Lessons from the Latina Chamber Lunch

I went to an inspiring lunch on Thursday. The Latina Chamber of Commerce in Denver is an organization whose mission is to promote and advance the personal, professional, and business interests of Latinas, their families, and their communities. Although this organization is merely five years old, already it has accomplished much in the way of educating and empowering members of its community.

This Inspirational Business Luncheon featured dynamic speaker, David Behr of Competitive Edge Seminars. In his high-energy and very entertaining presentation-such an enviable skill- David advised us to take just one idea home with us. But I cheated, and took them all.

Just as teachers use homework to reiterate and reinforce what they teach in class, I’m going to reiterate what I learned and hope that it reinforces those lessons in my own head; who knows, you might benefit too...

#1 change one thing in your business practice (or any other practice for that matter) and it will cause a domino effect. By changing one thing, we can be more, have more, and become more. I like that.

#2 put a number to your goal. If we’re talking about money, how much do we want to earn this year. How many sales will it take to meet that goal. Then how many people do we need to talk to every day? Put it in writing. And if you want to make more, either talk to more people or improve your technique, so that it doesn’t take you 20 meetings to achieve one sale. Makes sense.

#3 the Pareto Principle. 20% of customers lead to 80% of revenue. Since 20% of things we do make 80% of the difference, then we need to know what those 20% of things are and we need to do them really well!

I'm constantly debating the question: who are my customers? Are they our members…or the companies and organizations that we need to serve so that they will advertise on the site? Well, in my mind, the members are my customers…and I have to hope that by serving them well, ultimately, I will serve the organizations that want to reach them. If that is the case, then the things that we need to do very well are: ensure that members feel valued, provide them with information, and enable them to connect with each other.

Back to David.

#4 the value that you provide to customers has to be higher than what it costs them to get it.

#5 “Go for No”. It's a concept that reminds me a bit of the glass that's half full. The idea is to figure out how many nos there are for every yes. Then every time you get a no answer, you feel good because you’re that much closer to getting a yes. Nice.

#6 Or turn a “no” into “know”. By educating a prospective customer (or in our case, member), we can overcome her objections, and turn the no into a yes!

#7 Another way to get to yes is to turn the tables, and ask the questions. (This reiterates what I learned in last week’s self-defense class). The one asking the questions is the one who is in control. Find out what the prospective client (member) is doing now, what they enjoy about it, what they would alter, whether they’re the decision-maker (make sure the person that you’re meeting is a decision-maker, in other words, don’t take NO from someone who can’t say YES), and what solution would address the question of what they would alter. Think the acronym NEADS.

#8 & #9 two more quickies… People are more likely to make a decision that takes away pain, than one that gets pleasure. And help those that want it, not just those who need it.

In closing, I emphasize what David said in opening. If something is easy to do, just do it!

These are not new ideas, but they're all great reminders... and motivators.

Balance- Is it bologna?

As we stand on bosu balls and throw weighted balls back and forth at the end of pilates class, Lisa reminds us that our balance is the first thing to go as we age. She also says that by working on it, we can not only preserve, but even improve it.

I wonder to myself if it’s the same thing with mental and emotional balance. Can it be improved if I actually practice it? If I begin to make it a priority, something that I pay attention to at the end of every day, the same way that Lisa has us practice balance at the end of every class, do you think that I can actually create a balanced life?

Hmmm. Frankly, I have decided that anyone who says that her life is in balance must be either 1) full of bologna, 2) boring beyond words or 3) probably a little selfish. Which begs the question, is being boring, full of bologna or a bit selfish worth it if it allows you to claim balance?

What if I did meditate daily, declined all evening invitations, gave up caffeine, and decided that my dance card was full enough? Would I enjoy life more? Could I still make a difference in the world?

Believe me, I realize that my “hard drive is full” (memory must go right after balance). But maybe, I can keep fooling my brain for a while longer. Maybe like the printer or a tired sharpie, by giving it a short rest, it will muster enough ink for another doc.

I declare Sunday my day of rest…which means I sit on the chaise to type instead of at my desk. And I don’t leave the house except for a pedicure or a meal or a walk. Instead of looking for balance at the end (or beginning) of every day, I will make it a weekly practice. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Money is Funny

Money is funny. Actually it just makes people act funny. Not funny-ha-ha, but funny like a “funny uncle”- so, in other words, not funny at all.

I have started this post so many times, and every time I head off on a different tangent. I finally realized that there are a lot of different things to say about money. And they can’t all be said at once. I want to think about, write about and talk about them all… but will do it one thought and post at a time.

My latest observation came about at a fancy-shmancy kick-off event (for a fancy-shmancy spring event) that I attended the other day to promote MidChix. I had barely made it downtown after my second day in a row of back-to-back meetings & appointments, not to mention picking up kids, overseeing homework, paying the bass teacher, unearthing the inhaler, preparing the bookmarks & biscotti, and finding parking.

