Tomorrow I leave for four days and three nights (across town, but, whatevs, it still counts) to attend Blissdom, a blogging conference held annually in Nashville. I have been for the last few years and use it as my “girls’ weekend” in the longest months of January and February.

This year it’s a little different. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m 40 now, or just where I happen to be in life, or because I have been a handful of times already, but I’m going in with a whole different mindset. I didn’t buy any new clothes or shoes or accessories. I’m not getting my nails or my toes done. I did get my hair done, but that was because it happened to fall this week without any forethought on my part.

I guess what I’m saying is, I’m coming as me. The me that walks the earth the other 362 days of the year. I look forward to seeing friends and making new ones, but I’m not changing who I am to do it. I am much funnier on paper than in person because I usually get nervous and clam up around people I don’t know. And then spend the next three hours thinking of all the wonderful things I could have said if I wasn’t worrying about what other people think. So beware, things might just fly out of my mouth that make you go “Wha?”

I’m excited. Oh yes, I’m so looking forward to this time away. But it’s a different excitement than in years past. Then I was looking to meet people, to get noticed, to go places and come away with people wondering how they lived their whole lives thus far without knowing me. Now I’m happy to enjoy the people for who they are and myself for who I am.  I will connect with some and with others, I will not, and that’s perfectly fine.

In years past, I was leaving my precious babies for the first and second and third times. My hope was that they would all survive without me. My parting advice was “Make sure they nap!” Now, I’m writing reminders about Daddy/Daughter dances, bus schedules, antibiotic doses, homework instructions, basketball snacks, and “Remember, Nick can’t have dairy.”

I will be just as ready to come home on Sunday as I am to leave tomorrow. And fun? Yes, it will be fun. It will also be work as I learn from some of the best and prepare to launch my new site. Time to put any self-doubt in my pocket and get ready to rock and roll.

Oh, and in case you’re wondering, blogging is a great was to procrastinate packing…

For many months (actually close to two years) my sweet boy’s teachers have been reassuring me he would be ready to start kindergarten. That he would “catch up.” Not to worry.

Last week they called me in for one of our brainstorming sessions. We gather around over lunch and try to come up with ideas of how to help Nick. Or figure out what might be going on. Throw out clues that might help solve the mystery that is my boy. They always apologize for not having any answers.

Last week his teacher stared me in the face and told me she’s worried. Kindergarten is going to be really, really hard. On both Nick and me. But she wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. Mothers know these things. We just do.

We finished our brainstorming meeting with a few more ideas. We’ll try diet. We’ll try headphones to decrease the distraction. We’ll request a structured teacher. We’re trying some chiropractic to stimulate different neuro-pathways. We go to the pediatrician on Thursday and will ask for screening for ADHD, SPD, Dyslexia, Dysgraphia, and anything else they can think of. A lot of those things aren’t tested for until children are 5. Well, he’s hit the magic number and it’s time to at least start ruling things out.

My suspicion, as well as a few of his therapists, is that he is mildly more then one of those. If we can find the main one (if there is a main one) we can start to piece together the rest of the puzzle.

Is my kid happy? Absolutely. And I’m thankful for that every day. Will school be a challenge for him? Always. That’s just the way it is. Will be find something in which to excel and continue to be happy? That’s my hope.

His friend’s mom asked me the other day what his actual diagnosis is. It’s a tricky question among the special needs community. You never know when to ask and when to respect privacy. I appreciated her asking, because it helped me to say out loud what I’ve been thinking for a while. “We don’t know. And it’s high time we find out.” When I condensed the long version into a few minutes, it kind of sounded to me like we hadn’t done enough. We hadn’t demanded enough. The system was keeping us from finding the answers. I know we’ve done what we thought was right through every stage of this process.

And now, it’s time to gear up for another battle. I’m not taking no for an answer.

One of my cats likes to eat things. A lot of things. Randomly.

In the past few months, my cat Finnegan has chewed through:

not one, but two Macbook power cords

a Leapfrog pen cord

the elbow of Maggie’s raincoat

the knob on the heating vent

wires to the Christmas tree lights

Christmas tree ornaments

the Christmas tree itself (Christmas was a big time around here for Finnegan)

countless rolls of toilet paper (he doesn’t just unroll them, he actually ingests some of the TP)

pencils

pencil erasers

a pair of my sandals

an iPod charger cord

The weird thing is I have a very similar charging cord that lives on my bedside table that has gone untouched for 2 years. He has lost interest in the computer power cords too. *knocks on wood* He ate one pair of my sandals, but not the replacement pair. I have given up trying to figure out his pea-sized brain’s reasoning.

