The Perfect Parent

It has been one week since my previous blog post on early potty training – and what a week it has been! It has been a week of reflection, close observations into human nature, and acceptance.

What do I mean by all this? For those who don’t know what I’m referring to, I’ll bring you up to speed:

Last Saturday evening I enthusiastically recorded the events of my day – a successful day in potty training. The decision to begin so early was perpetuated by a book given to me by a friend. I found it both fascinating and informative. Being drawn to a more organic style of living, I knew at once that I had stumbled upon a gem. A gem I was eager to share as the perfect choice for my family.

Though most comments to my post were quite positive and supportive of my unconventional choice there were some remarks and reactions that have led me to clarify. My post was written to inform on a method of potty training that was unknown to me until recently. I was excited to share my journey, particularly since the route I’m taking this time is so different than the conventional method I used with Blake. (Both are equally valid choices but I have now found one that allows me to be truer to my beliefs and parenting style.) In sharing this journey and giving a synopsis of the book, I never for one moment intended to offend anyone by my choice. I sincerely apologize to anyone offended by the information provided or the manner in which it was presented.

I respect others opinions and believe we all should make the best choice for our children. I celebrate mothers making their choices confidently, knowing that they are doing what is best for their child! Am I confident in the choices I make? Yes. I make them quite carefully. I realize that they will forever impact my children’s lives and I don’t make them flippantly (even the little ones.) Every choice I make is part of my journey through motherhood. There is an amount of trial and error involved. There is research involved (be that seeking information from books, medical journals, other customs, or advice from mothers I admire.) But ultimately, it’s about glorifying God with our choices as we seek to raise these precious gifts from Him.

Am I the perfect parent? Ha…no.

But I know one. My Heavenly Father provides the only example of a perfect parent.

God knows us intimately. Better than we even know ourselves. He knows what we need and he provides it in His perfect timing. Moms seem to have been gifted with a similar sense in raising their children. I know my son. I know his body’s habits and his personality. I was quite certain that he would respond well to this style of potty training. And I am happy to share that he has!

This week I have reached a place of acceptance. I fully accept that my opinion and decisions are different from many moms I know. And in being different, it may cause others to feel uncomfortable. Even though that is not my intent, I accept that. I realize that hearing about an 8 month old going potty might bother some people and that’s okay. But know this, even if my opinion could not be further from yours it does not mean I consider yours less valid. I can only hope to be offered equal respect.

It is my prayer to parent my children with confidence in my choices and boldly serve God with my life. But I sincerely pray this for all women. As women, we each have so many gifts, wisdom, and expertise to offer each other. Imagine what it would be like to share our choices openly, accept each other, mentor each other, lift one another up, and celebrate together through this journey of motherhood. I don’t think I could imagine anything better.

Colossians 3:15 “Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace…”

Early Potty Training: Myth or MARVELOUS?

Potty Training.

The words alone cause anxiety in many moms I know. When to potty train? What "signs" to look for? To reward or not to reward? To purchase the singing potty, throw confetti every time your kid pees, shower them with candy, stickers, ....or not?

It seems like moms today feel more pressure than ever to "keep up" with each other. There's the need to have kids in the right schools, the right activities, and of course...potty trained by an "acceptable" age. It amazes me that our ability to get a child to use the bathroom can affect how we think of ourselves or our ability as a parent. It shouldn't be that way... but I hear it more and more often. "Why is potty training so hard?" "They don't seem interested." "What should I do?!"

In the back of my mind I think I realized it surely wasn't always this way. I wondered if my mother went through the same theatrics. I can't imagine my grandmother letting my dad aim at cheerios to pee. And, yet, I didn't know anyone doing anything different...so what was I to do?

With my first child I approached potty training the way I thought I was supposed to. I looked for signs of interest (which began with Blake very early.) At twelve months I began occasionally putting her on the potty to poop because she seemed happier that way but I had no intention of starting "real" potty training until 18 months...because I hadn't heard of starting any earlier.

We moved back to TX when Blake was 16 months old and she began Montessori school at 17 months because I was teaching drama there. The teacher let me know after a day or so that she was very interested in watching the other children go potty. (Most of the kids in her class were already 2.) I thought to myself: should I let her try? What if it backfires on me? No one else is potty training there kid this early...should I? Could I?

I decided to just do it. I purchased a simple non-singing potty and some training pants. (Her teacher was very specific in telling me NO PULL-UPS because they can't feel went they're wet. "It's just like wearing a diaper," she said firmly.) I also made a sticker chart and gave her one M&M each time she pooped (looking back I kick myself for that.) It went great - she was in panties all day by 18 months. I weaned her off the sticker chart and the M&M's after a week or two but for months she still would ask for them...which caused me to think they might not have been the best idea to begin with.

Fast forward a year: Now a mommy of two, a Montessori parent for going on two years, and starting to see other options in potty training that would have seemed crazy to me a year prior.

It began at school (of course!) I saw a friend taking her little boy, quite successfully, to the potty (he was 10 months old.) After a potty training conversation she loaned me the book that opened my eyes to potty training in a much simpler and natural way.

This book is wonderful and I recommend it to anyone even thinking about early potty training. It is working amazingly well with my little Beckett (more on that below) But first, the book:

"Diaper Free Before 3: The Healthier Way To Potty Train and Help Your Child Out of Diapers Sooner" (Yes, it's a very long title.) By: Jill M. Lekovic, M.D.

Dr. Lekovic analyzes the history of potty training and looks at potty training in other cultures in comparison to what most of America practices today...it was FASCINATING! This board certified pediatrician and mother of three proclaims boldly in the first page of the book that babies can begin using the potty as early as 6 months. (Crazy, right?!)

Here are some highlights from the book that stuck out in my mind as well as a brief summary of HOW to accomplish this seemingly unbelievable task.

History reveals so many interesting things on the subject of potty training:

According to pamphlets published in the early 1900's if your child was not potty trained by 12 months they were deemed an "idiot to society." (Again, mind boggling.)

In 1914 the United States Children's Bureau published a booklet entitled "Infant Care" which  encouraged mothers to begin bowel training by three months or earlier.

In 1957 the average age to begin potty training was 11 months and nearly 100% were potty trained by 18 months.

...And then the disposable diaper enters the picture. Suddenly the need to get babies out of diapers as soon as possible is no longer really there. It's understandable that when moms were washing out cloth diapers every. single. day. they were ready to invest the time and energy to potty train their child as early as physically possible. But disposable diapers offered them a convenience they had never before experienced and they embraced (I probably would have too!)

In 1962 Dr. Brazelton introduced the "readiness" approach to potty training. The included waiting until 18 months to introduce the potty and waiting for those all-important "signs" that a child is "ready" to be potty trained. In the introduction article to his new findings he states: "Since the advent of streamlined diaper care has liberated mothers in our culture from the real need to 'train' their children early, this step may be viewed more honestly as a major developmental task for the child."

Does anyone else see the problems in this thinking? I realize I'm looking at his discovery 50 years later but it says so much to the general thinking of the time. Women needed to be liberated from the home! From childcare! From breastfeeding! It will be great!

