Need Tips on Tips

I know about cabbies, waiters and whatnot...but am clueless on proper tipping etiquette for bellboys, bellhops, doormen, concierges, etc. By the way, is a bellhop and a bellboy one and the same? Is a doorman a porter? I need a lesson before we check out. Thank God for Google! Anyone else at a loss about this stuff? Give me a minute while I track down the info...

Okay, before the lowdown, here's an interesting tidbit-the word tip is rumored to have originated with a pub owner as an abbreviation for "To Insure Promptness" on a box he provided to patrons! If you want prompt attention, you tip! Maybe we should install a tip jar at the post office, DMV, and my eye doctor's office.

Not surprisingly, women tip men better, and men tip women better. Attractive women get higher tips, and so do attentive men (as long as they don't make mistakes). Tipping goes up when the weather is good, and down when it is bad. Hmmm, doesn't bode well for waitstaff in Seattle, England, Minneapolis or just about anyplace but Denver or San Diego!

This is what I learned via About.com: Tip the hopping bellboy $1-2/per bag or $5-10 for bringing in bags and providing a descriptive introduction to the room. If the doorman helps with bags, it seems that he should be thanked with a little green as well. If he just opens the door for you each and every time you come and go, give him a toothy smile, a big thank you, and then hand him $5-10 when you check out. If a staff member or concierge helps with a special request, show him your appreciation with a a few bucks.

If you splurge on room service, a gratuity is usually automatically added to the bill, but it's nice to hand the deliverer a couple of dollars, especially if they come in and set up the food. Same deal for a maintenance worker who comes to fix something or someone who delivers a requested item - like a cot or blanket. Note to self, stock up on ones and fives before next trip.

Yikes, my biggest blunder so far is that I've never really been aware that we should tip the chambermaids. Oops. And that we should tip each and every day, since it might be different gals on different days. Double oops. Okay, now I know.

I must find a way to do penance for all of those poor chambermaids who have had to deal with not only me but my large, messy family over the course of our travels. I somehow knew to tip the few times we've stayed at resorts, but what about all the times when our 3- rooms-at -a-minimum-family just bedded down at a Marriott for a night or two? Why did it never occur to me that we should always tip the maids. They have the toughest job of all. They do what I do at home which is disgusting enough when you're related to the people with the hair. Ugh, what if you didn't even know the people who once belonged to the hair and had to not only see it but get rid of it. My bad. Okay I promise to make it up somehow. Maybe the best way is to spread the word to other dummies like myself!

Next time you stay overnight in a hotel, leave a couple of bucks in an envelope or wrapped in a piece of paper; write 'chambermaid', and leave on the pillow or bathroom counter before you leave each day. And if you or your travel companions shed more hair than the average Joe, maybe you should make it a fiver.

Don't know if I'd rather hear that other folks have stiffed the maids too so I don't feel solely responsible for economically disadvantaged maids of America ...or that everyone else has tipped housekeeping since the beginning of time ensuring their survival despite my gaffe? Regardless, I will remedy this situation before checking out tomorrow. May my tombstone read "she sure learned how to tip".

Girl or Boy?

When we pulled up to the Burger King drive-thru speaker, I was thinking about my conversation with Karen. We had met that morning for a brief coffee catch-up and had shared the recent developments in the lives of our gender-variant kids. I was pondering what the best next step would be to form a playgroup for non-traditional kids…when the order-taker asked if the Kids Meal was for a boy or a girl.

I glanced in the rear view mirror and saw my son’s face, frozen. I asked why she wanted to know…”for the toy “ was the reply. I said to give me the girls’ toy, and my little boy breathed a sigh of relief.

Raising a gender-variant kid is no picnic. And being one sure isn’t either. My oldest and youngest sons both preferred dolls to legos, theatre to sports, long hair to boys’ regular. When my middle son would invite a friend to play, his older brother would panic if the friend saw his Barbies and would silently agonize over what would happen if the friend told others about his secret. When my younger son searches the library shelves for an American Girl book he repeatedly checks over his shoulder to make sure no one is watching, and actually refers to his love of dolls as “my secret”. His "secret" makes it hard for him to do much outside the safety of our home.