Although I was dressed in my “dress” jeans (they sport a crease!), a new scarf, and my very Denver-ish boots (from Nordstrom no less), I was nowhere near attired as nicely as I could’ve/should’ve been. But I had done my best, given the day. And as my mother-in-law often quips “it didn’t make me a bad person”.

Yet it was fascinating to see how quickly people judge…and frightening to see how some women act when they are out strutting their stuff. Even though I was a sponsor of the event, and had promised to do at least as much as anyone else in terms of promoting the future real fancy-shmancy event, I was asked more than once if I was an employee of the shop, as well as queried on who had invited me.

Believe me, I plead guilty to being impressed at times by the appearance of money. But what impresses me most are the folks that have lots of jack, but no sign of ass.
My mother always taught me that the most important job for a hostess was making her guests feel at home. I will try to always remember that, even if MidChix makes millions.

On a Wing and a Prayer

Searching for a slogan is not as easy as one would think. But it sure is fun! We ran through quite a few options before throwing caution to the wind and giving Facebook the bird (see photo of our billboard)!

Maybe that’s what being a Midchick is about. Getting to that place where you decide it’s okay to throw caution to the wind. Let’s face it, most of us have been pretty cautious in many ways for many years. Cautious to not make the teacher mad, break our new toy, whisper in church, to not spill on our new dress, or let the boys see our underpants on the swings, to not let the other girls know our feelings were hurt, or get caught smoking, to not be considered a prude, not get pregnant, to not dent the fender of Dad’s car, fail the algebra test, wear the wrong shoes, or let our disappointment show when we were stood up on our first date, to not get in with the wrong crowd, be considered too eager, or drink too much, talk too much, eat too much, cry too much, to not laugh too hard, to not gossip or be the gossip topic, to not flirt with our friend's crush, to not blow the callback interview. We’ve been cautious not to marry the wrong guy, say the wrong thing, eat the wrong food, resent the baby, resent the husband, resent our mother, admit that we’re gay, neurotic, bored, sad or angry.

I am reminded of the Winnie the Pooh poem “Now We Are Six”… I remember such a big deal being made about that magic age. I thought it meant that at 6, I had made it. Little did I know it would take me another 42 years to really make it to this wonderful place where I can be me with no apology.

So we at MidChix say: If you’ve got hooters, then we’ve got wings for you, don’t be chicken, join us for some fowl play, we promise you cheep flights because 40 means free the birds, we are ladies launchin’ and you can be too, amaze yourself with web feats…you can be assured that peckers are prohibited because we don’t allow cocks in the henhouse-

Smile to yourself, throw caution to the wind, give Facebook the bird, and join MidChix.com, for birds of a feather.

P.S. It’s just a slogan, I love Facebook…you can be my friend there too if you like!

Hard Day

I had one of those days. It started around 6:15 PM yesterday, so I am hoping that it is now over, just like the 24 hour flu. But it prompted me to bitch and moan, and inventory a bunch of my personal pet peeves. Somehow writing them down really does make you feel better! So Read 'Em and Peep...I want to hear yours too!

PS. Remember, it was a bad day. I don't want anyone playing devil's advocate. That's what my hubby is for...

Pet Peeves

1) Bikers/runners/bladers/boarders/dogwalkers who go the wrong way down a one way street.
2) Toilets that flush while you are still sitting.
3) Phone answering system limbo.
4) Forms that ask for the same information more than once.
5) Public restrooms with toiletpaper rolls too heavy for the one-ply paper and therefore rips after every square.
6) People that splash when they pee and don’t wipe up.
7) People that splash when they wash and don’t wipe up.
8) Litterers.
9) People who don’t recycle, even when it’s easy.
10) Car alarms.
11) Spitting.
12) People who let little kids run around in restaurants.
13) Men who stare at boobs.
14) Men who make catcalls.
15) Police officers who point speed radar guns at cars.
16) Laundry that has been taken off inside out.
17) Voicemail messages that are so long, you have to switch ears.
18) Cashiers that don’t say hello.
19) Customers that don’t say hello.
20) Children that don’t talk to adults.
21) The sound of landscapers blowing nature to kingdom come.
22) Folks that don't return emails/calls.
23) Debbie Downers (don't even think about calling me one-its just a blog post for god's sake).
24) Gratuitous violence in media.
25) The cAPS LOCK BUTTOn

Thank god February is only 28 Days

When I picked up my ten year-old from school today and he said his stomach hurt, I actually turned around and looked at him. I mean the kid is not stupid. Usually the time for moaning and clutching of one's stomach falls in the hour between 7 and 8 AM, when chances are I will blanch at the memory of last year when I sent him to school anyway and he barfed in between main lesson and recess. When we arrived home today, and he didn't make a beeline for the freezer drawer where I stash the single serve Haagen Daz, I knew it was time to worry.

