tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86964967242710560532009-11-08T04:12:33.921-08:00Chronicling the often gentle, but sometimes violent mix of the humorous, pathetic, awe-struck and sometimes mundane moments in motherhood that even the best digital and video cameras could not possibly capture.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729ubertwins@gmail.comBlogger410125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-86900259834371371362009-09-28T17:34:00.000-07:002009-09-28T17:45:53.528-07:00Our home has finally sold after two very long, excruciating years of a terrible market. In that time, much has changed within these walls and beyond. And we are ready. More than ready.<br /><br />We are leaving our urban neighborhood where we can wander along cracked sidewalks and littered streets all while listening to raw, thumping music and curse words waft through the air like smells of Arroz con Pollo.<br /><br />Leaving is such a harsh word for such a harsh place. It wasn't always this way. In fact, it was nothing of the sort then -- before kids. And yet by leaving we will still be just two minutes away. Two. That's it.<br /><br />Now, we're packing and sorting and Purging in a great way for a house that lives in harmony with the Earth with just the right sunlight to warm its bones during the winter days and sunken into the dirt to cool it in the summers. It sits on nearly two acres of land with near two dozen lovely trees for me to rest my eyes on and sit my dreams on and escape under. On our recent visit, we weren't the only ones visiting: a fox and a groundhog trotted in the backyard and we watched from the sunroom.<br /><br />It took six years living here to know who we were as a family, to know what we needed and wanted and longed for -- peace, quiet, balance, nature.<br /><br />A month seems so far away and yet I can't sleep at night at the weight of it all. The mounds of stuff I honestly can't remember why we need. The fear of too much stuff and not enough truck or hands or able bodies. The change from lights 24/7 to darkness and perfect vision to the stars and a moon to go to sleep to each night instead of, well, some more negative things.<br /><br />We have been blessed to live where few middle-income Americans have lived, and experienced a life some could not even imagine. We have learned about real people living real lives in poverty. And I'm not just talking about the monetary sense of that word.<br /><br />There's too much to do, too much to remember and not enough time to mess with it all. Because we have a life too full of beautiful nows to live. The precious sleep in a room down the hall. The house is a true disaster.<br /><br />And we could not be any happier.<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-8690025983437137136?l=www.letterstomydaughters.com'/></div><div class="feedflare"> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=cPPneIo5wAE:iDy5hy0MJKM:yIl2AUoC8zA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=cPPneIo5wAE:iDy5hy0MJKM:F7zBnMyn0Lo"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=cPPneIo5wAE:iDy5hy0MJKM:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=cPPneIo5wAE:iDy5hy0MJKM:7Q72WNTAKBA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=7Q72WNTAKBA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=cPPneIo5wAE:iDy5hy0MJKM:V_sGLiPBpWU"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=cPPneIo5wAE:iDy5hy0MJKM:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"></img></a> </div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729ubertwins@gmail.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-26214458875186485862009-08-31T17:04:00.000-07:002009-08-31T17:07:59.408-07:00A long time ago, I had this little idea to preserve my thoughts now for my daughters later. You know, that was a damn good idea. <br /> <br />Dear girls -- <br /> <br />A man should want to listen to you and hold your hand without any other intentions. He should be smart and sexy but not too much of either because it can go to their heads in one way or another and that leaves you feeling bad about yourself. You should be able to be yourself – boldly, daringly. You should be able to wear what you want, go where you want and believe what you want. If you can’t, than the relationship is not right for you. Granted, none are perfect, but these are good starters. If they have this, you can live with a little Sports Network now and then – and tell him so, too. Appreciate the men you find who are like this. Above all, though, nurture yourself and the woman you want to be. <br /><p></p><p style="margin: 5pt 53.25pt 5pt 9pt; text-indent: 9pt; line-height: 200%;"> <br /></p><p style="margin: 5pt 53.25pt 5pt 9pt; text-indent: 9pt; line-height: 200%;">Love,</p><p style="margin: 5pt 53.25pt 5pt 9pt; text-indent: 9pt; line-height: 200%;">Mom <br /><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <br />Anyone else care to chime in here?? <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />Thank you for visiting today. <br /> <br />Please consider subscribing here: <br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-2621445887518648586?l=www.letterstomydaughters.com'/></div><div class="feedflare"> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=v40bVRKubpE:dFflq6ITLaQ:yIl2AUoC8zA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=v40bVRKubpE:dFflq6ITLaQ:F7zBnMyn0Lo"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=v40bVRKubpE:dFflq6ITLaQ:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=v40bVRKubpE:dFflq6ITLaQ:7Q72WNTAKBA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=7Q72WNTAKBA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=v40bVRKubpE:dFflq6ITLaQ:V_sGLiPBpWU"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=v40bVRKubpE:dFflq6ITLaQ:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"></img></a> </div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729ubertwins@gmail.