What a hard way to have to live.

Despite all of the advances that have been made in adult society’s acceptance of gender-variant interests, vocations, fashion, and behavior, in the world of children, being gender-variant is like wearing a permanent target on one’s chest. The worst part is the feeling of shame. I used to feel it too. But the longer I walk this lonely path with my youngest child (the older son is now a happy, successful, self-assured adult who is adored by more people than he can count) the less my shame and the greater my anger…and my determination to do something to change the way we treat children who differ from the norm.

Say it Again, Sam!

It must seem pretty hypocritical that a woman who is building a website to celebrate and facilitate sharing between people would be so reticent about sharing something as unobtrusive as her name. But I have to confess that one of my biggest pet peeves is the new coffee house strategy for making sure they give you the right drink. “Triple venti non-fat latte, coming right up… What’s your name?”

Who wants to know?

Frankly, I don’t want to give them my name. Is it because I have never really liked it? because it’s hard to spell? because mom warned about people offering me candy in exchange for my name? Let’s face it, maybe it’s only Norm who wants to go someplace “where everybody knows your name”. So I just lie and say my name is Sam.

But one day I got caught when I was ordering coffee with my husband in tow (his name happens to be Phil…something you might see on a bowling shirt or a mechanic’s pocket but apparently he has no problem sharing it with any old barista). When asked for my name, I automatically said “Sam” and Phil looked at me like I had two heads. Oops. Then I had to explain the whole charade to him (and the barista and all the eavesdroppers in line behind us). No one else seems to be bothered by the whole thing. Is it just me?

Names are funny. I remember the ongoing debate on baby names. Phil likes traditional. I like non-traditional. He won for the most part. And to this day I rue the fact that none of my kids’ names achieved the alliteration that I so adore (see achieved, alliteration, adore? ---Which is maybe why Sam sounds good to me…). My family makes much fun of the fact that I swoon over S names that are unusual and nature-ish. For example, I was really determined to name my first boy Slate. I’m also partial to Sky, Summer, and Savannah. The kids just roll their eyes at me, except for the ten year-old who loves helping me think up outrageous names beginning with S that we fantasize about using if we ever talk his dad into getting a dog.

So if you hear someone hollering “Serendipity… here Serendipity!” next time you’re jogging through the park, you’ll know it’s Sam, and that at least I won the dog negotiation.

Intention: Philanthropy

“What’s a philanthropist?” I asked my Dad when I was maybe seven or eight, after reading the word in a Bobbsey Twins mystery. He explained in the simple terms that parents use with little kids that a philanthropist is someone who does good by giving money to people in need. I said “then that’s what I’m going to be”. He had chuckled. Probably since in that day and age philanthropists were generally men… men with money. But he didn’t discourage me when I began producing backyard circuses, plays, and puppet shows as fundraisers for the local children’s hospital. Never mind that the total I raised at each of these galas amounted to maybe 15 bucks- tops.

I’m not sure where this longing to do good came from. Believe me, I am no Mother Theresa. I have peeked in friends’ medicine cabinets, sneaked shots of vodka before big, intimidating events, and play “Your Team” with my family on a regular basis (if you don’t know the game, please don’t ask, it’s not nice…not nice at all).

Maybe it’s because my parents had always been volunteers in the community, and though fierce Republicans, ironically, they did raise us with the Kennedy philosophy “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country?”

Maybe it’s because they were folks who were kind to everyone, no matter what his or her station in life. Maybe it was the National Geographic magazines that my Dad religiously pored over and collected over the years that gave me a peek into life outside my sheltered suburban world. Whatever it was that gave me the bug to give money to people in need, it’s still with me.

Granted, I have raised lots of money for lots of organizations over the years. But frankly I’m tired of asking people for money for some cause or another. I want to earn the money myself, and give it freely to whomever I want. In a year and 2 weeks I will turn 50. When that day comes, I will look back over the past year and glow.

I am a philanthropist. Watch me grow.

Social Media Butterfly

Social media…the bane of my existence, and the reason for it.