...Yeah, not so much. It was this same patriarchal medical establishment that convinced an entire generation of women that giving their babies formula saved them from the onerous, time-consuming, and unseemly task of breast feeding. Of course, the numerous health benefits to breast feeding are apparent now.

That last wide spread survey was conducted in 2004 and showed that many children were still in diapers and showing no interest in potty training until close to their third birthday. The average age to now be potty trained has pushed back to 3.2 years of age.

I find it interesting. History has made it clear that children can be potty trained much earlier. In fact, in current day in many countries around the world children are still potty trained very early. Children in the U.S. are potty trained much later that any other country in the world.

That amazes me...and it makes me a little sad. Though it is, at the same time, very understandable. We are the only country that can afford to spend $7 billion dollars on disposable diapers each year. Our lifestyles today are also very active; disposable diapers and delayed potty training are convenient. ...Until of course the time comes when you HAVE to potty train and by that time it's a battle of wills. You are dealing with a child that can sing their ABC's, names the colors in a rainbow, and can't go potty. Enter frustrated mommy.

And that's a lot of what I see today - frustrated mommies.

Okay, back to the book...she delves into describing potty training in various cultures (all very interesting), and lists the many health benefits to starting early: earlier socialization, decreased risk of infectious diarrhea and hepatitis A, for urinary system development, healthy bowel habits....just to name a few.

Now the question I know you've been asking yourself...HOW?

In three phases.

1. Introduction: this would ideally begin between 6-9 months. At this point you're not really trying to have them use the potty but to be comfortable with it. Potty time becomes a part of their routine...think of it as another place they sit during the day (much like the high chair.) They could sit there for story time or whatever. If they're not happy then you could distract them with a board book or try again later.

Occasionally, they actually go on the potty. This is when you praise them and smile - the message being "the potty is a good place to be." But no theatrics - because let's be honest - this is something they will be doing for the rest of their lives. It's a natural thing. It's a part of everyone's day...and this method treats it as such.

2. Practice: Ideally between 9 months and 2 years of age. Once they start to use the potty more frequently (which can happen surprisingly quickly!!) you begin to visit the potty more frequently. It is a part of their routine. Their body naturally responds to relieving itself in that position and as the parent you 'schedule' your potty visits to best suit your child. What time of day they usually have a BM, ect. The book suggests visiting the potty after waking, after any feedings, before and after naps, before bathtime, ect.

*This stage takes the most "work" as does anything worthwhile. It is time consuming to plan your day around potty times. Making sure you have access to a potty if you're running errands and you know it's the time of day your little one needs to poop is kind of troublesome....but it's a part of life

The great thing about the chapter on "Practice" is that she gives tons of tips and possible routines to help you figure it out.

3. Good Habits: 12 months-3 years. She reveals that most all children trained with this method are reliably dry by age 2. This section is all about continuing good habits and how to handle the occasional accidents.

Others chapters in the book include Starting Later (if your child is already 2 and you're reading this - don't worry! You can do this too!) Potty Training Children with Special Needs and much more.

After reading the book I felt confident (and just a little bit nervous) about trying it with my 8 1/2 month old son, Beckett. This past Thursday we purchased a Baby Bjorn potty that was lower to the ground for his feet to touch. He sat on it three times Thursday for story time. Nothing happened - but I considered it a successful introduction. He was happy. We clapped and said, "Yay! Potty time!"

I decided to have him sit three times Friday as well: after waking, after lunch, and after his afternoon nap. He peed two of the times. I was ecstatic. I clapped...so then he clapped (I know he wasn't sure why exactly he was clapping but after that point he became visibly excited to sit on the potty with his stack of board books beside him.)

And then today something awesome happened. I started paying closer attention to when he seemed restless or uncomfortable when playing and I would take him promptly to the potty. He pooped twice and peed nine times! His body was responding naturally to being in that position and I was figuring out the intervals at which he needed to relieve himself. (Which turns out to be a LOT at his age!)

Needless to say, we will be continuing with this method!

So, early potty training: myth or marvelous?

My vote is MARVELOUS!

Jesus is in my boat.

The bible study I'm currently in presented me with a challenge a few weeks ago: we were each to take a "Jesus" story and read it several times over the next week or two and look at how it might apply to the current circumstances in our life. Simple enough.

The small group I'm in decided to choose "Jesus calms the storm." (We chose Luke 8 in particular; though this event is documented in Mark 4:35-41 and Matthew 8:18,23-27 as well.)

I wasn't certain what reading this story several times would reveal to me. I'm ashamed to admit I didn't expect much...I mean "Jesus calms the storm" is one of the many stories I'd grown up in church reading and hearing. I was fairly certain that nothing in that particular story would be revolutionary. Well, as often is the case when I think I know everything, God revealed more in these passages than I could have possibly imagined!

Let me walk you through my thoughts/revelations/aha moments in relation to this "simple" story. (I apologize in advance for my tendency to go on tangents and my general unnatural enthusiasm for research.)

I like research, I like school, I like assignments....I know, I'm weird. I approached this 'assignment' with the enthusiasm that I had reserved for my Master's thesis...it's been a really long time since I've had an assignment. And, though I admittedly didn't expect to discover anything new, I was excited for the task, nonetheless.

I began by reading the three passages in which the events are documented and made some notes:
Luke 8:22-25 -
They were in real danger.
Jesus was asleep.
Jesus rebukes the storm but not his disciples.

I feel that the key in this passage is NOT that Jesus calmed the storm but that it reveals his true nature, being both man and God. Man, because he was obviously tired and fell asleep. God, because as the disciples made note, "Who is this? He commands even the winds and the water, and they obey him."

This passage also made me realize how very real their danger must have been. The men in the boat were Jesus' disciples...and who were some of his disciples? Peter, Andrew, James, and John = Fishermen! So if these experienced fishermen, who had spent much of their lives on this very sea were fearful of their lives then it must have been more than a little storm. Their danger was real. Jesus didn't scold them for being silly scaredy cats (can you tell I'm a mommy! ha!) On the contrary, he rebuked the storm but not his friends. He didn't lessen the danger of the storm but called for them to have faith in the face of that danger.

When he asks them, "Where is your faith?" Jesus is not asking them this because they shouldn't have been scared of the storm. He is asking them because he told them from the beginning where they were going, "Let's go over to the other side of the lake."

He knew where they were going. He told them from the start. Their faith is his words wavered in the face of the storm. Jesus revealed his true nature in both his actions that day: falling asleep=man and calming a storm=God.

While I was processing my thoughts on this passage I turned to read Mark 4:35-41 where I got more details on the event.
Mark 4:35-41 -
It was a furious storm.
The boat was nearly swamped. (This is the same use of the word as Luke.)
Jesus was sleeping in the stern on a cushion.
Again, he rebukes the storm.