He also has eaten:

a cob of corn

Pirate’s Booty

spinach

lettuce

ran away with a carrot in his mouth, but I don’t think he ate it

snap peas

broccoli

(I began giving his little vegetables assuming he would lose interest once he found out what they were. Umm, no.)

Things he will most certainly NOT eat:

the 836 chewy toys of every shape, size, and texture that I have purchased to satisfy his need to gnaw.

And Lulu remains the sweetest cat ever, who loves to cuddle with me but refuses to be petted.

I have a PhD in chocolate. Trust me on this one. You need some of this in your life. At least, I know I do.

Do you even know how many fantastic places Nashville has to offer for really good chocolate? There’s still time to pick up some of these delicious treats in time for Valentine’s Day.

XO

Big things are happening around here. I have a new website about to go live in the next few days, I have an Etsy shop about to open, and I’m having a business card giveaway today!

(In return for this giveaway I received free business cards for my personal use. I only do giveaways that I think you will be interested in, and with Blissdom right around the corner and so many of my friends running small businesses and blogs, I thought this was a great fit.)

I’ll share more about the new site in the next few days and I’ll certainly let you all know when the Etsy shop goes live. But for today, let’s talk about the giveaway.

I have tried various types of business cards over the years. In the beginning I printed my own from my computer. Then I had some done at an office store. I’ve ordered a few pretty ones, but I knew how much they cost and didn’t want to “waste” any on people who might not really use them. Heh.

Now I’m wising up. I’m ordering in bulk and I’m going to give them away to anyone who will take one. In fact, I’ll give them a few and they can pass them out too.

Enter Day2Day Printing (no relation, but I like the name.) They are an online printing company who offer full-color printing at a steal. Day2Day Printing has great pricing on their business card printing as well calendars, cards, magnets, and tons more.

As a small business owner, I am always looking for concise tips for maximizing marketing. Day2Day has a great blog that does just that. Keeping up with the newest trends is easier when you are getting tips from someone whose business it is to be in the know.

You can also follow Day2Day Printing on Facebook and Twitter.

What’s in it for you? Well, my friends, two of you will receive 1,000 free standard size full color business cards from Day 2 Day Printing. Turnaround is quick, so you can still get them in time for Blissdom, if you are going.

{Must be 18 or older to enter
United States Residents Only – Sorry to my overseas and Canadian friends.}

How do you enter? Leave me a comment telling me what you would use the 1,000 cards for. Your blog? Small business? Children’s calling cards? Just to see your name in print? Hey, you could finally get those “You need to learn how to park cards” printed.

You get extra good karma if you tweet this post and share on Facebook, but no extra entries. I like to keep it simple.

I’ll choose a winner on Sunday night, Feb 12th.

Or in my case, toes, knees, gut, and lower back.

It would be funny if it was fiction.

So, about 12 1/2 months ago Nick stepped on my toe. I’m pleased to say the injured toenail should be totally grown out in about 2 months. What I’m not pleased to say, is that I apparently forgot how to walk in the year that I have been favoring that toe.

I’m pretty sure the toe injury is what has caused my knee injury. I did the math and it all works out. There is no tear in the muscle or the meniscus, and there is no real reason for the pain. But, oh, the pain. My friends have witnessed the catch that takes my breathe away and then hurts for the next two days. Wash, rinse, repeat. Walk, fall down/up stairs, cuss, repeat.

I have some knee strengthening exercises because oddly enough everyone who has looked at my knee commented how strange it is that the interior quad muscle on the knee is concave, as in way smaller than it should be (and used to be.) I have always had pretty strong legs. Wimpy upper body, but legs that were solid. And I did some more math and figured out that by walking on the outside of my foot for 12 1/2 months, I have actually atrophied my own stinking knee muscles. In addition to the regular knee exercises, I have been purposely putting weight on the inside of my foot again since the nail doesn’t hurt anymore after the nice podiatrist took multiple power tools to it a few weeks ago.

And by putting weight back on the inside of my foot, my knee feels better! Except I have to consciously think about it, because it seems at the age of 40, my body prefers what it’s used to right now instead of what was best for it two years ago thank-you-very-much. So I’m learning how to walk again over here. And my kneecap is being less than cooperative.