Actually, it's a hell of a lot easier now and a far cry from the days when 4 kids under 6, and a traveling spouse made the stomach flu a historic event...

"Mom, I just threw up" must be the most dreaded words in the English language, especially at 4:15 in the AM. "It got on the bed", a close second. Within nanoseconds of hearing that someone had thrown up, I'd begin obsessively projecting the course of the next 21 days; the number of kids times a 2 day incubation period=34 loads of laundry, 45 hours of lost sleep, and at least 3 weeks 'til friends would risk being within 10 feet of us again...

Now that all of the kids are old enough to make it to the bathroom, and now that my husband has made enough of an appearance during at least a few rounds to know that chances for a little romance, much less a home-cooked meal are slim at best...the stomach bug isn't nearly as grueling as it used to be!

My best friend has an all-out phobia of vomit. We laugh 'til we cry about the time she practically held her 7-year old out the window by his ankle while careening towards home while, all the while, he hollered "I think I'm going to throw up!" She hurried not to get him to a bathroom, but just to the house where she could hand him off. Her husband has always drawn the short straw when it comes to clean up!

I admire my sister-in-law's approach. Raised by a military dad, she is very matter-of -fact. Even when her kids were barely vertical, she had a policy that everyone had a "burp bucket". Don't wake her up! Even better was her theory about whining: If a child is whining, he is hungry, tired, or sick. As a result, her kids were always either eating, sleeping, or barfing.

There has always seemed to be something about the month of February that has conjured the stomach bug. Since I'm committed to my New Year's Resolution to "be grateful", I'm dubbing the bug "Drastic but Effective Diet" and can hardly wait...

When Our Kids Grow Up

Ten years ago I read Katrina Kenison's Mitten Strings for God-Reflections for Mothers in a Hurry, and was thrilled by the thoughts of a Mom who reminded me so much of myself. In time, I began to realize that she probably reminded almost every other mother of themselves as well. And somehow it was easier to accept advice from one of our own. By sharing her personal search for some elusive balance during the early years, she encouraged me- and many others- to stay the course, even when our seesaws were wildly out of control.

Motherhood is a uniquely universal experience. What mama cannot empathize with tales of sleep-deprivation, toddler tantrums, sibling wars, finicky eaters, birthday burnout, bathroom talk, middle school misery, and teenage angst? How I envy today's Mommy Bloggers for the opportunity to survive those early trials by sharing them!

But Katrina's bird's eye view of childhood and motherhood transcends the anecdotal.

Although I have only read the excerpts and watched this poignant video of her reading, I am struck by Katrina's uncanny ability to once again sum up the flood of feelings that are part and parcel of motherhood. The Gift of an Ordinary Day promises to strike chords deep within that will continue resonating long after the book is put down.

I remind myself when I wearily tuck my youngest into bed, that this is as fleeting as the light of the firefly he caught at dusk. His sisters and brothers have all grown up and are past tucking in. Looking down at his small, sweet face, I reel with the understanding that I am still the most important person in his world. I am grateful for the knowledge that he will grow up just like his siblings did, because knowing that means I will savor these moments in ways I didn't know I should have back then.

Motherhood is an experience like no other. There have been moments when I could barely breathe I was so filled with anxiety over a child. There have been others when I wondered if one could actually burst with pride. A few years ago, I came up with a strategy for those days when the word 'failure' seemed like a generous way to describe my mothering. I'd think about every single child I had ever met, and imagined discovering another who I'd trade mine for. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find a single one.

I reflect on the times when my teens are sullen, rude, entitled, untrustworthy, unappreciative, and worst of all, unknowable. Those years are excruciating. How to believe that they will, this late in the game, actually emerge whole and whole-hearted? But they do. Really. And the feeling is like having your best childhood friend move in next door. It is joyful, and this time it is not fleeting.

Mothers who read Katrina's book will share knowing nods and will treasure her reflections. They will remind them, like me, that even though mothering comes to an end, motherhood goes on forever and it is a gift just like an ordinary day.

The Sweet Song of a Mama Bird

This beautiful video made my heart stop...can't we all relate to the many memories and musings of another mama chick. Watch and weep. Look for my coming post about her book!

Evolution

At midnight (East Coast time) I will be celebrating my oldest child's 21^st birthday at a small local bar in the Philadelphia burbs. (Fortunately, back in my day, we didn't have to wait so long to get a drink!)

Twenty-one is the same age I was when I met her dad. The night had begun in a resort bingo hall, progressed to an unplanned double date, and ended on a blanket on the beach with a 6-pack of beer...where we primly sat and discussed the weather, while our two best friends made racket behind the next dune. I knew that night, that Phil was a keeper.