Being somewhat drawn to research, I may have mentioned this, I began looking up information on boats during this time period. I wanted to see the most common designs...I also wanted to study the location of the stern.  I soon discovered that the stern is the rear of the boat. At this time (and even today) and with the type of boat Jesus was in, this is the location of the steering apparatus. It is the most common location for the captain to be, since the captain is typically in charge of where the boat was going. Aha! Now, it is quite possible that I am reading much more into this than need be. Perhaps the stern was just the best place for Jesus to stretch out for a nap. But maybe, just maybe, the symbolism I see in this passage is completely warranted. Jesus is not only in the boat, he is in the stern...he is in charge in where it is going! He is the captain, so to speak. Wow! What does that say to the disciples? What does that mean to me as I look to Jesus when I encounter storms in my own life? The storms may be real but my God is bigger. The waves may be crashing and I may be swamped but He is in my boat...and more than that, he is steering my boat. Does that give anyone else goosebumps?

Again, my mind is reeling as I turn to the final documentation in the bible of this event:
Matthew 8: 18, 23-27
Again, we see similar vocabulary used to describe this "furious" storm.
Storm came up without warning.

I am reminded again how very real and dangerous this storm must have been (not the rain shower I think I always pictured in Sunday school - my mind has now replaced it with the scene from that movie "The Perfect Storm.")

This passage added that the storm came up without warning. This caught my attention. It is hard to imagine a storm coming up without warning on the sea. Whenever at the beach and a storm is rolling in you can see it from miles off shore. You feel the wind pick up, the sky darkens, you KNOW a storm is rolling in. And yet, this passage clearly states that this storm arose with no warning whatsoever. That is often the case in life, isn't it? Life is going along just hunky dory when something unexpected (and often unwelcome) throws us for a loop. And yet, even then, Jesus knows the destination.

After reading the three passages I had these final realizations:
Within the passages Jesus is called - Master, Teacher, and Lord. (All very appropriate and accurate descriptions.)
And though the disciples recognized him as such and pleaded for his help when the storm nearly capsized their boat they were simultaneously amazed when he provided the help they required. Their faith was only so deep.

How many times have I done the same thing?

God help me! Please! ...Oh, wow...you helped me! You really are God?! You are God!

It humbles me to see so much of myself in this story. To realize that I can frequently be accused of the same thing, "Why are you so afraid?"

Jesus is in my boat.

"The LORD is my light and my salvation--whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life--of whom shall I be afraid?"
Psalm 27:1

What's your passion?

Some passions are innate to us.

I have had a passion for theater for as long as I can remember. I love the art of performing. But I also love educating through theater. I feel confident in my ability to use theater as a tool to both educate and engage students while enriching their lives.  I believe in theater – its’ ability to transform a community, its’ power to enlighten and redefine. I believe my passion for the art form is apparent in my work. I strive in my teaching to foster an appreciation, understanding, and dialogue for the art. The use of applied theater for social change excites me. Yes, theater is a passion of mine.

But, some passions are birthed through experience. I use the word "birthed" quite intentionally because in the last three years childbirth has transformed my life.

Birth is a journey. It is a life changing, transformative experience no matter what "route" one takes. I know this to be true because my birth experiences could not be more different from each other. Each changed my life completely in their own way.

Before Blake was born I had strong opinions about how I wanted my birth to go. I researched and then researched some more. I read books by Ina May and Dr. Sears on natural childbirth. I watched birth videos, hired a doula, watched "The Business of Being Born" (which I highly recommend for anyone who hasn't seen it! It's amazing!), and planned meticulously for the labor I desired. Below is a section from my birth plan with Blake to illustrate the birth we had planned for:

Thank you very much for all you’ve done for us so far and for what you will do in the immediate future!  We are excited for today and very much looking forward to this experience.  We are confident in and grateful for your expert care as we all usher this child into the world.

Because this is such an important event to us, we have put some thought into our goals and priorities, which you will find below.

Goals:  To have a healthy child and a safe delivery for Chelsea, free from all medications unless medically necessary, and with no restricted movements for Chelsea.

To that end, we would like to avoid:

·         All medications, unless the health of the baby or Chelsea necessitates it

·         Artificial induction or augmentation of labor (amniotomy, petocin, etc.)

·         Episiotomy, unless to manage a specific risk

·         Routine IV

·         Continuous fetal heart monitoring

·         Routine exams, unless necessary

·         Forceps, vacuums, etc.

After the baby is born, we would like to be able to establish an immediate bond with it.  We would request that:

·         We breastfeed immediately after birth

·         Bryan cut the cord after the placenta is delivered and the cord stops pulsing

·         Bathing, measurements, testing occurs in the labor and delivery room after the first breastfeeding

·         To be able to room-in, e.g. the baby doesn’t go to the nursery unless necessary

We understand that the above is an ideal scenario and there may be complications that necessitate medical intervention.  We are confident that you will be working in our best interests and we will of course trust your judgment if anything unexpected arises.

This was the birth experience we desired...what we ended up with was ENTIRELY the opposite. After arriving at the hospital I immediately knew that this was NOT the place I wanted to be for the birth that I, personally, desired. I was so confident that I could achieve a natural birth, free from any interventions, in any setting...my naivety did not serve me well. I could write a novel on what happened in the 28 hours that followed (maybe one day I will) but as the doctor came into my room, for yet the 4th time, to tell me they would not allowed me to labor any longer I felt my spirit crush. I felt defeated. And when they wheeled me into the O.R., what had started months before as a "strong opinion" about how I wanted my birth to go, ignited into a passion. My next birth would be different.

And was it ever!! I chose a midwife for my birth with Beckett, one that, in my research, was well known for her success with VBAC patients. I, once again, hired a doula. I found the only hospital in DFW with birthing tubs in the rooms for patients of the midwife practice. Harris Methodist renewed my faith in hospitals. My experience with Beckett healed the scars caused from the snide remarks, eye rolls, and general disrespect for my journey. I love the nurses at Harris more than I can say. When I went to tour prior to the birth they were so accommodating and answered each of the thousand and one questions (poor thing probably felt like she was getting grilled...which she was.)

When Bryan and I arrived at Harris, on the eve of Beckett's birth, after laboring for 10 hours at home I could not have felt more relieved that this was the place we had chosen for our son to be born.

The nurse first said, "Oh, I see you are with the midwives group. Would you like a suite with a birthing tub?"

Me, "pant, pant, Yes, please. pant, pant."

After arriving in the room the nurse continued to offer choices that I had not been offered in my previous experience: Would I like to labor in my own clothes? Would I like to be checked then or later by my midwife? Would I like an IV?

She left the room saying, "Well, let us know if you need anything! We're just gonna let you have this baby."

Hallelujah!

My 29.5 hour labor with Beckett could also be written into a novel...though I doubt many would care to read about the nitty gritty details. I'll sum it up in one word: PROFOUND.

All births are transformative. Without Blake's birth experience I would not have experienced the defeat (please know that I use the word "defeat" losely, as it was my plan that was defeated. God had bigger plans for me that day. I truly feel that he knew I needed a reminder that I am not the one in control. I ended that experience with a sweet healthy baby in my arms, and for that I was so blessed!) that ignited the passion I have today. Beckett's birth was the most tangible experience I have ever had with God. I have never relied on Him so fully, or felt His all-consuming, and over-whelming presence as I did that day! GOD is good and He took me on the journey I had prayed so fervently to experience.

