art supply store, this is it.

• Museum gift shops cannot be ruled out as amongst the best outlets for creative gift ideas. I had a wonderful time—after a two-hour guided tour of The Metropolitan Museum of Art —in their large gift shop (1000 Fifth Avenue at 82nd St; phone 212-570-3894), which is a destination in and of itself. If you can’t find that art book you’ve been looking for, give them a call. Beautiful silk scarves and ties. Jewelry, too.

• Also check out The Museum of American Folk Art Shop for wonderful gifts, most made by American artisans: 45 W 53rd St between 5th and 6th; phone 212-265-1040.

• The Holiday Gift Shops at St. Bartholomew's have some unusual gifts that you won’t find elsewhere, but you’ve got to be in the city to access them. If you’re in the city, check them out at Park Avenue between 50th and 51st Streets.

• If you do get into the city, do not—and I repeat, do not—rule out the fabulous pashmina and cashmere shawls that you can pick up from the street vendors for $5 or $10. OK. I haven’t exactly checked out the fiber content with a magnifying glass, but hey, for ten bucks, how can you go too wrong? I pick one up each trip into the city and have found some real beauties. The color range is quite wonderful. Yum. The latest have a gorgeous jacquard weave and I find one wrapped around my neck at every venture out of doors. Particularly good locations? Try just west of Fifth Avenue around 50th or 51st Streets.

• Gotta hit the large department stores? OK. So do I, but not for bargains. They remain, I admit, a feast for the eyes and a veritable New York experience. You’ve got to get the salespeople spritzing you with the latest perfumes and schmearing you with the latest anti-wrinkle creams upon arrival. No one does this better than the good folks at Saks Fifth Avenue (50th St. and Fifth Avenue) Very elegant. Very expensive. Really, no bargains to be found except after Christmas, when discounts of 50% will be commonplace. I love their contemporary sportswear and their private label. Beautiful night show of dancing snowflakes in the windows timed to Christmas music. Magical. Bloomingdale’s (Third Avenue and 59th Street or in SoHo at 504 Broadway; phone 212-729-5900) is trendy, bustling and exciting. Their tagline it's like "no other store in the world" is true. They carry some pretty cool stuff that you just won’t find anywhere else. Watch for deep discounts…but not until after Christmas. Some bargains can actually be found at Lord & Taylor (38th St. and Fifth Avenue) as they are continually bringing in new merchandise. Granted: most of the NYC stores are doing the same, but Lord & Taylor does this consistently and does it well. One of my favorites. Bergdorf Goodman (754 Fifth Avenue at 57th St.; the men's store is located across the street. Phone: 800-558-1855) is not a store that you necessarily shop in, and is certainly not a place in which to behold a bargain. It is simply a place to train your eye. To look at beauty (and the beautiful). Their windows are the best-dressed and the same could be said for their (real) customers. Lines of gawkers outside their blue-and-white china window were five deep. I could hardly take my eyes off it. If you make the trip in to the city, you must make a quick stop here. ‘Nough said.

• Crate&Barrel (650 Madison Avenue at 60th Street; phone 212-308-0011) is beautifully decorated for Christmas and contains enough low-priced stuff that it’s certainly worth a visit. If you’re looking for a small kitchen appliance, especially, it beats the prices at Williams-Sonoma. This should be part of your Madison Avenue experience; a phone call is also worth it if you know what you’re looking for.

• For stuff for the home, I have two favorites: ABC Carpet and Home (888 Broadway at 19th St; phone 212 473-3000) is filled to the brim with treasures—and rugs—from around the world. Not to be missed, you’ll find things in all price ranges, including arguably the best baby department in the city. Pierre Deux (625 Madison Ave at around 56th St; phone 212-521-8012) is not only for the Francophiles amongst us; it is a jewel box in the heart of Madison Avenue. Roosters lurk in every corner; gorgeous French fabrics fill every square inch; expensive furniture lines the downstairs footage; and reproduction paintings and lamps and shades and china take center stage through this large retail space. Ahhh….A little retreat into wonderful.

That oughta do it. Stay tuned: next week, I’ll share with you how I shop for the dozens of family and friends on my list, as well as the menu and recipes from my annual Christmas Brunch.

Happy shopping!

Carolina

Where Hustle Stops Bustle

2005-12-06T10:52:00.000-08:00

“At Christmas play and make good cheer,
For Christmas comes but once a year.” Thomas Tusser

After spending a good part of last week hustling to prepare for Christmas—“determined-with-list-in-hand-shopping” all afternoon Wednesday; one last getaway and leisurely shopping experience with Nick in New York City all day Thursday; and “smart shopping” at the outlet mall a little bit on Friday—it was so wonderful to kick back and relax with dear friends from Kentucky, who visited us for the weekend at our home in Connecticut. We spent our time on a leisurely stroll around town, in leisurely conversation on sofas around the fire, and by breaking bread around my dining room table. No scurrying around. No serious deadlines to meet. No long lines to contend with.

As I sit here and look at my own calendar for December, I imagine that it looks very much like yours. Too many appointments in too little space. Double-bookings in the same exact time slot. Near panic at the realization that something will get left out of the mix: that perfect gift will not be found; that perfect lunch date will not work out; that perfect party will not be attended.

The nearly universal common denominator among all mothers is the feeling of being constantly overwhelmed by the demands of spouse, kids and home life. The near-constant shuffling of little people from school to lessons to activities to friends’ homes; the never-ending cycle of grocery shopping-meal preparation-cleanup-and-laundry; and the nearly-impossible requirement of keeping ourselves in peak-performance physical shape—all on too-little sleep—baffles and confounds even the best of us. And “the math” never gets more complicated than during the Holidays. We become overworked, overstretched, and overburdened. I feel it every year. I know you do, too.