Believe me, he wasn't all perfection. On our second date (can a table shared in the dormitory cafeteria be called a date?), while carefully cutting the gristle off his Salisbury steak, he noted, "If there's one thing I hate, it's fat on my meat and fat on my women." I practically choked on my sour cream and cheese-topped potato. Next thing you know, I had designed my own rapid weight-loss plan; it consisted of tuna, grapefruit juice, and vodka. (Try it sometime; it worked wonders!)

But the fact that he—a healthy, horny college kid—did not try to take advantage of a blanket on a beach with a blonde full of beer, told me something about him that he never would have been able to put into words. And I don't think it was just some priest from high school haunting him. As I look back now, I wonder if the respect he demonstrated that night, came from a place deep within his DNA, and if that is from where his evolution, as both a man and a human being, has emanated.

Phil has always had very high standards: for himself, for me, for our children, for his employees, for his friends. He is conservative and traditional; a comfort-loving, perfection-addicted, Budweiser-guzzling, obsessive-compulsive sports fanatic. A guy's guy. He is also sentimental to the point of crying at Father of the Bride—even if it's his seventh viewing. And he loves our family in a way that is visceral.

While for many people, love is about their own experience of it, for Phil, his love is about our experience of it. In other words, he cares enough about each of us, that he is willing to put our feelings ahead of his own. Or at least that is the essence of his evolution. He'd blanch to hear me compare him to JFK. But as I contemplate what it is that sets Phil apart from the majority of men that I know, it is his rare willingness to ask not what we can do for him, but what he can do for us. That, I think, is the definition of unconditional love.

My husband loves me enough to not just listen, but to hear. He loves his children enough to reconsider his opinions, to accept their differences, and to educate others about doing the same. He loves us in a way that is about us, not about him.

Maybe it is from that place deep within his DNA that this ability springs. It makes me wonder if we all possess the ability to love without condition. If so, then why do we so rarely see it in men; even more to the point, what is it that motivated my spouse to turn those sleepy cells on by tackling the hard work of self-analysis and the putting on of another's shoes?

I wish I knew, so that I could bottle this gift and give it away to my friends, my enemies, their children, and my children. Just imagine what the world would be like if we all embraced each other the way that he has embraced us. I am in awe of the man that he has become. (Of course, he still pisses me off sometimes...but that's another blog!)

MidChix Who Click with Moms Who Blog

As I listened to several inspiring speakers Sunday at the incredibly cool Chicks who Click 2010, I kept thinking "Damn, what if Mommy Blogging had been around 15 years ago when I had a 6-, 5-, 3- and 1-year-old hanging on my leg??" I had always fantasized about being the next Erma Bombeck. I'm not sure if it was because my mom adored her, and I wanted to be adored too...or if it was because her honest and humorous take on marriage and motherhood hit so close to home.

I love people who tell it like it is. They don't pretend that their spouse is a saint, or their kids are perfect, or that they eat a balanced diet. I must have been in tenth grade or so when I had the epiphany that girls liked me better if I confessed to an Oreo orgy than if I pretended to abhor sweets. Isn't that odd? How girls try to jockey for position with the popular gals by pretending to be perfect, while underneath it all, everyone aches to not be the only one who overdoses on Oreos?

Thank God that something happens between the Mean Girls of middle school and the magical good will of middle age.

It hasn't always been easy to convince my daughters that the day will come when their girlfriends will be their most treasured possession. But as Oprah says, I know this much is true. Whether it's the surprise attack of hormones on steroids when we hit 40, the realization that our spouse may never say the right thing, or the humbling of hemorrhoids after a 48-hour labor, our universal experience as women binds us in a way that we long to be bound.

When I laugh with my girlfriends it is medicinal. No matter how tired, angry, sad, burdened, or overwhelmed I am...sharing the human experience with like-minded humans is as close to a cure-all as you can get. Mommy bloggers have the right idea. By sharing the dementia of early motherhood and the demands of properly admiring while secretly reporting a toddler's proud announcement that her poop looks like a shark, they are empowering themselves, each other, and subsequently, their children. As everyone on the blogger panel confirmed, mommy blogging began not as a way to attract advertisers, but as a creative outlet, a connection with others, and a chance to talk out loud about what motherhood is really like. I think that may make it much more bearable. Instead of blowing up when the kids are sick, the DVD player is shot, your husband is traveling, and your roots are growing in...you write about it. And you feel better.

This morning I pulled out the file folder I have kept for the past 20 years. It is filled with sheets of scribbled rants, and printed-out potty-training stories of my own. (For those who heard the shark poop story, my own daughter's description was snake poopies). I always thought I would have a chance to share some of my inane insights, but except for the annual Christmas letter, I never did. Believe me, there was still satisfaction in writing them...but how much more satisfying if someone had been reading them and nodding, and laughing, and writing her own?