My mind has been set upon birth lately. Two friends have recently experienced wonderful VBAC's. Another just gave birth in the comfort of her home (awesomeness!) My sister-in-law is a couple of weeks from having her first baby. That being said I have pulled out my prayer journal from Beckett's birth and reread it probably a dozen times in the last month. A dear friend shared her prayer journal with me and it was more of a blessing than she could ever know! I feel blessed that we, as women, can journey through childbirth together, supporting one another, lifting each other up, directing each other to lean on God through this pivotal moment in our lives. It is no wonder I am passionate about such an amazing thing!

Now I just have to figure out how I can keep myself from craving birth....at least for a little while!

I guess I'll let Bryan figure that one out! ;)

All about fall...

For me...it's all about fall. I feel like I spend the whole year yearning for that perfectly crisp morning - then the moment it arrives I can just smell it - fall is in the air. It smells like wood burning fireplaces, pumpkin spice lattes, and a bowl full of chili for the football game. Ahhhh - fall! In Texas I am kept waiting for fall much longer than I was used to in North Carolina and NYC, but that only makes its eventual arrival all the more sweet. I LOVE fall...wait, did I already make that point? No, seriously, LOVE it. Everything about fall makes me smile: college football (though not Texas football. Sorry folks, I only follow App State.), fall colors, cool air, changing leaves, picking pumpkins....and of course, fall FASHION.

Fall fashion is truly something I adore. On my priority list it ranks right up there under oxygen...well, maybe not quite that high. But, you get the picture. I blame my manager at Ralph Lauren. Marissa was our fashion nazi...particularly in the fall when sales were the highest. The stylists had to arrive each day "ralphed out." This means we needed to look like perfect little Ralph Lauren models - ready to sell our own style to potential clients. We were required to read WWD (Women's Wear Daily), write thank you notes to all 'big' clients, and attend the ever-so-popular trunk show at Bryant Park for fashion week. This was the highlight of my time working there (lining up for wardrobe inspection was not!) For those that do not know, fall fashion week at Bryant Park is HUGE...hallowed ground for those that obsess over designer couture. The delight I had as a stylist was that stylists had dibs on the runway clothes at the sample sale that followed fashion week. Marissa went with me...I think it was because she really wanted to tell me what to buy for work as opposed to vying for my company. I was too perky for her,  a no-nonsense typical New Yorker aiming to climb the corporate ladder. Thankfully, we shared the same classic style and so I was more than happy to accept all the clothing she was shoving into my arms. Budget restraints meant that after fighting through the crowd, trying clothes on in the midst of fifty other women and literally engaging in tug-a-war over a pair of delicious runway wool shorts, I emerged the victorious owner of six runway label items. The fashion bug had bit me...hard. Though, at times it was slightly depressing to be living in a city full of so many goods I could not afford, I managed to save scrupulously for some highly prized items. I did, however, stop short of selling my kidney on the black market for a coveted birken bag. Might need all my vital organs one day...best not to chance it.

Below are some classic pieces I have my eye on for this season (they range greatly in price from H&M to Christian Louboutin) The great thing is that you can easily find similar pieces and styles at very affordable prices.

1. A big tote - perfect to throw everything in and schlep around.

This Goyard bag is perfect and though I typically play it safe with navy or black I think this pumpkin orange color adds a nice punch of color for fall. (Since I can NOT wear orange, accessorizing with it is my only option.)
2. Cashmere cardigan - Simple. Cozy. Classic.

3. Riding boots - A staple for fall. Made even more popular by the ever-so-timeless Kate Middleton.

4. Scarves - Another necessary component to any fall wardrobe. And the BEST thing about scarves - you can find them at any price point. Add them to your outfit for an instantly finished look! Voila!

5. Knee length fall coat. This steal is from H&M - only $60.

6. Shorts with tights/leggings - I think this look is best worn with opaque tights/leggings and either boots or heels (makes the legs look longer.) Wool or tweed shorts add texture and feel especially fall-ish to me! (Fall-ish is that a word? It is now!)

7. Rain boots - Though maybe not needed in TX. But, in NYC... most definitely! I love these classic boots by Hunter.

8. Layered jewelry - more specifically - stacking BRACELETS! I love stacking bracelets...the colder it is outside, the more I wear! John Hardy designs my favorite bracelets. But cheap-o imitations from Target do the trick.

 I could go on but for sake of time, I will call it a night!! Happy almost fall everyone!

What's the cost of freedom?

In the last week it's been hard not to notice the media reports and new outlets gearing up for the 10th anniversary of 9/11.

It's been hard not to notice; yet, it is at the same time difficult to remember and impossible to forget.

A lot can happen in ten years. I look back on the events of that day and remember the flood of emotions that overwhelmed me the moment my teacher Ms. McClinton turned on the TV in my 2nd period Physics class. Glued to the screen I couldn't help but watch as news anchors shrieked, people ran for their lives, and a second tower was hit. Devastation. Complete despair. Buildings that once stood tall as a symbol of America's promise and economic strength dissolved to ashes before our eyes. Most of us remember quite clearly where we were that moment whether high school seniors, like myself, or already in the workforce. I was surprised in reading the Wall Street Journal today that 20% of Americans are either not alive, or not able to remember 9/11. For them this is the norm. To these children the words "9/11" are nothing more than words that sprinkle the vocabulary of grown-ups and and heard on the nightly news. They will never feel the uncertainty, as we did, in the days that followed 9/11, watching the events unfold and our world unravel like the end of a rope that symbolized something that was once precious and good and whole, and became a tangle of threads slipping through our fingers. My daughter won't know what it was like to watch her friends - boys, barely eighteen years, stand up at the lunch table and declare, with courage beyond their years, that they were enlisting to serve their country. I, as well as all those with children who were not alive then, am faced with the enormous challenge and duty of giving weight and importance to this day. I must teach, I must talk, I must represent those who were forever effected or lost on that day.

It was spring of 2006 when I moved to New York City, nearly five years after 9/11. I naively thought the city had moved past the tragedy by then. After all, time heals all wounds, right? But everyone I encountered had a story. Whether they had watched people covered in ashes walking up the avenues from downtown, whether they had lost a loved one, or like one woman I knew, had been burnt on 70% of her body and had nearly died. Sadly, I knew her for nearly a year before I knew her story. She was my client at Ralph Lauren and I honestly thought the only thing she'd been the victim of was a lot of bad plastic surgery. She had had plastic surgery, no doubt. Numerous procedures. All to repair the damage that was done when a pile of burning rubble fell on her as she was running from the building. I was helping her in the dressing room to try on a stunningly beading $6000 gown for one of NYC's many social galas. I noticed how sadly she looked at herself in the mirror. Selfishly, because I was paid on commission, I told her how fabulous she looked in the dress. Though, in truth it showed the many scars she had on the right side of her body. She smiled, "If only you'd seen me before 9/11." Over the next few months her story would come out in bits and pieces and all I could say was, "I'm so sorry." She was one of the lucky ones. She knew that too. No one has a story from that day that is free of sorrow. No one was free of pain. Everyone was touched.