My visit with old friends this weekend validated what I’ve always known—but have often been simply too busy to stand back and rightfully acknowledge: hustle stops bustle around a table.

When all—and I mean all—is said and done, the holidays really boil down to: faith, family and friends. And if we whack that out of perspective, if we wrongly juggle the mix, or if we lose track of the things for which we’re scurrying, we miss out on the season.

When my husband and kids and I sat down around our dining room table to share several meals with two of our dearest friends in the whole world, I was able to leave the hustle and bustle of Christmas behind me. We were able to enjoy the food we had prepared, the catching-up-with-each-other-conversation we had longed for, the break in the routine we had looked forward to, and the ambience we had lovingly designed. With candles aglow and silver sparkling, the cocoon of home and friendship took over to do what it has always done best: provide love and safety and shelter—and relief from the busyness of the world. Hustle stopped bustle this weekend at my dining room table.

I know this sounds trite. Oversimplified. Almost like a “duh, yeah.” But when we’re too busy running around, too busy making everyone else happy and too busy “doing” the Holidays, we truly lose sight of what it takes to fully enjoy and appreciate them. Stopping smack in the middle of the Christmas season to sit down at a table with best friends—to eat and to drink, to laugh and to cry, to share and to pray—was one of my favorite gifts. I told Kathy: “You are my Christmas gift.”

One of my favorite Scripture verses is: “There is a friend who sticketh closer than a brother.” We all know that we can’t choose family, but we can choose friends. Some of us are blessed with family who we would also choose as friends. We acknowledge that we are blessed indeed. And that we are doubly blessed when we have good friends whom we can count on and lean on, through the good times and the bad. With whom we can both celebrate and mourn.

And it’s rarely more obvious than at Christmas.

As you go through these next few weeks leading up to Christmas, I encourage you to gather around a table. Your own or that of your friends. Or at a club or favorite restaurant (as I got to do in New York when Nick and I met an old high school friend of mine for lunch. Wow! Two “old-friend-treats” in one week!) It’s going to be hard for you to fit this in during this month. It’ll stop your momentum. Break your shopping rhythm. Interfere with your chores. Or your workout or your hair appointment or your pedicure. But the mere act of stopping—of deliberate pause, deliberate slowing down and deliberate dining—may possibly prove to be your best Christmas gift ever.

I feel truly blessed to enjoy an overflow of friends. I often feel that my cup runneth over. That people move into my life in the most surprising ways. And enrich it and expand it by encouragement and compassion.

I pray that you also have not only an abundance of friends with whom you can celebrate the Holidays: I pray that you take the time to do just that.

Blessings on your week,

Carolina

A Nick Note

Nick and I kept our promise to each other that we would spend a day together in the City during the Christmas season; we went in on Thursday and shopped and yes—dined around a table. Hustle stopped bustle at the Cuban restaurant Havana Central on 46th St. between 7th and 8th. One of his Christmas gifts was a night at the theatre. If you’re a Billy Joel fan—as we both are—you’ll get a charge out of Movin’ Out. But hurry! The show leaves Broadway on the 18th. Nick’s counts are terrific and he’s gaining strength each day. His renewed health is my greatest gift this Christmas.

A Special Request Note

I received a sad email from a dear friend and fellow rocket mom this week who asked that I use this forum to circulate a special request. The Kaufman family lost their 12-year-old daughter, Alexa, unexpectedly and swiftly to leukemia over the Thanksgiving holiday. She died within three days of her diagnosis. A fund has been started in her memory. Please check out the Kaufman story at:
http://www.miami.com/mld/miamiherald/13271347.htm and help us stamp out childhood cancer.

A Rocket Mom Society Note

The site for the new forming Rocket Mom Society will be up and running this week. Granted, it will not yet be fully loaded. Tons of resources will be added, both as quickly as I can write them, as well as how quickly we can develop them by personal experience and direct observation. In other words, at our monthly Rocket Mom Society meetings, our talking points will be accessible to all society members—chapter members and virtual members alike. Audio streams and video clips will also be added as available. As with all large undertakings, these things take time. Please be patient with me! It is the Christmas season, after all…..go to www.rocketmom.com and click on Rocket Mom Society.

A Quick Note

I’ll be giving the keynote presentation “Mary’s Response” at the Princeton Alliance Church on Thursday, December 8th. Discover how Mary responded to the Annunciation by Gabriel...and how our own responses to life's annunciations profoundly impact our lives. If you live in the Princeton area, please contact the church for details.

Doorbusting

2005-11-28T20:56:00.000-08:00

“We are not to avoid the Holiday rush. We are to avoid rushing the Holiday.” Rev. Bill Pfohl.

It’s official. The world can be divided yet one more way: those who doorbust and those who don’t.

Surely you’ve heard the term by now. It refers to folks who get up pre-dawn— most notably on “Black Friday”—and literally bust through stores’ doors as they open in the morning for business. This lovely little ritual is just a few years old...and it appears that it’s starting earlier in the day and attracting more and more devotees each year.

As several of my friends engage in this practice, I can’t put it down. My understanding is that those folks who doorbust think it’s the most normal thing in the world; those of us who wouldn’t be caught dead doing so think they are absolutely nuts.

Talk radio on Friday morning was loaded up with discussion on this phenomenon. Shockingly, the calling audience overwhelmingly felt that doorbusting is actually a rather virtuous practice. That is helps teach kids the value of a hard-earned buck. That those who engage in it exhibit perserverance. Work diligently for what they want. Are willing to sacrifice sleep and comfort in order to get it. Are smart spenders. Exercise good stewardship.