Maybe it's not too late to be a blogger. Sure, my kids don't call me "Mommy" anymore, (except when they need money), but my daily life is still alternately beautiful and beastly when it comes to the unique challenge of motherhood, not to mention womanhood, wifehood, sisterhood. Now we just need a name for blogging in middle age—how ‘bout "Been There Bloggers"?

If you want to join the ranks of this burgeoning blogger group, start by clicking on Bird Seed and submit your rants or reflections to us; or read Kathryn Bass' great intro to blogging in our How-To section. Maybe at next year's Chicks Who Click Conference, more of the clicking chicks will be MidChix!

School Rant

I wasn't the only one who was cranky yesterday. I talked to at least a few other moms who confessed that they had lost their patience. My theory is that after having more than three weeks of school holidays in the past eight, we are weary. Weary of juggling our usual work responsibilities and our usual home responsibilities along with holiday demands and the added complication of multiple children in the house all day.

Whether you work at home or out of the home, days off are a mom's conundrum. While I do appreciate the break from the morning rush, lunch-packing, and pick-up schedule; at the same time, I am flummoxed by the need to fit five days of work into four. To top it off, today Denver Public Schools have early dismissal. So that means I still get to wake up to a 5:45 alarm, drive my sleepy teen 20 minutes to school at 7, and then turn around at 10:45 and go back to pick her up. That is crazy.

You know what is even crazier, it's only four weeks until President's Day. Except at my son's school the Presidents get a whole week. And so does he.

In our family (and yes, I know that it is my own darn fault for having five kids), there is someone on spring break from February 27^th-April 9^th. I'm serious.

So, as long as I am ranting about school vacations, I might as well gripe about the hours too. Why are they so ungodly? With all of the attention given to test scores and student achievement, how can it make sense to have teens begin class at 7:29 AM? There may, somewhere in the world, be a teen or two who gets to bed before 10:00...but I doubt there are many. It has been clearly established that we are a sleep-deprived society, that teenagers need even more sleep than adults, and that lack of sleep leads to lower performance, slower response times, and irritability. Seems like a no-brainer to me.

Getting out of school by 2:45 is a fifteen year-old' dream come true. How many hours that leaves to text and video chat! But just think, if she were in school, she could just talk to her friends in person! Sure, in some parts of the country, I guess there may be a handful of kids who need to be out of school and in the fields to gather the crops before dark. But for the rest of them, couldn't school hours more closely approximate work hours?

If the school day covered 8:30-4:30...imagine how much easier it would be on just about everyone. During daylight savings time, there would still be light for outside sports, and once the clocks change for fall, sports should be inside anyway. Transportation always crops up as a driving force behind the staggered school times. Maybe by scheduling a later start, more parents would be able to drive kids to school on their way to work...or maybe increasing the transportation budget, buying more buses, and hiring more drivers to accommodate a later start time across the board-would in fact result in higher test scores, better prepared and healthier students.

Seems like the pros of a longer and later starting school day have the potential to greatly outweigh some of the cons. Why not try this simple solution, before pouring more money into school overhauls?

And how ‘bout doing away with half-days while we're at it?

Alone

There is something about being alone. It is an indescribable feeling I get on that first day after summer vacation or winter break when everyone has gone back to school, or work, or wherever…and I am actually in my house by myself. It is so soothing, so peaceful, and so incredibly rare. I guess that it is that rarity that makes it so good…

I am sitting here by myself, listening to the humming of a home—the clocks, the radiators, the fridge, the dryer, and the occasional pinging of my phone making sure I don’t miss the arrival of a single email. It is heavenly.

It is not alone if the only other body in the building is a somnolent teenager who rarely makes it downstairs before 1 or 2 pm. I know that I will miss the chaos of kids when they have all flown this coop. But maybe not as much as people say I will.

How can I admit this, especially knowing that for people like my Mom, an empty house is the very last thing in the world that she wants to come home to? I am reminded to be thankful for the precious hours of silence; but also that the silence will end, and that I will not be alone. And so I am thankful…

Thankful for the noise, the interruptions, the mess, the dirty laundry, the clean (unfolded) laundry, the fingerprints, the empty orange juice container in the fridge, the toothpaste gobs in the sink, the snoring of my mate, the three different songs being sung at once from different rooms on different floors, the ringing phone, the whining, the sighing, the out-of-tune cello, the lunches to pack, the emails to answer, the forms to fill out, the thank-you letters to write, the counters to wipe, the parties to plan, the snow to shovel, the flights to book, the schools to research, the ticket to pay, the paper to read, the friends to call, the kid to comfort, the dishes to load, and unload, the trash to take out, the teacher to question, the long-lost friend to find, the light bulb to replace, the gas tank to fill, the shirt to iron, the toilet to plunge, the sheets to change, the potatoes to bake, the show to watch, the child to tuck, the teeth to floss, the articles to edit, the bills to pay, the lamps to turn on, the papers to file, the reservations to make, the passwords to remember, the plants to water, the headache to get rid of, the meals to plan, the blog to write, the day to seize.