I want my daughter to know that. I want her to know the sacrifice so many paid for the freedom we enjoy as Americans. I want her to know how blessed we truly are.

A lot can happen in ten years. My own life has seen the milestones of completing high school, college, grad school, marriage, and two kids. Ten years feels simultaneously like yesterday and an eternity ago. When I look at ten years in the life of our country so many things strike me. It seems like America has been on a roller coaster, both politically and economically speaking. There have been moments when I felt like I was seeing the silver lining. Moments when our country rose up like the proverbial phoenix from the ashes. Watching the firemen raise the perfect shaped cross, created from the steel beams of the building and forged in the fire; watching politicians trade politics and party lines for the greater good of America's citizens. Then there are the moments of the petty bickering, that so characterizes Washington today. Moments of when America has appeared laughable on the world stage, or worse, overly cocky. A roller coaster. I don't like roller coasters much. I'm ready for the ride to be over.

I want my daughter to know the events of that fateful day, nearly ten years ago. I want her to know the sacrifices made by so many. But I also want her to know the cost.

Lives lost on 9/11:  nearly 3000
Lives in the war on terror: over 6200
Federal Homeland Security spending in the last ten years: $360 billion (not including the state, local, or private sector that spent another $330 billion)
Operations in Iraq and Afghanistan since 9/11: $1.3 trillion

The numbers are staggering. Of course, it is impossible to put a price tag on the emotional cost of the lives lost and this war on terror (regardless of whether or not we agree with the war being waged.) The costs have been high. It it begs me to ask the question: Do we feel safer? Was it worth it?

I don't necessarily have any answers...for now just lingering questions.

What's the cost of freedom?

You are what you eat...

It's a saying I've heard time and again though I never gave it much credence growing up: You are what you eat.

What would that make me? What does it makes you?

My first experience in organic farming was exactly 10 years ago. I was acting in my first professional production in NC. One of my co-stars, who was in college and more "worldly" than me, was spending her summer working on an organic farm. To be honest I thought she was pretty weird. She had a nose ring, a few tats, her hair was cut like a boys...and she dated girls. So, it was safe to say that other than acting, Annie and I had very different interests. In my naivety I told her I was perfectly happy eating food sprayed with pesticides and made in a plant as I had been doing my whole life. I was seventeen. Looking back I can only imagine what she must have thought about me.

Over the next few years I found myself inexplicably drawn to understanding what was so important about eating organic. Was it just a fad? A gimmick to make people spend more on food? Was it really better, I mean seriously, hadn't I turned out just fine?

Like many people my childhood memories contain food memories as well. My summer was one cheese puff and grape soda after another. What I didn't know then but know now is this - I was not eating food! Oh, I was eating something...but not food. I was eating a highly processed food-like substance, but sadly, not REAL food.

I started to read. I started to research. And then, armed with the knowledge I almost wished I didn't have I was forced to re-evaluate what I was putting in my body.

I made the switch to whole grains first in 2005. As a life long white bread eater this was probably the most difficult switch for my new husband. A month or two later I switched to organic milk. What began as a slow transition switched into warp speed once I read The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan. Combine reading this book with, having my first child, watching Food Inc., and then reading Food Rules, also by Michael Pollan. It was safe to say a simple trip to the grocery store has never been the same since!

Feeding myself was one thing, but being responsible for what nutrition I provide for my child placed a burden on my heart. I could not turn a blind eye to facts any longer.

Americans invent many remarkable things. We are the true innovators of this world, I believe. One not-so-wonderful thing we are the culprit of inventing however is the Western diet. What is the Western diet, you ask? Well, it is a diet generally defined as eating lots of processed foods and meat, lots of added sugar and fat, lots of refined grains, and lots of everything except fruits, vegetables, and whole grains.

That being said, it stands to reason that societies subsiding on the Western diet invariably suffer from what have become known as Western diseases. According to Pollan, "Virtually all of the obesity and type 2 diabetes, 80 percent of the cardiovascular disease, and more than 1/3 of ALL cancers can be linked to this diet." Wow!

So if we know this, why are we still eating this way? "There is a lot of money in the Western diet. The more you process any food the more profitable it becomes. The healthcare industry makes more money treating chronic diseases (which account for more than three quarters of the $2 trillion plus we spend each year on healthcare in this country) than preventing them.

How can we take a step towards changing what we eat? That's what Food Rules is about! (I swear I should be paid to advertise for this book! I LOVE it!) It is a tiny book (You can read it in less than an hour) that simplifies what and how to eat. Simple, straight-forward rules with concise explanations. Here are a few of my favorites:

1. Don't eat anything your great grandmother wouldn't recognize as food. (There are thousands of foodish products that our ancestors wouldn't recognize as food!)
2. Avoid food products no ordinary human would keep in their pantry. (Do you have ethoxylated diglycerides in your pantry? I didn't think so.)
3. Avoid foods that contain more than five ingredients....or what ever arbitrary number you adopt. The more ingredients in a packaged food, the more highly processed it is.
4. Shop the peripheries of the supermarket and stay out of the middle. Processed foods dominate the center of the store, while fresh food - produce, meats and fish, dairy -line the walls. If you shop the edges you're more likely to end up with real food.
5. Eat foods made from ingredients that you can picture in their raw state or growing in nature.
6. If it came from a plant, eat it; if it was made in a plant, don't.
7. Eat animals that have themselves eaten well. The diet of the animal strongly influences the nutritional quality, whether it is meat or milk or eggs.

There is so much good info in this book! It has certainly influenced what I eat and feed my family.

I am thankful for what I've been learning. It has become my goal for my family to be eating entirely organic and whole food by the end of 2012. I recently purchased a grain mill so I can make my own flour (thus make all my own breads.) So...if you need someone to grind your wheat, you know who to call. It has been difficult, if not impossible, to eliminate all processed food from our house. I still have a bag of fritos in my pantry calling for my affection. Some of my recipes call for things that I have yet to find a suitable substitution for...but I'm working on it. And I will get us there, eventually.

If I am what I eat, then I am currently some organic raisins...my snack of choice to keep the fritos at bay till I find the will power to toss them!

Does the old saying ring true: Are you what you eat?

Home is the best place to be...

I feel like it has been eons since my last blog entry...time is funny like that, isn't it? I get busy and suddenly it's been nearly four weeks since I've posted! 

Though the busyness of my life as of late has been simply lovely. Not only did my parents get to spend a week with me in TX over my birthday, but I was able to fly back with my mom to enjoy some time in NC.

Coming home for the first time in over a year with the newest addition to our family has been perfect. Beckett got to meet his Great Granny Sue for the first time and Blake has been loving our daily nature walks. Home is truly the best place to be.

But...enough with the updates. Let me paint you a picture of this glorious place I call home: Mitchell County, North Carolina.