Me? It was a mute point, as I needed to get Nick to the doctor for his weekly check-up. Couldn’t have doorbusted even if I wanted to. And I cannot imagine—even in my wildest dreams—the mere thought. Hate crowds. Hate standing in lines. Hate standing in lines in the cold. Hate giving up my morning coffee ritual. Wouldn’t dream of leaving my warm bed in the pre-dawn cold and dark.

I admit, however, to once again feeling overwhelmed by my long shopping list for Christmas and would love—as my doorbusting friends can now boast about—having it nearly finished. Gifts bought, wrapped and ready to ship. I face frustration once again as I contemplate how to most graciously allow the true spirit of Christmas to enter my family’s reality while meeting all of the season’s demands. Of heeding my pastor’s advice in this week’s sermon: “We are not to avoid the Holiday rush. We are to avoid rushing the Holiday.”

Every year, at about this time, I make my gift list, review those of the past few years, and resolve to be more clever, more thoughtful and more efficient. Every year, at about this time, I under-budget the three most important factors—time, money and energy—for getting my act together. And every year, at about this time. I submit to some of the inevitable: mall-shopping, post-office waiting and last-minute ordering. I resolve—year after year after year—to “be better.” And yet, to keep my eye on the ball. To remember that this season of Advent is to help us move closer to the Christ child. To deepen our relationship with Him.

So where does that fit in? Where, amongst the parties and the pageants, the cookies and the cards, does the message of Christmas weave itself into the fabric of these next four weeks? How does one remain true to the message and yet live in consistency with cultural expectations? Gift-giving is one of the mainstays of the Holidays. And yet it exacts an emotional, financial and physical toll. Whether we like it or not.

For whatever they’re worth, these are my guideposts for preparing for and celebrating the Holidays with vigor and verve:

Think natural. There’s just something about natural beauty. In faces, fashion and home decorating. Friends this year will get gifts from the outdoors or from my local garden center: flowers, bulbs, topiaries. Clay pots, sphagnum moss and all. No gloss. No shine. Simple.

Think small. It never fails: just when I think I’ve outsmarted the system and have figured out perfectly well the exact postage for my smaller packages, I wind up making three or four long trips to the post office with a half a dozen boxes in my arms each and every time. This year, I’m thinking small and lightweight. Gifts that can be easily stuffed into small padded envelopes. With pre-determined, pre-affixed stamps. Stationery, note cards, writing tablets. Jewelry. Smart.

Think homebaked. I adore receiving homemade cookies, as I almost never bake in my own home. (Not my thing.) And so I assume that others love receiving them as much as I do. I never forget our family’s time-honored hands-down best Christmas cookie: Ritz-cracker-peanut-butter-sandwiches-dipped-in-dark-or-white-chocolate. Packaged in pretty tins or boxes, they remain a perennial favorite, and will find their way onto my kitchen counter as well as into a few brown packages this year as they do every year. Easy.

Think handmade. I always think that this Christmas will be different: that I’ll paint large quantities of miniature canvases in oils, hook multitudes of stockings out of hand-dyed wool, decoupage glass plates for all of my neighbors, or needlepoint belts for all four of our kids….and then life gets in the way. Amidst the hustle and the bustle, I invariably wind up at my favorite local merchant, filling his counter with a dozen or so of my favorite things, and giving said item to each and every one of my girlfriends—whether she likes it or not. Not necessarily the most thoughtful approach, but certainly one of the most expedient. But if I can time it just right, I’ll be tinkering in my studio this year, trying to create something out of my heart. Using my own hands and investing time more than any other ingredient. Honest.

I admit: this approach only works for the grown-up set. Girlfriends are amongst the most appreciative set I know. But as for all the little tykes on your list: give it up. You’ll find yourself at more toy stores than you ever thought possible, searching for talking dolls, action-packed video games, new bikes and glow-in-the-dark balls. And you’ll spend way more of those special three—time, money and energy—than you ever planned. As for those teens on your list? My own daughter is so hoping for Juicy Couture and I am so hoping that they’re all sold out. Malls and madness. Yuck. The mere thought exhausts me.

If only I had doorbusted.

Happy week!

Carolina

A Nick Note

Nick is handling the maintenance part of his chemo protocol extremely well. The highlight of his week was visiting with his many friends who came home for Thanksgiving. It was wonderful seeing him so animated….

A Quick Note

If you live in my area and missed the Official Launch of the Rocket Mom Society but would like to come and learn more about it, please send me an email and I’ll send you an invite to a Christmas party at my house.

Abundant Blessings

2005-11-21T08:55:00.000-08:00

“And Jabez called on the God of Israel saying, “Oh, that you would bless me indeed, and enlarge my territory, that Your hand would be with me, and that you would keep me from evil, that I may not cause pain.” So God granted him what he requested. 1 Chronicles 4:9-10

I was feeling a little blue last week. Out of sorts. I had a funny sensation all week. Couldn’t really put my finger on it. I was feeling uncomfortable in my own skin. An uncommon feeling for me and one that I haven’t experienced since I can remember. I came to the conclusion that it was because I was entering unchartered territory in getting this Rocket Mom Society officially launched. That even though I see the need, feel the need and am eager to respond to the need, that others would not necessarily catch my vision. That to get it up and running was too much work. That I was unqualified. Technologically retarded. Feeling a tad bit sorry for myself—no, feeling sorry isn’t quite right—um, maybe feeling that I had over-stretched my personal limitations. Yes, that’s it: stretched too much. Reached too far. Dreamed too big. And my emotions hadn’t yet caught up with my brain.

I needed perspective, but far more, I needed wisdom. I needed to read that going out on a limb produces anxiety. That these feelings were normal. That I wasn’t nuts. That it was okay to ask for blessings. For reassurances. That praying for enlarged territory was not only “allowable,” but it was part of God’s design on my life.