New Year's Resolutions

breathe deeply,

be polite,

stop swearing,

practice patience,

sleep more,

drink less,

plan dinner,

call my mother,

knit a scarf,

take that art class,

visit a museum,

go to the movies,

write letters,

honor date night,

walk a lot,

kiss my husband,

meditate,

bake homemade cookies,

pray,

read more,

drive less,

hug a child,

tip liberally,

never honk,

screen calls,

be grateful,

stretch,

consider forgiveness,

listen,

laugh,

love life.

Willing Life

The will to live—it’s an unfathomable thing. What drives it? I mean there are days when the news is so grim, the air so cold, and the people we love so unlovable that it’s easy to wonder why we bother.

But sometimes, something—faith, hope, or belief in the power of human relationships—must urge us to stay the course. When I arrived at the hospital last Friday, six days after I had left, I was prepared for the worst. I had spoken with my brother, Chris, the day before, and for the first time he had sounded distraught. It had been a bad day. Dad was grey, puffy, unshaven, sedated, and hadn’t been able to tolerate even a few minutes of breathing on his own. The doctors were beginning to talk about a tracheotomy.

Yet, when I called Chris on Friday afternoon, as my cab pulled up to the hospital entrance, he told me the tide had turned. Dad was awake, alert, and communicating with nods, even small smiles. The nurses had bathed him and shaved him as much as they could around the breathing tube. I walked into the ICU and experienced it for myself. His eyes were only half open, but they knew me and I could see them shine and crinkle the way they always did when Dad was happy. He was still there.

Somehow I knew that it was time to tell him the many things that I had never taken the opportunity to tell him before. I talked to him about what a good dad he was. And thanked him for the many lessons he had taught me—like the significance of ethical behavior, honesty, civic responsibility, education, and lifelong friendships. I reminded him about the special moments we had had in our family because of him: the trips to Sea Island, our Halloween costumes, summers in Stone Harbor, my backyard wedding reception, and the way he had embarrassed us as kids by singing “California, Here I Come” in the jet-way before a flight to San Francisco 38 years ago.

I could tell that he heard me, and it seemed that my words brought him some contentment. I hope that they formed beautiful pictures for his mind’s eye to remember as he navigated those last hours. I wonder if he rallied Friday because he knew I was coming and he wanted to hear what I had to say.

Dad once told me that his mother, who died of breast cancer when he was 25, had willed herself to live so that she could be there for her daughter’s wedding day. That is the only real image that I have of my grandmother...determined. Maybe he was determined too.

The prospect of death does its mean duty. I picture it like a mother saying “You’ll thank me for this someday.” I am thankful for the fear that surfaced when Dad’s surgery lasted 5 hours instead of 2. I am grateful that I had a heads-up, and that his strong will was to live long enough for me to see him, and that I had the good fortune to be able to tell him that I loved him, and to remind him of his legacy—two children and nine grandchildren—one of whom peacefully awaited his company.

The will to live is unfathomable. Death, a mystery. The only thing that we can truly know is that love is the reason we hurt, and why we will life. And that is not a bad thing.

When Mid-Life Brings End-of-Life Issues Closer to Home

Thanksgiving brought mixed blessings this year. After a whirlwind but wonderful week visiting with family and friends in Philadelphia, New York and New Jersey, it ended at my father’s bedside in ICU. Twenty-four hours after a long, complicated multiple hernia surgery on Monday, he seemed amazingly well. But at midnight on Wednesday he was moved to ICU. Agitated, disoriented, and in considerable pain, the stress on his body was proving too much. Black Friday morning was exactly that as the doctors prepared us for the possibility that he would not make it.

As my brother, mom, and I read through Dad’s living will, we had to weigh the decision to put him on a ventilator to ease the strain on his heart with his wish to not be kept alive artificially if his condition was terminal. The fact is that there is no way to know yet if his condition is terminal. When my brother asked Mom if Dad had a strong will to live, she hesitated. But when he asked if he enjoyed his life, the answer was an unequivocal yes. So giving him a fighting chance seemed like the right thing to do.

A week ago he was a relatively healthy, though sedate, 79 year-old who loved his wife, his home, his children, grandchildren, and friends. He loved his books, crosswords, meals, movies, music, and memories. He walked (slowly) but faithfully every day, as he had since his first heart attack 23 years ago. He still has things to live for. We have to hope that he does live, and if he does, that he can still enjoy the things he loves. That is where it gets so complicated. Mom says she wants him back whole. How can we promise that? How can we not?