Some places you experience with your entire body. You're not simply...there. You become apart of it...and it, in turn, becomes a part of you. The mountains are like that. When I'm here I feel like my body physically responds. I feel like my heart slows down to the perfectly relaxed pace of this place. My accent suddenly becomes a little thicker. I actually used the word "holler" (as in a hollow, not as in yelling) in a sentence the other day...and I liked it. I find myself yearning to churn some apple butter and go berry picking. And I can't help but hear Nickel Creek playing in the back of my mind as I stand in awe of how beautiful this land is. Something about blue grass music and the Blue Ridge Mountains just go together. If in NYC my heart beats to the rhythm of a socialite's stilettos, then at home it beats in time with the fiddler at a square dance on Saturday night.

The oldest mountain chain in the world is something quite wonderful to behold. The way the mountains fold gently into each other. The way the fog nestles in the valley in the morning. The way the light hits the mountains at sunset making giant shadows across the fields. I stood on the top of Roan Mountain on Saturday morning with mountains as far as I could see and I suddenly felt the impulse to pray. Afterall, God seems so much closer up there, surely my prayers would reach his ears first. No, but seriously, I felt the strong need to thank Him for this beautiful place that He created.

The beauty of the mountains is only accentuated by the kindness of the people that inhabit them.  When we first moved here I found myself frequently frustrated by little old men in their pick-up trucks that would stop in the middle of the road to chat. Not at a stop light, not at a stop sign, just right smack dab in the middle of the road. One would be going one way and one the other and they would slow down and roll down their windows and chat...for several minutes. Somehow we always seemed to be stuck behind them. I asked my dad one time, "What in the world is so important that we have to wait for four minutes while they chat?" He told me they probably weren't talking about anything important, it was just part of the culture here. I eventually got used to waiting for little old men in their pick-ups chatting about their tobacco crop or the weather or whatever it was. I got used to people waving and smiling at anyone that passed by. I got used to the cashier in the checkout line asking questions that sometimes crossed personal boundaries. I got used to it. It has only been in leaving this place and returning to it that I have begun to appreciate it. I appreciate that people always have time to chat with each other, even though it may be about nothing in particular. I appreciate that neighbors always have time to lend a hand. I appreciate the conversations in the check out line that may add a few measly minutes onto my busy day. I appreciate the beauty of these mountains that strike me so much more coming home than when I actually lived here.

I appreciate that no matter how long I am gone I come back to find that nothing has changed. With so few things you can count on in this world it's nice to be able to count on my home.

The mountains are a part of me now. They have influenced so much in my life. One of my favorite bible verses is: "I lift my eyes up to the hills. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth." Psalm 121

It reminds me of my mountains. And it makes me smile with the knowledge that even though I may currently live far away....I always have this to come home to.

Are you content with where you Went?

You know how Dove chocolates have those little philosophical sayings inside the wrapper? You get to enjoy a little something sweet while reflecting on something deep and meaningful....or you're like me and you crumple the wrapper up before remembering that you were supposed to read it and then you spend five minutes flattening it back out only to find that this deep, meaningful message wasn't so meaningful after all.

Anyways, apparently beer bottle caps are following suit. I just opened a bottle of my magic hat summer seasonal to read, "Are you content with where you Went?" (Yes, they capitalized the W on Went.) This caught my attention.

I'm not sure if it was the erroneously capitalized W or the lack of explanation in the question itself, but for whatever reason, I stood there, by the trashcan, staring at the bottle cap in my hand for a good four minutes before tossing it in. Went where? Why the capital W? Did they capitalize it arbitrarily to make me do a double-take? If so, kudos to them. It worked.

But then I started thinking of the ways to complete that question...and then many other questions began to enter my mind, all focused around one primary question - Are you content?

We spend so much time and energy focused on that question don't we? I can't check out at the grocery store without passing by O magazine exclaiming that it holds the new key to happiness. The key to being self content. The key to inner peace and endless joy. Turn on the Today show any morning of the week and some author will be touting their new book on how to find true contentment in life.

Am I content?

Yes. I am tired. I feel a little alone during the week (sigh), but I am content. I have peace. I have joy. I am trying to ignore the exhaustion this phase of my life brings and savor all the little moments with my babies. I count my blessings every day.

What is my secret? What is the key to my personal joy?

Here's my Sunday school answer: Jesus.

(Not the one that pooped on the girl in the outhouse....read my previous blog post if you are confused.)

Jesus. Such a simple answer with such complexity underneath. There is complexity to ones' personal relationship with Christ. There are things that words seem desperately inadequate to describe. Maybe that's why you don't often see Christians on the magazine covers or the tv shows letting everyone in on our little secret. We know where true joy is found! We experience the peace that only complete and utter submission to our Savior can bring!

Why aren't we sharing it?

I have felt the conviction of this question lately, as it is currently the sermon series at my church: SHARE. I have had, oh so many, countless opportunities to share my faith. On some occasions I have done so. But many I let pass me by for fear of sounding like those radical evangelicals that spout out scripture on TV but seem incapable of having a rational intellectual discussion.

But, then again, is the love of Christ rational? No. It is radical. How can I take the radical love of my Savior and reach those who prefer for things to be rational.

That is the challenge I faced the most in grad school at NYU. That's the problem with the academic elite. Intellectuals ask questions....lots of questions. Whenever I have taken the plunge and been brave enough to engage one of my non-believing friends in a religious discussion I have always walked away from it wishing I had been better equipped for the "debate." I would make one remark and suddenly would be bombarded with questions from everyone remotely close by....or at least, that's what it felt like. After a while I realized it would be much easier to just smile and nod when someone said something I disagreed with. I realized that...but those who know me, know that's not in my nature. It made for lots of interesting discussion, to put it mildly. I would often replay those discussions for months afterward wondering what I could've said differently, or searching the scripture to find that allusive verse I couldn't recall at the time. I can only hope that our talk may have planted a seed.

I pray that God will put the right people in my path and open my eyes to new opportunities to share the reason behind my joy.

Are you content?

Seriously funny shit...

Why on God's green earth am I about to write a blog post on poop?

I'll tell you...my life has revolved around it the last three days. No, seriously, it's been all about poop. Good times.

For some inexplicable reason my darling daughter as decided that this bodily function she no longer wants to do...and in doing so, my miserable two year old is making the rest of us miserable. Misery loves company, right?

During one of our many trips to the bathroom in the last few days I have had time to reflect quite a lot on...poop. (Sorry, folks. This blog post won't be tugging at the strings of your moral compass...)

Think of it...we use the word "shit" for so many different reasons: "Oh shit," "You're in deep shit," "I know you like to think your shit don't stink," "He's the shit" ...I will never understand that last one.

And what in the world makes poop so funny?

I was driving Blake home from school last fall when she made her first "poop joke."

"Guess what Mommy," she said sweetly.

"What, baby?" I reply.

"POOP!" she shouts, at the top of her lungs.

(No, I don't think she has a future as a comedienne.) I also should add that was the last poop joke she made.

But, turn on the tv, and there they are - poop jokes, bathroom comedy, whatever you call it...there they are.

I told Blake after her little joke that we NEVER talk about poop, unless we are saying we need to go to the bathroom. I'm about to break my own rule by telling a true story...yes, a poop story.

First, I have to give my cousin credit...he happens to have more poop stories than any person that has ever lived. Thankfully, this story did not happen to him...he just bore witness to it.