I curled up on my living room sofa with one of my favorite books: Bruce Wilkinson’s The Prayer of Jabez. Having read and re-read it many times, I needed to re-read it now and capture, once again, the wisdom contained in its few pages.

Growing up as one of those Christians who believed it would be greedy of me to ask for even more of God’s blessings when I enjoy so much to begin with, I had a hard time with the concept that it was not only okay to ask for more, but that it was what God wants from me. For starters, I had an incorrect understanding of the word “blessing.” I had, of course, heard the word, seen the word. Hundreds if not thousands of times before. But we use it incorrectly. And it leads to misunderstanding. As Wilkinson discusses, we say “Bless you” after someone sneezes. We casually tell people we wish them blessings. We bless the food, bless the turkey, bless the pumpkin pie.

But “to bless in the Biblical sense means to ask for or to impart supernatural favor.” (1) When I ask for God’s blessings, I’m not asking for more of what I could get, or more of what I could accomplish or more of what I believe I deserve! I’m asking for God to impart to me—through His supernatural power—something which I could not attain by my own.

In Wilkinson’s book, we see that Jabez left everything up to God: how he should be blessed, what blessings would befall him and how he would receive them.

It met me exactly in the moment in which I needed it. (I love when that happens...) I was able to finish the book, pull myself up off the sofa (after a nice little nap) and bounce through the weekend with renewed energy and enthusiasm. I had a simple prayer: “Lord, show Yourself powerfully. Show me that You are here. All around me. Working everywhere. Even in my loneliness and my fear.”

And funny little things happened all weekend long. I got emails from friends with whom I hadn’t conversed in weeks. Phonemails, too. Kind gestures were bestowed on me…catching me totally off-guard. Like when I offered to watch a complete stranger’s little girl in the outside lobby at the Cheesecake Factory so the mom could check on the estimated length of her wait, only to receive during dinner some food sent over by her as a way of saying “Thank you.” Several more small, seemingly insignificant acts of kindness occurred over the next couple days, giving me very much a sense of God’s presence. Of His working everywhere.

As we prepare to celebrate Thanksgiving, I would ask you to give special consideration to the word “blessing.” It is not meant to be taken lightly. It is a word which we raise up to our Creator in prayer. With humility. We ask for showers of blessings in order to further glorify God. Praying for God’s desires to be met. Not ours. We pray without ego. Or competitive ambition. But just to better walk these days in service to Him and to our fellow man.

My Thanksgiving prayer is that you would receive supernatural blessings in order to live more fully God’s design on your life. That He would abundantly bless you so that all of the things that He desires in the world would be met through each one of us bold enough to ask for our place in it. That however God wants to use you to fulfill His goals, you would be up for the challenge. And that it would be crystal clear, that it will not be by your works—or by mine—that His will be fulfilled. For as Scripture teaches: “The Lord’s blessing is our greatest wealth; all our work adds nothing to it.” (Proverbs 10:22) I hope you use some of the “downtime” of the holiday weekend to prayerfully submit yourself to God’s work in this world. To be fully open of how and where you might fit into the eternal drama. That your heart would be pricked in such a way that you would be open to the miracles which God wants to do through your life.

May God’s richest blessings come to you, on Thanksgiving Day and everyday!

Carolina

NOTE:
Wilkinson, Bruce, The Prayer of Jabez, Multnomah Publishers, Sisters, p.23.

A Nick Note

Nick and Ernie spent four full days in Atlanta, this being the first time in over a year that he received doctor’s orders to go so far away from home. They relaxed together, had some nice meals together, and attended the Georgia-Kentucky game as well as the Falcons-Tampa Bay game. We’re most thankful this Thanksgiving for Nick’s health, for his increased energy and stamina, and for his very bright prognosis and future. I continue to pray Jeremiah 29:11 for him: “I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.” I would covet your continued prayers for Nick, and encourage you to pray this simple prayer for blessings on your own loved ones.

A Rocket Mom Society Note

The RMS officially launched to a small gathering of women on Thursday night in my living room. Healthy, lively discussion followed the laying out of my vision. While I’m taking all comments to task, I am proceeding with its development and am committed to trying to meet the needs as I see them, feel them and understand them.

As I look around and try to digest not only what I’m learning from my own nearly twenty years into parenting, but also from what I’m learning as I share this journey with you, I realize that even though our navigation systems may have constructed different charts, we’re all in the same proverbial boat. As an international sisterhood, we admit that we face a universal search for wisdom and that our everyday challenges are strikingly similar. We all want to know how to cope with the terrible two’s as well as how to keep our girls looking wholesome in the age of Madonna and Britney. We all want to know how to keep on top of technology’s increasing role in our kids’ lives in the age of online pornography and internet predators. We all want to know how to preserve our family relationships in the age where business moves at the speed of thought. How to prevent the cultural divide from swallowing us all up. Or how to meet the firestorm of pop culture effectively when our arsenal seems to have the power of a squirt gun.

We acknowledge that as cradle-rockers and vision-casters, we possess the unique privilege of shaping the world. And together, we can try to do just that. But there are structural challenges—bureacratic practicalities, in a sense—that must be met in order to fulfill this goal. My hope is that via downloadable documents, audio streams and video clips, I will be able to reach those of you who are interested in joining this potentially international sisterhood society but who are unable to meet me in my own home. Please give me some more time to work on the online infrastructure so that I’ll be able to best serve you. In the meantime, if you’re interested in more details, please send me an email. I’m keeping a list……

Launch of the Rocket Mom Society

2005-11-14T09:08:00.000-08:00

Never before have the issues of parenting been more critical. I believe that it’s more than my increased consciousness due to having three teenagers in our house, or that because I read and write about parenting issues all day long I am more in-tune with everyday issues and dilemmas. I feel—in my bones—the pervasive pop cultural erosion of those things I hold most dear. I see floundering parents fixated on Super Nanny and teen girls fixated on Vogue.