Last Thanksgiving we were all together. With my brother’s family, my family, and my mom all surrounding him, I’d never seen my dad happier. He was excited at the notion of doing it all over again this year. He had even carefully completed his Christmas shopping and wrapping in anticipation of celebrating that holiday early, on Black Friday, while we were all together. The last thing he said to me on the phone on Wednesday was how disappointed he was to not be with us. He told me we should unwrap the gifts, and enjoy them and take them home in our suitcases. Even in his deteriorating state, my proudly frugal dad couldn’t bear the thought of paying to ship!

We’re about to board the plane. The gifts are still stacked in his study. I hope when I fly back this weekend, he is there to chasten me for not taking them home on the plane. And if he is, then that next time, I will.

River Trip

Two or three years ago I spent an extended Labor Day weekend on a canoe trip down the Green River with eleven other women. We camped, canoed, divvied up chocolate bars around the fire at night and drank cowboy coffee (with grounds and no cream) in the mornings. The first six hours of the trip I wondered what I had gotten myself into. The first night, I finally crawled out of my tent to escape my tent-mate’s snoring and rolled my sleeping bag out under the stars. This is the first time that I think that I have ever done that. Slept outside, all night under the stars. It was incredible.

They did have us do some journaling and other soul-seeking exercises. I felt kind of sheepish at first. But actually got a lot more out of that process than I thought. I came home from the trip very inspired. Recently I found my journal and was amazed at what I had written about “What I Learned on My River Trip.” It reminded me to always think about all sides of people, experiences, moods, decisions, beliefs.

Hope it helps others to think too…

Don’t trust your first impressions. Trust your first impressions. Drink lots of water. Don’t drink too much water. Paddle hard. Hardly paddle. Share your fears. Lose your fears. Don’t forget your sarong. Always plan for weather. Be prepared. Be quiet. Kind words are remembered. Everybody has many stories. Struggles are part of feeling satisfaction. There is always more to learn. Learning something is better than learning nothing. Small things can make big impressions. Being physically active makes the day better. You’re never too old. If you don’t steer right, it doesn’t matter how fast you are going, you’ll never get there.

Middle-Aged Women

It was probably more than 15 years ago when I first heard someone refer to middle-aged women as invisible. It was incredibly depressing...even for someone who felt like she had eons until she was middle-aged.

The eons went by at light speed, but fate was with me. And the future is good. That someone may have been right about middle-aged gals then, but he (you knew it was a he didn't you?), is dead wrong now.

Women over 50 are 16% of the U.S. population, 22% of US adult population, and 41% of US adult female population. According to the 2005 U.S. Census Bureau, every fifth adult in the United States is a female over 50...and plenty more are on their way!

As Avivah Wittenberg-Cox & Alison Maitland point out in their book Why Women Mean Business, women have been elected to the highest political office in countries from Germany to Finland and Chile and made their way to the foreground of presidential battles in France and the U.S. for the first time. They make up half the governments of countries like Spain, France, Finland, and Sweden.

As noted by USA Today, in January of 2009, 13 of the country's 500 largest publicly traded companies were headed by female CEOs. The Center for Women's Business Research has found that over the past 15 years, women have started 70% of new businesses and that relative to the economy at large, woman-owned businesses are growing twice as fast in number, three times as fast in employees, and four times as fast in sales revenues. And 73% of women business owners in nontraditional industries are age 45 or older.

And according to the National Institute for Educational Statistics, in 2006-07, women earned 62% of Associates, 57% of Bachelors, and 61% of Master's degrees.

So women over 40, and you thirty-somethings who feel that middle-age is eons away, take heart. You and I are members of the healthiest, wealthiest, most independent, most active, most educated, and most politically and economically powerful generation of women in history.

Guess we're not so invisible anymore!

To learn more about this extraordinary transformation and the opportunities it presents I highly recommend reading: The She Spot by Lisa Witter and Lisa Chen, Why Women Mean Business by Avivah Wittenberg-Cox & Alison Maitland, and my personal favorite, PrimeTime Women by Marti Barletta, author of Marketing to Women.

MidChix Start Up Financing Part 2 or "My Money or My Life"

By January of 2009, MidChix haunted my every waking moment, and I began searching high and low for funds. I needed $50,000 dollars and it was nowhere to be found. I sold some jewelry. I looked under the seats of the car. I pocketed bills that showed up in the lint screen. I cashed in the kitchen change jar. I consigned clothes. I substituted in the office at the school. I did everything I could think of short of pulling a Bernie Madoff.

True confessions. I actually contemplated the number of sexual favors that it might take to land a big fat loan from my supportive, but cautious husband.

Then one day, the light bulb went on. Didn’t I have a life insurance policy somewhere? I raced upstairs to the study and the file cabinet. Yes! There it was. Now technically, this wasn’t “my” money. My practical and organized (yet prudent and possibly sexually deprived) spouse, had realized when our fourth child arrived well before our oldest turned 6, that he would be TOAST if I ever took up sky-diving. Nevertheless, I felt, at this point, that I had earned that money. I mean for heaven sakes, it was there to pay some poor slob to fill in for me if I was dead. I mean, if I was dead wouldn’t that make him sad and he’d do anything to make me feel better…I mean make him feel better…I mean make me feel so good I wouldn’t be dead?