Summer time. If you grew up in a church youth group, you know what this means. Countless nights away at various camps, mission trips, and lock-ins. This particular summer the youth group at Grace Baptist Church (not really the name, but it serves the purpose of my story) was travelling to Jamaica. They were split into teams to serve in different areas: sport's camp, drama ministry, and children's church.

On this day their bus was travelling over the rugged dirt roads to a small school where the drama team would be performing their last show of the day. They were starving. Having gotten lost driving between shows earlier that day they hadn't stopped for lunch. Now it was late afternoon and at this rate their stomachs would be louder than their voices. Heaven smiled at them, however, because at the same moment that their grumbling was becoming unbearable to the chaperones, they saw a jerk chicken stand on the side of the road. This place was a dive in the worst sense of the word, but the famished teens couldn't care less. They downed plates full of jerk chicken and rice and within minutes were back on the bus hurtling towards their destination.

With their stomachs full they arrived in the small town and set up for their performance of the Passion play. Around the same time that their audience was getting seated the actors were finding that something wasn't quite right. (You know where I'm going with this.) Unfortunately, no one was experiencing an upset stomach more than their Jesus....oh, it get worse. There were no restrooms at the school...only a small outhouse out back.

Before any of the actors could protest (or use the bathroom) the chaperones were on stage starting the show. Nothing could done. The show must go on.

Luckily, they made it through the show without any incidents...or accidents, I should say. But before the actors could take their final bow, Jesus leaps off the cross, bolts across the stage, and sprints to the outhouse. He wrenches open the door, pulls up his robe, and lets it all go...right onto a little girl. No joke.

This poor child did not have the Jesus experience she had been hoping for. Instead she got pooped on.

Now, unlike what I've been experiencing the last few days, that's some seriously funny shit.

America the beautiful?

America is the only country in the world that...how many ways can you finish that sentence?


Too many to count.


Some of the possible ways to complete that sentence are fabulous, but others...not so much.

Don't get me wrong I LOVE our country, it's people, and what it represents to the world - countless freedoms and equal opportunities. Americans are leaders. Americans are innovators. Americans are rebels, patriots, and free thinkers. But let's be honest, Americans tend to be egocentric, and many in the U.S. live their lives in disconnect with the sufferings in the rest of the world.

Our innovative spirits have served us well in so many areas, but there are some in which our attempts to re-invent the wheel have failed us miserably.

While walking with a girlfriend this morning I was told about the book, "The Economy of Love," by Shane Claiborne. The premise behind the book is this: the U.S. is the only country in the world where our lives, and work are structured around the individual instead of the community.

In a sincere effort to be the best in whatever we chose to pursue it's become all about the "me" and the "we" has been forgotten about. So many people share the notion that "if it doesn't affect me it doesn't matter," or "if I help you what's in it for me?"

Now I'm not saying we should get some families together and live in a commune as parts of the book may suggest. (I'm sure that could be very entertaining though.) But I do feel that the sense of community, that so many cultures around the world depend on, is lacking in the U.S.

There are moments when I see a glimmer of this spirit of brotherhood, when the humanitarian heart is awakened across the country. It's a beautiful thing to witness. Neighbor helping neighbor. A person comforting a complete stranger simply because they're hurting and it's the right thing to do. It seems that it's only in the dark times that we experience this change of heart. In the face of tragedy it somehow becomes easier to put the "we" in front of the "me."

I can't help but wonder what our country would look like if we maintained this "community" through the good times. It would be revolutionary - to have individuals come together to solve issues that may not involve them directly but serve a greater purpose.

I'm not talking about giving those in need a hand out, but rather a hand up. I'm not talking about social justice or redistribution of wealth. I'm not talking about creating some government program that would give a forced sense of community. I'm talking about a change of heart.

What would it look like if Americans reoriented their hearts and minds to care as much about others as we do ourselves?

What would we see?

America the beautiful?

I find my happy place.

It's been one of those days.

All the parents out there know exactly what I mean - when both kids are screaming, dogs are barking, the phone is ringing and all I can tell myself is "find a happy place."

And then I started thinking...where would I go, literally, if I could choose a physical place that brings me peace?

We all have that place, don't we? The place where the weight of the world seems to magically lift off our shoulders. The place where we have a little extra pep in our step and can not help but smile.

I have two places that give me such a peace. They happen to be drastically different from each other: New York City and the NC mountains.

Let me take you to my city....

We signed the lease on our first apartment in NYC on my 22nd birthday. Our 298 sq.ft. Chelsea apartment (refering to the neightborhood, not myself) was a fifth floor walk-up with a fire escape that we would occassionaly use to sneak up to the roof and watch the cruise ships come in on the Hudson. It was too small, too old, and in a particular neighborhood that made my hubby too uncomfortable. But it was perfect...at least to me. I remember when we moved there the exhileration I felt walking along the city streets. A permanent smile was plastered on my face...in fact, I probably scared our neighbors with my over-enthusiastic grin, but I didn't care. I had waited for as long as I could remember to live in New York and I was finally there. My heart was meant to beat to the rhythm on Manolo Blahniks on the cobblestone streets of the Meat Packing district.

Can you see it? The hustle and bustle of the city. Prep school kids getting their lattes at Sant Ambroeus on the Upper East Side. The business man hailing the cab with his New York Times. The sparkling, albeit dirty, waters of the Hudson from the views at Riverside park.

Can you hear it? An expletive or two from the cabbie shouted at tourists standing too close the curb...because they will hit you. The opera singer doing their vocal warm-up beside you on the subway. The fabulous Yiddish words sprinkling the vocab of the Upper West Siders. (I miss hearing words like shlep, shmuck, and shmatte. I have no idea why they always seem to start with "sh.")

Can you smell it? The brick oven pizza from John's. The perfume of the socialites on Park Ave. The stench of urine in the subway on a hot summer day. (ah, New York.)

Are you there yet?

I had waited my whole life to be there and I was drinking in every second of it...that is, until the homesickness set in.

It wasn't until the fall that I started to feel this unfamiliar twinge of pain whenever I would hear or see certain things that reminded me of NC. It tripled in effect when the Christmas tree stands went up after Thanksgiving. (My family owns a Christmas tree farm in NC.) I would smell the fraiser firs from a block away and I would start to tear up. Bryan and I seriously had to map out where the tree stands were around our apartment so we could take detours to prevent my meltdowns. Seriously, messy crying, meltdowns. There was one occassion that I really wanted to just go close my eyes and smell the trees, no matter how torturous I knew it would be...and so I did. I stood by the tree lot with my eyes closed, breathing in the scent of the fraiser firs, and tears streaming down my face...that is, until I was noticed by the lot owner who asked if he could help me pick out a tree. I responded, "No, thank you. I don't have room in my apartment. I just wanted to smell them." I'm so glad I couldn't hear what he was thinking even if the look was plastered all over his face.

I missed NC, but I knew if I left New York I would have an equal longing for this city that had become my home.

I started running in NYC along the Hudson every day. I would tune my iPod to some good bluegrass like Nickel Creek and just run. The music of the mountains married with views of Lady Liberty. Priceless.