How do you elevate the moral consciousness of your family? How do you raise morally responsible teens? What values should I be pro-actively instilling in my kids? When and how do I start? Are there specific steps I can be taking? Clever strategies to get our family on the right path?

If you believe that moms need a voice, that we need to seek solutions to our most pressing problems, and that—together—we can band together in our journey, then I hope you will consider joining the newly forming ROCKET MOM SOCIETY. Launching this Thursday in Ridgefield, CT (USA), I hope to “encourage, equip and empower moms for excellence.” If you have not received an invitation but would like to join us in our launch party, please email me directly at: emomrx@yahoo.com. With the infrastructure almost in place, I am hopeful that registration can begin on Friday. Please watch for an email message notifying you of the signup link. While none of us can claim to know all of the answers, we can claim to at least asking most of the right questions. This will be the goal of all members of the ROCKET MOM SOCIETY. Stay tuned.

It Only Takes a Spark

2005-11-07T09:24:00.000-08:00

"The purpose of human life is to serve, and to show compassion
and the will to help others." Albert Schweitzer

It Only Takes a Spark

To get a fire going. Ahhh! We know that only too well. One poorly-timed word, sideways glance or accusatory question to a teenager….and sparks go flying. Before you know it, voices start running up an octave or two, muscles start tensing and words start spewing forth for the impending, unavoidable flare-up. A veritable bonfire could be in the works before you know it! Ha! No one ever told you this parenting thing would be easy. Call for such stamina, nerves of steel and worn-out knees.

On the flip side, it only takes the spark of one individual, one heroic voice, one visionary or one touched by social injustice, personal tragedy or immeasurable suffering to try to set the world right again.

Such was my experience Saturday morning, when I traded in leisure time on a perfect-postcard New England fall day to attend a mandatory training session for the Make-A-Wish Foundation. Having been personally touched by childhood cancer, I wanted to become actively involved in this top-notch organization as a goodwill ambassador. Not only because they would be granting a wish to our family, but because I believe that my testimony could prove encouraging to others facing similar circumstances.

The Make-A-Wish Foundation has the system figured out: rules, regulations, security background checks...and they do an excellent job of acquainting their volunteers with the basics before getting truly started. They also do a wonderful job of reminding you why you signed up in the first place. Video clips of children as they are receiving their wish-—along with film of the selfless acts of devoted volunteers in shaping the wish to its fullest potential-—bring that lump-to-the-throat experience that could hardly find expression anywhere else. Dressing up in hulas to deliver a wish for a Hawaiian trip, or as Spiderman so that a little boy could be “Beetle Boy” for a day and save the city of Pittsburgh from the evil Green Goblin...all served as powerful reminders of fulfilling Make-A-Wish’s vision of “bringing hope, strength and joy” to children around the world.

The foundation got its start after a family lost their own son to leukemia. The mother, so moved by the local police force which granted a wish to her son just a week before he passed away, inspired her to found a program which would exert that same power over countless other children facing life-threatening illnesses around the world. Her singular joy in watching her son receive his wish sparked the fire which would spread around the globe.

Around the world people are following that still quiet voice which inspires them to jump out of their comfort zone and into the arena of hunger and hurt, poverty and pain, illness and illiteracy. Folks like Roberto Perez, international leader of Alfalit—-a literacy group that our family is involved with-—who retired from his career as a social worker in order to advance the cause of literacy throughout Spanish and Portuguese-speaking countries of the world; or of James and Carolyn Loftin, who felt the pull to meet the spiritual needs of the people of China, and founded the Follow One International organization, leaving family, friends and personal comfort behind. There are thousands of others. All felt tugs on their heartstrings to enlarge their circle of concern and stepped out onto the world stage of need.

Most visionaries have suffered inordinate personal suffering. Not witnessed it secondhand. Not read about it. Or heard about it. But experienced it. It seems to go with the territory. A rose isn’t beautiful without its thorns, after all. It is the suffering, really, which serves most often as the springboard for profound change and energetic movement to goodwill on a massive scale.

Pricked by cultural contradictions-—as well as the current intersection of media attention and personal anxiety (ever watched even one episode of Desperate Housewives?)-—the time is ripe for the launch of the Rocket Mom Society. In no way comparing it—-or my vision-—to some of the aforementioned luminaries, the need for an international sisterhood is both real and pervasive. Too many parenting seminars, newsletters and media interviews have found me responding to too many attendees with the deer-in-the-headlights-look too deeply etched onto their faces to understand just how real the need truly is. Young moms, especially, lack role models…not to mention a clearly-detailed instruction manual for each one of their kids. With their own moms living hundreds of miles away, few neighborhood moms showing them the ropes, and pop culture stealing commonly-held notions from the best-intentioned of us; this motherhood experience has left many of us feeling hopeless, hapless and helpless. It’s time to put back some good old-fashioned unapologetic optimism back into the parenting equation.

At the risk of sounding holier-than-thou or like the-know-it-all-you-love-to-hate, I will be launching the Rocket Mom Society on November 17. I welcome your support! As a potentially international sisterhood of like-minded moms, our goal will be to “encourage and equip moms for excellence.” Like others who have come before me with a vision, my heart has been pricked, and I need to move forward. Faced, too, with inordinate personal tragedy in my own life, it will serve as a springboard to helping others. Please email me if you live outside the Fairfield County, Connecticut (Westchester County, New York) area. If you live nearby, you are invited to the launch with a simple email for the asking.

