It’s hard to believe it’s practically May and I haven’t written a post in almost a month. April was a bit of a roller coaster for me–emotions and decisions, new opportunities and (my personal favorite) change. Any and all of this could reasonably account for my loss of time and lack of word count–but if I’m being totally honest, there was also some recreational time packed in there for relaxing and enjoying a week off with my family (more on that later).
I ran into an old friend on the subway the other day. He and his partner have a two-year-old little girl, and we started talking about the different types of parenting challenges we face at different stages. As we continued to chat from 96th Street to Times Square, we both agreed how much easier life would have been if only someone had clued us in to a few things before high school.
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Only two days into 2014, and I was already feeling anxious.
For the last five years, January always starts with a business trip: CES in Las Vegas.
The new variable: this is the first year that I am playing a pretty serious chess match with a virus of some sort. This freaks me out to no end because one of my major travel anxieties is being feverish and shivering on check-out morning with an impending flight to catch–this anxiety increases exponentially when we’re talking business travel.
Resolutions are so overrated. They are fraught with emotional booby-traps begging to be broken. If I’m being fair and totally honest, some have worked out well for me–this blog was part of a resolution a couple years ago…well, actually it was the sibling of this blog, but that’s a whole other story–but most resolutions don’t end as well intentioned as they began, which defeats the whole point of a resolution.
my son and me snuggling and posing
I’ve heard the saying “I don’t have any babies anymore” … I’ve probably even said it myself. I don’t think that’s true. As I dropped off my son this morning at school, it resonated without question from both my heart and gut, he will always be my baby.
my Dad and me circa 1989 (or ’90), Anguilla, BWI
The parent / child relationship is one of beauty and complexity. I am reminded lately of the added layers this bond must sustain when daughters start experimenting with their freedom and sexuality in adolescence. I won’t go into why I am reminded–those aren’t my stories to tell and I believe they are sacred to those individuals. What I will say is my family is near and dear to me and I am a mother and a wife. Forgive me for sharing the obvious, but before becoming a mother or a wife I was (and still am) a daughter and did a fair share of experimenting and testing bonds and bounds. My circumstances were not common, but they were not unique–nor were they often discussed until years after some damage had been done. Perhaps someday I’ll write about that (maybe, I’m still debating).
Based on my prior posts about psychics and tarot readings it should come as no surprise that I believe in astrological calendars and their meanings to some degree. For most things (maybe even all things), I believe a bit of both science and art creates a well-balanced diet that doesn’t over or under serve what each side has to offer.
Recently I was given amazing advice from someone I respect and trust that was succinct, honest, informed and personal. Sage advice is a priceless gift that just keeps on giving. Getting some words at the right time can aid in powering through a rough patch and can even sub-consciously linger; ready and able to re-emerge when triggered by doubt, despair or detractors. The good news, advice is free… the bad news, my Dad used to say, the only advice you pay for is the advice you don’t take.
That said, I’ve found it’s important to be discerning in who I trust and who I get (and give, for that matter) advice from, and every now and then I need some inspiration but am not in close proximity to my network. In those moments, I keep these inspirational quotes handy, offering sound guidance that’s also when quick uplift is necessary. Like them? I often Instagram stuff like this, so come check me out there too…
On my 30th birthday I woke up and cried. Not because I was turning 30, but because I was entering a decade that my father would have no part of. He died when I was 22 and so he had seen a small part of my twenties. Entering my thirties meant starting a chapter that would be devoid of any semblance of his imprint.
I have another birthday coming this week.
As I was searching my basement this weekend for suitcases, I found myself in a nostalgia detour. My inner procrastinator happily combed through boxes and Ziploc baggies brimming with the past, and as each vessel surfaced with archives of long-lost treasures (treasures maybe a strong word for old pictures, “Welcome Home Baby” cards, baby teeth and hair, positive pregnancy tests from my first and second born–yes, I kept them–and umbilical cord stumps, but one person’s treasure is another’s trash) another hour was almost surely lost. But then I came across something else quite unexpected.
The Gifting Whisperer 