The homesickness faded away and by 2007 we found ourselves on the Upper East Side. So many good times.

New York City is my happy place tonight...along with this glass of wine I'm about finish. ;)

Some days I need to reflect on it, and sigh. I can end a chaotic day with fond memories of my time in a chaotic city.

Cheers.

Where do you draw the line?

We've all seen it.

Parents at dinner not looking at each other but catering the entire meal to the whim of their child. The baby wearing the bib that declares "I'm the boss," and you can tell it's not too far from the truth. The 11th place trophies. The toddlers playing games on their parents iPhones to prevent mealtime meltdowns.

The fact is we've become a culture of overindulgence without even realizing it. In a sincere effort to shower our children with love and admiration we've encouraged behavior that has snowballed into an epidemic of narcissism.

I say "we" because, try as I might, I know that I too fall victim to this behavior from time to time.

So many parents try to justify their behavior by saying things like: "Well, we give them all trophies because we want them to feel special," or "It's impossible to have a peaceful meal if we don't let her play with the iPhone," or "I really want my child to like me."

You know the saying "Give me a soap box and I'll stand on it?" Well I just happen to have one handy...this blog. Here I go.

"Well, we give them all trophies because we want them to feel special" - The effort made to make children "feel special" leads to nothing more than over-inflated egos and sense of entitlement. Am I saying that we need to tell kids "Hey, you really stink at drawing?" No. But we also don't need to tell a 12 year old they're the next Van Gogh when they can't say inside the lines of their coloring book. (Because this hypothetical 12 year old has a coloring book. ha!) I believe in encouraging children to work hard, praising them for what they accomplish, and helping them to find things they can improve on. Competition is healthy and without it we would all settle for the 11th place trophy. What would be left to work towards?

"It's impossible to have a peaceful meal if we don't let her play with the iPhone" - So many parents give up or give in because...it's easy. It's hard to listen to a whiny kid, especially in public. It's embarrassing to feel like people could be staring and judging your ability to parent based on the behavior of your child. So, it's easier to pull up some kid friendly iPhone app and hand it over to the antsy toddler. In the last week I have seen this happen at least a dozen times (oh yes, I started counting!) But all we are doing is robbing our children of a lesson in patience. Mealtimes are family time...the entire family. Children have to learn how to sit politely at some point, you might as well start young.

"I want my kids to like me." - Of course you do! But, that's not always going to be the reality. Nor should it be. My two year old recently told me after I told her we do not watch tv everyday, "Mommy, you're not my friend." To which I responded, "Honey, I didn't give birth to you because I needed a friend." ...She didn't get it, but it was true nonetheless.

And one thing I am CONSTANTLY the culprit of - ending a request to my kids in a question. Ex. "We're going upstairs to put our pj's on now, okay?" "Let's get in the car, alright?" Arghh! Why do I make it sound like I am asking their permission. Aren't I the parent? I realized this after reading a fabulous book last fall, "The Narcissism Epidemic: Living in the Age of Entitlement" by Jean Twenge and Keith Campbell. I have made a concerted effort to be very conscious of it since then.

Now...let me state. I am not saying to run your house with an iron fist, or exist as a dictator over your poor kiddos. Children need to feel that their thoughts are valued and their opinion respected. Giving them choices when available helps them practice independent thinking and nurtures their self esteem. Allowing a child to make a choice about their wardrobe is the perfect example that should be adapted according to their age. Ex. I give my two year old two choices every morning, sometimes three if I have nowhere to go. "Do you want to wear your pink shoes or your tennis shoes?" I never ask "What do you want to wear?" My child would undoubtedly choose her tutu and a bikini top or some other ghastly fashion faux pas! Now when she's a little older I expect that I'll be able to say, "It's cold outside today. What long sleeved shirt do you want to wear?"

Kids need some freedom within limits and it's up to the parents to set those limits. What a huge responsibility to know that decisions you make day in and day out affect a life other than your own! To sum it all up: Praise your kids wisely, indulge with caution, state the facts, offer choices when appropriate, and LOVE always!

Now it's time to self-evaluate...where do you draw the line?

So...what do you do?

The question is inevitable. I will be meeting someone for the first time, be it at church, Blake's dance class, or as it was today, at a birthday party of a kid in Blake's preschool class; and THE QUESTION presents itself.

I hate this question. Mainly because I don't have a simple answer....and that is what people want when they ask this question - a simple, concise, one (or two, max) word answer. They don't want an explanation of what you did before kids, or what you plan to do once they start school. They want you to say something simple like, doctor, or lawyer, so they can continue with the other nicities.

I don't have a simple answer for them. If I had an answer at all it would be the following, "Well, I'm an actor without a stage. I'm an educator, without students. I'm a writer...waiting to be published. Oh, yeah, and I'm a wife and a mom."

I could say I'm a homemaker...but this does not seem adequate to me. Perhaps it should, but it doesn't. I'm more than a "homemaker" I think to myself whenever I prepare myself to smile and give this simple, one-word answer. Why are there such negative connotations for this term? Why does my jaw seem to harden in place and my stomach drop whenever I prepare myself to say it? Is it because I write a ridiculous student loan check each month for a Master's degree I'm not technically using?

I think it's something deeper than all of this. Somewhere in our culture things have gone strangely awry. Along the way somewhere women have been made to feel like should be doing MORE. No matter how much they have on their plate already. No matter how many committees they chair, teams they coach, hours they clock in, loads of laundry they fold, or delicious-Paula-Deen-couldn't-cook-it-better dinners they cook it simply isn't enough. We feel the need, no more than a need, compulsion to do it all - and then some!

It's a sickness really - a contagious, out-of-control epidemic that is in serious need of a cure. I know you've continued reading because you are on the edge of your seats waiting for me to present you with my unbelievable solution. My astonishing revelation is this: I don't know. I don't know how to resolve something I struggle with daily. Feeling adequate with what I'm doing and where I am in life when I ALWAYS feel like I "should" be doing so much more is a constant nagging thought in the back of my mind.

But, I have learned one thing. I recently read a fabuous book by Daniel H. Pink called, "A Whole New Mind." (Fantastic! I highly reccomend it!) Anyways, one small section of the book was about how the US viewed happiness in comparision with other countries and it gave a small questionnaire to reveal whether or not you are doing what would be the most rewarding job for you to do. It told me this: I am where God wants me to be.

If I had a million dollars to do what ever I wanted or 20 days to live or whatever the question might be, I am doing what makes me more fulfilled and joyful than anything else I could possibly fathom. I am watching my children grow, I am attempting to impart on them wisdom that will help them mature into loving adults, concerned for others, their environment, and their world. I am there everyday to make them smile, listen to their infectious laughter, watch them make new discoveries, wipe their tears when fall down, and wipe their butts when they poop (ah, the joys of motherhood!) There is no place I would rather be.

God has placed me here. It is a humbling place to be - to always be serving someone else (especially for an actress, let me tell you!) But I am grateful for every second.

So for my virgin blog post, let me just say. "Hi. My name is Chelsea. I'm here."

"Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men."
Colossians 3:23

So...what do you do?