Spent the weekend trying to make all my user names, passwords, email addresses, and screen names line up. So far, I am known as 475Gretch, Ginger27, gretchen27, Javamama27, gretchen174, ChiefChick, ChiefChick27, Georgie27, and Macaroni. A chick with nine lives.

(Since my passwords are probably already known by half of Denver, I’ll refrain from listing them here.)

Okay, let’s Face it I’m all aTwitter about these fabulous new apps that I happened to Stumble upon. Can you Digg it? Frankly, who gives a Hoot, as long as I’m Linked in to all humanity, it is sweet. Welcome to My Space, will you be my Paypal?…Can you say Ebay? Yahoo! I get Googley eyes when I fantasize about Ticketmaster, even though he’s hot for the Amazon. Blog Her! She may be in Constant Contact, but she’s probably just a Dreamer not a Doer, and I think that My Emma is after him too. She may Evite herself to the Tasty Kitchen, but she’s no Pioneer Woman, so prepare for a 4Square Tuggl of war. I am MidChix, hear me roar! Let’s see what YouTube can do…to make me the Apple of your eye.

Defend Yourself!

Self-defense. It sounds kind of ominous. But why wouldn’t we want to know how to defend ourselves? Theresa, our instructor, wasn't surprised. She said that a lot of people are scared off by the words “self-defense”.

If you are one of those folks, let me tell you that articulating your biggest fears and then finding out how to handle them if they happen is the most empowering experience that one can have. It was amazing to find out how little strength it takes to out-maneuver and even (yes!) debilitate a man twice my size. To tell the truth, it felt pretty good! I don’t want to be afraid. Do you?

If someone is creep, a jerk, a perpetrator, or a predator…they’re looking for a victim. Hell, I don’t want to be a victim. I want to know how to take care of myself. While many of us spend a boatload of time trying to figure out how to take care of ourselves financially, very few of us have spent even a few minutes considering how to protect ourselves physically.

Statistics say that one in six women will be sexually assaulted during their lifetime. College aged women are 4 times more likely to be sexually assaulted. In fact, according to the Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network, every 2 minutes someone in this country is sexually assaulted. Perhaps, most disturbing is the fact that 35% of women have been in romantic relationships that were verbally and emotionally abusive, and this is the highest indicator of potential eventual physical abuse.

By not learning how to defend ourselves, we are really putting our heads in the sand. It’s like not buying insurance, not wearing a seatbelt, not getting a flu shot, not exercising, not quitting smoking, not using condoms, not using birth control, not saving, not protecting our social security numbers, not locking our doors etc etc.

Although we invited over 600 women to a self-defense class last week, only one person (besides Lise, Meghan, our videographer, and me) showed up.

I urge you, whether you are a member of MidChix or not, to learn about defending yourself in the event of an attack. Our inspiring instructor, Theresa Byrne, a third-degree black belt in martial arts, and owner-instructor at United Martial Arts Center http://www.umac.us provided us with a wealth of information about early warning signs of an abusive relationship, as well as specific techniques for use in the event of a physical assault, as well as verbal self-defense in a situation where the body’s adrenaline response would have us Fight, Flight, or Freeze. Check them out in Ideas on MidChix.com. http://www.midchix.com/pg/pages/view/17000/

I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be kickin’ someone else, then kicking myself for not being ready…

Waking Up

When the alarm blared its obnoxious blare this morning, I rolled over, and got up. My loving but slightly less morning-hungry husband, muttered "How do you do that"?

Good question. I mean, I'm clearly tired. I go to bed way later than the rest of the family, and get up earlier. I know that I'm sleep deprived, but no matter how I've tried to address it, sleep always loses. You know what's funny? Just as I was typing this I noticed that tired and tried are almost the same word. And that is kind of the idea that I was just getting to.

I heard one of my heroines speak at the Women Empowering Women seminar on Saturday. Jeannie Ritter shared some insights, stories and a few memorable quotes with us. I didn't note the original source...but one of the quotes that really stuck with me maybe explains how I get up. "The anecdote for exhaustion is wholeheartedness." Isn't that nice?
:
I guess I'd rather "she tried" then "she was tired." Back at it.

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.