The late arrival of this week’s newsletter into your inbox is a reminder that, when push comes to shove, my own kids and husband come first. A need on my own home front will always supersede a need anywhere else. But hopefully, I’ll be able to serve my own family well, while simultaneously enlarge the circle into which I feel especially drawn. I hope you consider becoming a card-carrying member, too. Details will be forthcoming and are also available by sending me an email. I will continue with my weekly newsletters, but I will also move full throttle developing countless hands-on strategies for those I feel called to help. It only takes a spark, and I hope that you’ll add to my fire.

Blessings,

Carolina

A Nick Note

Nick started the maintenance phase of his chemo protocol on Friday. After four halted attempts, he endured two procedures which got the ball rolling. He should expect to feel much better than he has in a year. Though not yet back to his highest energy level, he’s playing tennis, eating well and looks terrific. His hair is even coming back...more and more each day. It was especially heartwarming to read the dozens of emails which poured forth this morning with combined fear for his health and well-being. Again, my apologies for giving you such a fright! But I feel covered in prayer for my whole family, and for that I am extremely grateful.

A Quick Note

Two exciting media opportunities are moving forward. They will help move the ROCKET MOM message to a wider audience and are, indeed, a good thing. I’d love prayer for increased energy and stamina!

A ROCKET MOM SOCIETY Note

I’m working on the infrastructure for the new ROCKET MOM SOCIETY. It should be up and running by launch time. To help those living far and away (like a new rocket mom in Nigeria), I need a system for keeping all of you in close contact above and beyond this newsletter. Details next week about how to sign up!

Standing on Tall Shoulders

2005-10-31T18:25:00.000-08:00

"That best portion of a good man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love." William Wordsworth

All Saints Day comes once a year to remind us of the tall shoulders upon which we stand.

The day seems long-forgotten, what with jack-o-lanterns in every window, skeletons hanging on nearby trees, and witches and monsters hiding in the shadows. Costumes have been hand-sewn or purchased, and super-sized bags of candy have been dispensed into baskets, ready for the doorbell ringing trick-or-treaters to devour.

Halloween, per se, has never been my favorite holiday. I’m just not a huge fan of spooky, dark, morose things of any kind. I don’t read horror books. Don’t see scary movies. Hate any hint of evil. Even seeing monsters and make-believe Frankensteins gives me the heevie-jeevies. Halloween—-as we know it anyway—-is a uniquely American, post-1930’s phenomenon. The pre-Christian Celtics used the day to celebrate the official end of summer; early Christians to remember the recently departed, faithful servants or saints (hence, All Saints Day). Its earlier folklore even used the practice of knocking on doors to collect monies for relief of poverty or for overseas missions, presumably to reinforce the saintlike behavior of those who had come before them.

I suppose it’s one thing to celebrate folk rituals. Folklore must go on, after all. And celebrating folklore—-I admit-—is downright fun. It activates the creative juices. And I guess one could argue that designing a kid’s costume-—or those for an entire family-—is one of the most creative endeavors of the season. But its huge secular influence-—witches and black cats, Frankensteins and monsters, ghosts and goblins, gruesome masks and fake blood-—is enough to make me want to stay home by myself and watch reruns of Mayberry RFD.

And did I mention the mischief-—or downright vandalism-—that goes on during Halloween night? Smashing pumpkins, a lovely little ritual that my own husband confessed to our kids over dinner to having taken part in (and for which he felt guilt at the time), seems mild in light of some of the stuff my teen son has witnessed (firsthand, unfortunately). Soaping windows and “t-p-ing” a house might seem like good ole-fashioned fun, but yuck: have you ever tried to clean up after being soaped or t-p-ed?

I’m going to try—-as best I can (I still have kids little enough to once again enjoy or endure the trick-or-treat ritual, depending on how I think about it)-—to celebrate the holiday by spending some time thinking about some of the wonderful folks whose lives crossed mine but who are no longer among us. On whose tall shoulders I stand. Denise was a saint who faithfully prayed for Nick each and every Sunday, even though she was dealing with an aggressive cancer herself, which ultimately took her life a few months ago. Chantal, though ten years old at the time of her death last month, taught me many lessons about life, even though she lived only a fraction of the time that I have. I’ll spend some time not only jotting down the names of recently departed saints; I’ll meditate on the lessons they taught by their everyday lives. Simple. Uncomplicated lessons. Lessons of hospitality. Or faithfulness.

And I’ll look around at those saints who still cross my daily path. Real, live modern-day saints. Like the kind older lady who helps me fill my prescriptions at my local pharmacy; she hugs me every time I go in for a refill for one of Nick’s drugs. And Nora, who works part-time there, yet remembers to send me emails of encouragement, as she faces battles and fears of her own. And Wellington, who fills up my gas tank-—as well as my emotional tank-—every time I pull into the station. He never fails to ask about Nick, and promises to keep him in daily prayer. Elmer, the restaurant owner; Ron, my pet food supplier; and Matt, my photo copy guy. Unlikely saints moving and living in my circle. Just doing regular, un-glamorous jobs. Yet bringing saintlike movements and wisdom into my everyday, workaday world.

So scoop out the pumpkins seeds and carve jack-o-lanterns. Bob for apples and bang on doors demanding candy. Keep up the secular if it brings you and your little ones some joy. But don’t forget the spiritual aspect of the day, too. All of us stand on tall shoulders. We wouldn’t be the people we are, where we are, if spiritual giants hadn’t come before us. I hope you take some time out today-—whether it’s while you’re walking your kids down the dark streets in search of chocolate and a trick or two, or whether it’s during a long, contemplative cup of hot tea—-to gratefully remember both the saints who came before us and those who live among us. Aspiring to be a little more saintlike is a good thing. What can you—-and I—-do towards that end?

