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.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Monday, September 17, 2007
Ruling Your Roost
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
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
Monday, September 10, 2007
Beating the Back-to-School Blues
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
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
Monday, June 04, 2007
The Positive Pact
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!
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!
Monday, May 21, 2007
Renovating the Heart of the Home
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
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
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
It’s What Mom Really Wants for Mother’s Day
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
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
Monday, April 30, 2007
Mirror Mirror Part 2
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
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
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Mirror Mirror on the Wall
“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
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
Monday, April 09, 2007
You Want Me to Do What?
“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.
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.
Monday, April 02, 2007
Defrizzling the Frazzle
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
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
Monday, March 26, 2007
Hello Miss Sunshine!
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
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
Monday, March 19, 2007
No Big Deal
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
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
Monday, March 12, 2007
Happiness Revealed Through Family, Girlfriends…and Chocolate
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
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
Monday, February 26, 2007
Daring to Be You or Why Lime Green is My Black
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.
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.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Playing Hurt
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
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
Monday, January 29, 2007
Nagymama’s Hungarian Chicken Soup for Your Family’s Soul
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
• 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
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Whipping Your House into New Year’s Shape
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
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
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Rocket Mom Takes on Winter Old Wives Tales
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
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
Monday, December 11, 2006
5 Fast Gift Ideas for the Holidays
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
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
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Simplify Simplify Simplify
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
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
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