And that brings us to the gut portion of this post, which I promise to keep short and simple. I have figured out, pretty much by accident, that I may have a gluten intolerance. There is something else I may be allergic to and I shudder to even say it out loud, but it starts with choc and ends with olate. These allergies are not the hives, swollen face kind of allergy, but rather the lower gut wreaking havoc on vitamin absorption and general inflammation. I see an allergist today, but won’t have answers for a few weeks at the earliest. In a perfect world, I am allergic to neither of these things. If it turns out I’m allergic to both, you won’t need an update – just listen for the scream heard round the world.

And finally – the lower back. What would a normal Monday be without totally tweeking my lower back while helping Nick go through his bookshelves picking out books to donate. It’s like I’m not supposed to get rid of things. My body said so.

While I figure out this gluten-free world, here’s something for the locals who are looking to make a few new memories this year in Nashville.

Yesterday was the last day of week three of our “dieting” game. And I finally made weight! Yay. It’s a lot more fun eat particular foods, exercise at the end of the night when I don’t want to, and give up most of my lovely chocolate when it actually shows results.

What I have learned this week though may be an even bigger game-changer than just dropping a few pounds. I have tip-toed into the land of the gluten-free. I never said “I’m not eating gluten anymore,” but I have consistently avoided it for about five days now. (Right after eating some to-die-for bread and Havarti cheese.) And hello! My pants fit again. My stomach is the same size when I go to bed as it is in the morning. I am not completely bloated and inflamed.

Whoa.

The difference is HUGE.

HUGE, I tell you.

Gluten (for those of you, who like me, have heard of it, but kinda wondered “what the heck is it?”) is a protein found in foods made from wheat, barley, and rye.

I’m reading a book my friend loaned me called Wheat Belly. <– that link goes to the website that PROMISES YOU EVERLASTING HEALTH! This link —> goes to Amazon for the book, plain and simple. (I get the same thing if you click through and buy or not, which is nothing.) Do I agree with everything he says 100% of the time? No. But I do think there he talks about a lot of interesting things. Like how much wheat has changed in the recent past. We are not eating our grandparents’ wheat. Wheat used to have 24 chromosomes, and then we (people, not actually, ya know, you and me) turned it into a 48 chromosome man-made product so it could be manipulated and genetically engineered to be bigger, faster, stronger… But less, you know, healthy.

So, I am trying a gluten-free/low gluten life. I’m not checking my toothpaste or my chapstick or my shampoo (all items that are likely to contain gluten) but I am avoiding gluten whenever I can. And I feel so much better. So much. And it’s been less than a week.

Dessert is of major importance to me. The idea of giving up brownies and pastries and soda bread… I could go on, brought tears to my eyes. But I have found some gluten free bakeries like FiddleCakes, and decided I could do this. A lot of things can be made with alternative flour mixtures to keep them gluten-free.

Of course, I ran out to the store and stocked up on some cookies, cereals, and pancake mixes before I got to the part in the book about not just substituting other products for gluten. Sure, it is doable, but the best way is to eat a diet that doesn’t include gluten and gluten-like products and occasionally allow the gluten-free substitute as a treat.

I am weaning Nick off gluten as well. That’s a whole other story and one that I will be sharing soon, but for now I’m just happy to feel more like myself again. Since Nick is a kid and doesn’t have to worry about the belly bulge, he will likely get more treats than I do, and I’m OK with that.

Now if I can just get my knee back in shape, I will be unstoppable.

I carry a torch for softball and my softball playing days.

Many, many, many, years ago I started playing “C’ league baseball. It was for the young kids to get started. I was the only girl on the team. And I wasn’t very good. But I went, and I practiced, and I played. Well, I played as much as any of the boys or even coaches would let me, which is to say, not much.

When it was time to pair up for catch, I often didn’t get a partner. And the coaches never did anything about it. Finally after a few weeks of this, I got in the car, slammed my mitt of the floor and said I wasn’t going back. Turns out my mom was thankful. She has been mad for weeks, but wasn’t going to tell me to quit.

So, my baseball career ended. And I found a girls softball team.

Let’s be clear. I was still pretty bad. But I loved it. And I wanted to learn. I suffered through a year of playing a combination of right field and the bench.

My legs were barely bigger than the bat. No really.

The next year, I caught on. I moved to the infield and found my niche. That year I won Most Improved.

The next year, I won Most Valuable Player. I had found my groove. Third base was my home.