Blessings,

Carolina

A Nick Note

Nick and I will be heading to the doctor’s office Monday morning to get a check on his “counts.” Hopefully, they’ll be high enough to start the maintenance phase of his protocol. If so, he’ll get a spinal tap, a bone marrow aspiration, and a handful of chemo drugs. That’ll be the worst of it for the month; most of his treatment will be oral meds, with a weekly finger-stick thrown in for good measure. He’s feeling much stronger and is really looking forward to getting this next—-and final-—phase of the three-pronged protocol underway. As always, we covet your prayers for his complete and total healing.

A Quick Note

The official launch of the ROCKET MOM SOCIETY will take place in Ridgefield, CT on Thursday, November 17th. If you live in the area and would like an invitation to become a charter member, please send an email to: emomrx@yahoo.com. Or call me! 203.438.7164. Details are almost complete and will follow next week. This is going to be TMF!!! *

A Fun Note

One of the biggest kicks I get from being a writer and speaker is talking to groups of young moms. I’ll have that distinct pleasure on Thursday evening, November 10 . Are you a member of a group looking for some good parenting advice? Great discussion? Fun and fellowship? Need a keynote? Hosting a birthday party and want to do some fun “mommy games”? Ever come to my “What Color is Your Purse” seminar? TMF. Give me a call. I’d love to come and meet your club or group, too. 203.438.7164.

Another new little venture: local cable TV. I’m in the process of starting a community access ROCKET MOM TV show. Details to follow.

Ahhh. Life is settling back into a more normal routine. I am so grateful….

Finish Lines

2005-10-24T14:19:00.000-07:00

"Nothing will sustain you more potently than the power to
recognize in your humdrum routine, as perhaps it may be thought,
the true poetry of life." Sir William Osler

Finish lines. We’ve all crossed them. Going through nine months of pregnancy to cross the finish line into labor. Enduring long, painful labor to cross the finish line into delivering a newborn babe. Pulling our hair out during the “terrible two’s” to cross the finish line of the third candle in the birthday cake. Discovering that the three’s have a life of their own, to cross the finish line into the four’s. Gliding through the golden ages of five, six and seven to cross the finish line of early childhood, only to turn around and realize that you’re smack in the middle of adolescence. Crossing the finish line with a new driver in the house. Followed by the finish line of high school graduation. Then College. Your wedding day.

Life is full of them.

When Nick was initially diagnosed with leukemia, I remember thinking: “If only we can get through the torturous three-year protocol. Then we’ll be fine. We’ll have crossed the finish line.” And then the words of my minister, who came to visit during that first Yale Hospital stay, lingered: “Don’t forget that life happens in the middle.” With both eyes firmly fixed on the finish line, it was easy to see that I might be missing out on everything else that was happening meanwhile. In the middle.

Funny. It seems that we measure life not only by how many finish lines we cross, but by how quickly—-or fully-—we cross them. The crossing of a finish line into the next corporate promotion is measured by level bumps, salary increases and stock options. Measured in fullness. The finish line of early education might be measured in swiftness of reading, of comprehension and vocabulary. Measured in speed.

I’m as guilty as the next person in quantifying and validating my existence by easily measured finish lines: everything from my placement on Amazon’s sales lists to the number of attendees at a seminar to how many articles I’m able to write in a month; they all add--or subtract from-—my “success.”

And I see it all around me in motherhood: moms comparing progress in their children to those of their peers, teachers juxtaposing child against child with grades and easily quantifiable data. IQ tests and achievement tests ranking one child higher than another. College acceptance letters to your first choice going to someone other than your own kid.

Nick crossed a finish line this week by completing prong #2 of a three-pronged protocol in his treatment for leukemia. He crossed the finish line of prong #1 (a 28-day treatment to get him into remission) only to begin a brutal one-year intensification phase of the chemo program. He crossed that finish line-—prong #2--on Friday. But it is rather short-lived: he’ll begin prong #3 next week and chart a year-and-a-half course until he crosses the next finish line. At that point, he’ll still have a couple of years to go until he crosses that “magical” finish line of the “five-year mark” before he is declared officially “cured.”

If we stay completely focused on the strength, speed or fullness with which we cross finish lines, we miss out on most of the good stuff. We miss out on what happens in the middle: life. I need to constantly remind myself that while Nick is running towards the finish line of complete and total healing, that his three siblings are fully engaged in living. That his dad still works a job and mom still tidies up the house, feeds the dog, washes the dirty laundry, and deals with groceries and dinner. That community service gets attention; gifts get wrapped; letters get written and times tables get memorized. That life happens while we’re waiting to cross finish lines.

I hope you spend some time this week thinking about your own finish lines. Be it getting through the next few months and crossing the finish line of Christmas, or watching your senior fill our college applications to cross the finish line into acceptance; life holds one for you in one form or another. Just don’t get so caught up in the “line” that you forget the daily interactions, the easily dispensable conversations or the quickly dismissed moments that happen in between. Don’t forget that the best of life happens between the finish lines.

Blessings,

Carolina

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A Nick Note

As mentioned, Nick crossed the finish line of prong #2 and will
soon begin the third prong of a three-pronged treatment for
leukemia. He'll get a blood transfusion today, and, because his
counts are so low, get a one-week break before beginning the
maintenance part of the protocol. Finish line #2 crossed, he is
getting his sights set on Wake Forest University, where he will
begin as a college freshman in January. He'll look at the next
two months as much-needed time to regain both strength and
perspective.

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A Fun Note

The Rocket Mom Society will officially launch in Ridgefield,
Connecticut on November 17th! Sensing that the time is ripe to
begin a potentially international sisterhood society, we will
launch at a private party in my own hometown. If you live in or
near Ridgefield and would like to receive an invitation to join
as a "charter member," please email me ASAP: emomrx@yahoo.com.
Guidelines and details forthcoming! Full court press planned,
including the upcoming interview on the TV program, "Moms Gone
Mad," on Tuesday, the 25th.