Okay, okay. I decided that I had earned the money, because I had ended up being the poor slob bringing up our four kids (later 5) while he was working his cute little investment banking butt off providing for the five kids that we would need to pay some poor slob to take care of if I died.

Fast forward. I didn’t die. The kids got older. (Even the youngest one.) We moved to Denver and my practical hard-working husband continued to be practical and hardworking, but available enough that he learned how to hold down the fort.

So on a wing and a prayer, I pointed simultaneously to him and our 14 year old daughter (while glancing meaningfully at her little brother) and announced, “If I die, you’re it!”

After returning the rescinded Mother-of-the Year Award to the proper authorities, I cashed in my life insurance, hired the software developers, and decided to live the dream.

So far, so good. But if you ever see me outside in a lightning storm, please make sure the wine glass I am holding doesn’t have one of those metal doo-hickeys hanging from it. And in the meantime, Cheers!

MidChix Start Up Financing Part One or Cleaning Up

I wasn’t complaining, I swear. It’s just that for the 54th consecutive Monday, when I turned on the living room lamp, nothing happened. For the 54th consecutive Monday, I went out to the garage, retrieved a new bulb, screwed it in, turned the little knob and…still, nothing happened. Oh yeah, I thought, the cleaning lady unplugged it again.

Believe me, I knew I was lucky to have a cleaning lady, I got hives anytime I recalled the first eight weeks in a new house still under construction sans one with a new baby, a six-year old with asthma, and three older kids whose idea of helping around the house was flushing. Still, I have to admit I went crazy every time I found that the shampoos had all been moved out of the shower to the tub, or my night table water bottle had been tossed, or the blow dryer unplugged and hidden in a drawer (a different one each week). The best is when I would find all the dirty sheets and towels deposited on top of the clean clothes in the laundry basket.

My husband went nuts every time they folded the end piece of toilet paper into a neat little triangle (just like in fancy hotels)…even when it was literally the end piece of toilet paper. He is still traumatized by the last time that he had to waddle to the linen closet with his pants around his ankles.

So early this year, when finding funding for MidChix was keeping me up at night, I began pecking around for any and all sources of cash. And after replacing that light bulb for the 54th consecutive Monday, I had an epiphany. I could clean my own house! And pay myself! Admittedly, I don’t clean the whole house every week, but I have developed a pretty good system that manages to keep the sinks relatively free of toothpaste and the dust bunnies to only a couple of generations.

This seems like a natural evolution from a prior epiphany, which I think should be a future topic on this site: Stay-at-Home Moms should get paid. My preference would be that the government paid us…but until we manage to have that legislation passed, having the household account pay me will have to suffice.

The best part is, I never replace a light bulb that isn’t burned out.

Stay tuned for Part II of MidChix Start-Up Financing Story. It promises to include seamy details including sexual favors and life and death decisions!

MidChix Mission and Mantras

As I made my way down the start-up path, I had some pretty firm ideas about what I wanted for MidChix. After realizing that it's not that hard to get blown off course, I decided to put a few promises in writing so that when the inevitable mission-creep threatens, we can refer back to our original purpose.

When I began to investigate the world of social networking, I was dismayed to discover that many social networking sites allow advertising and fees hidden in the small print that compromise the security of their members. Here are a couple of examples:

Early in the year I was drawn in by a Google ad on Facebook and ordered a free sample of two skin care products. Unbeknownst to me, I also signed up to be placed on auto-ship for both. A charge of $39.99 showed up on my credit card bill a few weeks later, and when one of the products arrived before I became aware of this scam, I was told that the product could not be returned after it had shipped. So next time you are tempted to click on that ad which promises a no-fail method for weight-loss, or wrinkle-reduction, or some other miracle cure, BUYER BEWARE.

The following month, I registered for Classmates.com to help with research for MidChix. Though Classmates.com charges a fee to members, I figured it was worth it to learn about a different revenue model. Once again, I was scammed. Turns out when you sign up you are also sold a credit check service. It was three months in before I happened to be the one paying our Visa bill one evening and noticed the $19.99 charge from "Privacy Matters." Guess my husband didn't want to pry when he saw that charge, or secretly hoped it was some erotic product that I was planning to surprise him with...

You can be assured that MidChix will never put revenues ahead of your rights.

We promise:

• We will never hide fees/charges/contracts in small print.
• We will protect your privacy.
• We will never provide personally identifying information to anyone.
• We will only support advertisers that have demonstrated a commitment to women through their products, employment practices or charitable endeavors.
• And we will do our best to expose sites that are not safe or that hide fees.