Fast forward a few more years and I found myself playing fast pitch my Freshman year in high school. I only played third base for one year, but still have great memories of traveling to away games, not so great memories of playing third base and having to come way in during possible bunt situations, and having to wear full catchers gear to warm a pitcher up if coach though you’d been out too late the night before.

A few years later, I found myself playing co-ed softball in college. Love. That’s all I can say. Love.

I loved being the girl who could really play, not just a placeholder. I moved to second base and stayed there for the duration. More often than not, another team that was short a girl would “scout” the games being played and I would be “drafted” to play the game after ours. I loved every minute of it.

After college when I moved to Nashville, I found a restaurant league and happily played there until I got pregnant with Maggie.

During one game, I took a line drive hit to the thigh. It was the hardest hit ball I’ve ever been in front of. I almost got my glove there, but it was just too hard and too fast. The ball hit my leg and flew about 15 feet into the air and into the outfield. The guy who hit it ran directly to me instead of to first base. He kept saying he was so, so sorry. I was running to the outfield to get the ball, trying to get him out. Heh.

I ended up having the impression of the ball, complete with stitching marks on my thigh. For the next few weeks, the bruise grew and most of my leg from knee to hip turned black and blue. I was stopped by a woman at the mall who thought I was in an abusive relationship and wouldn’t believe that it was a softball injury. I finally took the card she was trying to give me so she would stop following me.

Another time I jammed my toe and had to play the rest of the game while it throbbed because we had just enough people to play. When I finally took my sock off, the toenail came off with it. (I’m still suffering ill effects from that damn toenail.)

So all this is to say, I love softball. I loooove softball. I wish I could find a league to play on.

…And Maggie starts playing softball in two months. I am not saying anything out loud, but in my head “Please let her like softball. Please let her like softball” is on a constant loop.

The call came last night at 9:45. I was watching TV upstairs and didn’t get up to get the phone. I saw that it was our county calling (the TV showing me who is calling = one of my most favorite inventions ever.) I had my cell phone, and the email usually comes simultaneously, so I waited for that. Nothing. Then I saw a FB post about the call.

I asked if it was a 2-hour delay.

See, I had been out around 5:30 during the snow. It actually was snowing. Big pretty flakes. Enough to cover the grass, well, some of the grass anyway. I was looking at the wet pavement. I saw that it was 30 degrees. Uh oh. Wet pavement, 30 degrees, temps dropping, and no salt means…       …black ice. I’m a Yankee. I know about such things. (Well, I didn’t really know about the no salt thing until I moved south. But I’ve been here for 17 years *gasp* *blink, blink* so now I know a little about the no salt thing.)

Imagine my surprise a few minutes later when I got the response that school was closed. For the whole day. For this:

It’s really for the ice, not for the snow. I get that. But still…

So I turned off Maggie’s alarm clock.

Nick and Mike woke at the crack of dawn (just like every other day.) Maggie slept a little later than when her alarm would have woken her. I slept (I use the word loosely, since I was able to hear a lot of the conversations going on, but stayed in bed with my eyes closed) until 7:30 when Nick came woke me for his breakfast. I assumed Mike had told Maggie she didn’t have school, but apparently he was gone before she woke up.

So I snuggled up with Maggie on the couch as we looked out the window and told her she didn’t have school.

“I knew it! I knew it was going to be a snow day! As soon as I looked out my window and saw the snow, I knew it!”

(note: look up at that photo again. She looked out the window and saw that and assumed school would be cancelled. That’s what happens when you grow up in the south.)

And here’s the kicker. She thought she had slept through her alarm. She thought I had slept through my alarm, and she was doing nothing to wake me or to begin getting ready for school. She was playing dumb about what time it was and I guess thought going in late would be all my fault. Heh.

The other thing that struck me? She was thrilled to have this much snow. I know the first snow every year is magical. I remember that from my own childhood. She got dressed and bundled up, you know, in her coat and rain boots, and went out to play in the snow.

She was thrilled. And a little confused. It wasn’t really enough snow to do anything. She marched around a bit and made a snowball. She was very proud of her snowball. It was the size of her fist. It’s on our porch now, waiting to melt.

Something I’m concerned about – how do children who grow up in the south manage when they move to another part of the world where snow is but more than a nuisance? Three feet, so what? Get to work.

Also, she asked me to put my coat on to help her make a snowman. Umm, no. I’m not getting cold a wet for 1/16 of an inch of snow. How does a southern kid ever learn to make a real snowperson?