Too young and vibrant for the Red Hat Society but yearning for
all of that fellowship and fun? Forgetaboutit. Join the Rocket
Mom Society by emailing or calling me today!!! emomrx@yahoo.com
or 203 438-7164.

The Brook's Song

2005-10-17T05:00:00.000-07:00

Today’s Quote: “The brook would lose its song if the rocks were taken away.” Elizabeth Kellogg

Avi Salzman, in Sunday’s New York Times, describes Autumn in New England arriving “like a prom queen, draped in boastful reds, yellows and rusty browns, perfumed with wood smoke.”

I had the privilege this weekend of chaperoning 40-something musicians in the Ridgefield Symphony Youth Orchestra to a large retreat center in the Catskill Mountains of New York. Not exactly New England. But close enough.

The fall foliage was splendid, and daily walks through nature trails and around the on-site lake were nothing short of spectacular. What with the bite of the crisp fall air filling my lungs, an on-again off-again drizzle wetting my cheeks, and the occasional aroma of a leftover nighttime camp fire arousing my own childhood camp memories, it would be hard to miss nature’s extravagant call.

I didn’t notice the plaque on the wall of our quintessentially-campy cabin until this morning, when I went back to clean up after the twenty gals sharing my quarters. With sleeping bags and luggage safely tucked into another cabin for pick-up, I was sent up to perform one last bunk-check. Lifting up skimpy mattresses to look for lost clothing, pulling back shower curtains to check for forgotten toiletries, collecting garbage to lighten the housekeeper’s load, and turning down both lights and thermostats, I happened to glance up at the back wall as I was tying the final plastic garbage liner. The plaque commemorated the completion of the lodge which bears Ms. Kellogg’s name. It was shortly after reading her selected quote: “the brook would lose its song if the rocks were taken away” that I began my morning walk around the lake. For the first time all weekend, I noticed the brooks. It was one babbling brook after another, each singing its own song. And even though each day had brought a nature hike or two-—walking right past these brooks each and every time-—I had not heard their songs before.

I confess to taking nature for granted. We live-—my family and I-—in the middle of a large wooded lot, which is surrounded by a fifty acre nature preserve. Wildlife abounds: deer, wild turkey, rabbits, and fox are familiar creatures sharing our everyday space. I try to remember how fortunate I am, being able to view the raw beauty of nature each and every day. To drive down a long and windy driveway with an abundance of trees, wildflowers and yes, babbling brooks. Yet I don’t. And so traveling to yet another beautiful mountaintop retreat-—to co-habit with nature-—was, I admit, a splendid, though not particularly unique experience. I deliberately took in the beauty of the changing leaves (and it was especially beautiful); I deliberately used my free time each day for nature hikes (and they were certainly special); and I deliberately lingered at the evening campfire (sans s’mores) to be especially sure that the smell and the smoke of it would stick to my memory for one full year, until I could recapture the experience once again.

But it was the words on that plaque that most struck me. That especially gave me pause. Wondering what kind of “rocks” had filled Ms. Kellogg’s path. Pondering why they-—among any words or quotes she could have possibly chosen-—had inspired her. Why she chose these words to immortalize the dedication. Questioning if it were, indeed, the “rocks” in her life that fortified her to move forward, that gave her wisdom, or that taught her lessons she would otherwise have never learned, that allowed her to be where she found herself on the day in which a building was dedicated to her.

And so I took my walk around the lake, stopping for the first time to listen to the song of the brooks. To forget about having a cardio-workout or making good time. To just stop when I got to a brook and listen to its song. I noticed for the first time the abundance of rocks lining each brook’s formation. And realized that-—rock-free-—each would simply be a mere silent stream of water.

Perhaps I would not have noticed the plaque in any other year. “Rocks” would not have had the significance that they have for me today. No. Reading the plaque was serendipitous to be sure. It helped me realize that people who have something significant to offer to the world have walked a rock-studded path. That silent streams of water might be beautiful in and of themselves, but that they cannot offer a beautiful song. That the brook’s song is sweeter. Because of the rocks.

The serenity of my morning nature walks provided me with much-needed perspective. They helped to balance me. With no sound other than the wind rushing through the rapidly-changing fall leaves, the light rain hitting the ground, or the melodious song of the brooks: I came to the quiet resignation that rocks are a good thing. And that man—-throughout time-—has acknowledged the same. It was the whole into-every-life-a-little-rain-must-fall-no-one-ever-promised you-a-rose-garden thing. But out in nature-—in the middle of the Catskills-—I accepted it with peace. Not taking away from the glorious music which 40-something young musicians were producing inside a campy retreat center, it was the song of the brook that rang more majestic than ever.

I hope that this fall brings you time to retreat into solitude, too. That be it into nature or into a friend’s home; into travel to a faraway place or into the down-filled cushions of your living room sofa: that you are able to make time for solitude. For wisdom and soul-searching and decision-making and finding life’s meaning come not in the busyness and rush of everyday life, but in the moments captured in silence and solitude. In hearing the song of the brook.

A Nick Note

Nick has three more chemo sessions scheduled for this week and
will then complete his year of intensification in his treatment
for leukemia. Hopefully, his counts will be high enough after
the end of the week to start on the maintenance session of the
protocol; a more likely scenario is that he'll need a one to
two-week break before the next phase. His spirits are great and,
despite being neutropenic, he has stayed healthy and fever-free.
Please continue to keep him in your prayers.

2005-10-12T07:43:00.000-07:00

During a visit to Chartres, I had to pose in front of these charming, handpainted shutters. The flower shop inside, was delightful.

2005-10-12T07:40:00.000-07:00

When a walk down a Paris side street revealed a lime green sofa setting smack dab in the middle of the sidewalk, our entourage just HAD to snap a picture of me and my favorite color obsession.