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-89187654029401117712009-07-15T05:07:00.000-07:002009-07-15T05:12:59.167-07:00There's been one clearly defined reason for why I'm writing in my novel more this year than in all the 10 years past.<br /><br />I'm not writing as much.<br /><br />Ironic, right? I am writing more because I'm not writing more.<br /><br />Yup, you're not seeing things incorrectly. Nope, you don't have to read between the lines. Not even here.<br /><br />I spent 10 years as a journalist -- writing.<br /><br />I spent two years home, as a freelancer -- writing.<br /><br />I spent those same two years blogging -- which meant more writing.<br /><br />Now, I'm just writing -- in my novel. It ain't much but it's more than what I had been doing.<br /><br />My job has nothing much to do with writing and it feels WONDERFUL!<br /><br />I'm so in love with NOT writing that I'm LOVING writing, again, for the first time.<br /><br />I will never quit blogging. I owe so much of my life to the friendships and friends I've made and all that I've learned from all of you and all of the blogosphere, in general. It's been awesome.<br /><br />But, if you wonder what I'm up to, you'll now know and understand.<br /><br />This novel will be finished this year. I have no doubt for the first time in my life. It may not be perfect, but it will get done. Only motherhood could give me that kind of clarity, by the way. But, I'll save that for another post.<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-8918765402940111771?l=www.letterstomydaughters.com'/></div><div class="feedflare"> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=u8VusJE_Eow:VoSbskgHzlU:yIl2AUoC8zA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=u8VusJE_Eow:VoSbskgHzlU:F7zBnMyn0Lo"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=u8VusJE_Eow:VoSbskgHzlU:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=u8VusJE_Eow:VoSbskgHzlU:7Q72WNTAKBA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=7Q72WNTAKBA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=u8VusJE_Eow:VoSbskgHzlU:V_sGLiPBpWU"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=u8VusJE_Eow:VoSbskgHzlU:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"></img></a> </div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729ubertwins@gmail.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-6227706799017579602009-06-26T14:53:00.000-07:002009-06-26T14:57:25.610-07:00Blogging, over the course of the last year, has become so hard for me. I can't decide if it's the sharing of details of personal matters or if it's just boredom. I have no words for this blog and when I do I have no time to write them.<br /><br />You can find me <a href="http://www.hdydi.com/2009/06/two-late-to-take-it-back/">here </a>every other Friday. You can also find me as betweenthelines -- or Shawn Fink -- on Twitter and even on Facebook. I'm there all the time these days.<br /><br />And, you should know that by not blogging, I have been spending more time writing.<br /><br />In fact, I am so excited about writing my novel right now I can hardly stand to talk about anything else (other than politics, of course).<br /><br />I worked to line up a press conference for the governor today. Wow. Crazy stuff.<br /><br />But, I'm writing. Just not here. But, I have lots of things to share -- if you are still here, that is.<br /><br />Are you here? I know I dropped a lot of readers in the last several months. That's depressing! I need to know some of you are here. What's your Twitter name -- leave in comments!!<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-622770679901757960?l=www.letterstomydaughters.com'/></div><div class="feedflare"> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=SPGQFc3GxFQ:frBCrUOOdEs:yIl2AUoC8zA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=SPGQFc3GxFQ:frBCrUOOdEs:F7zBnMyn0Lo"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=SPGQFc3GxFQ:frBCrUOOdEs:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=SPGQFc3GxFQ:frBCrUOOdEs:7Q72WNTAKBA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=7Q72WNTAKBA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=SPGQFc3GxFQ:frBCrUOOdEs:V_sGLiPBpWU"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=SPGQFc3GxFQ:frBCrUOOdEs:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"></img></a> </div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729ubertwins@gmail.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-47824672752603983312009-06-03T07:09:00.001-07:002009-06-03T07:10:51.994-07:00If you work, do you spend a lot on child care? Are you a stay at home mom because child care was going to cost too much or not be of satisfactory quality?<br /><br />If yes to any, or if you know someone who can say yes, take just one minute to make an impact today.<br /><br />Go <a href="http://www.momsrising.org/blog/hey-congress-tell-us-where-we-can-find-child-care-for-3000-a-year/">here </a>and speak up.<br /><br />Thank you.<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0pt; BORDER-TOP: 0pt; VERTICAL-ALIGN: middle; BORDER-LEFT: 0pt; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0pt" alt="" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-4782467275260398331?l=www.letterstomydaughters.com'/></div><div class="feedflare"> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=juWvLApjecY:DI7LYOce5WM:yIl2AUoC8zA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=juWvLApjecY:DI7LYOce5WM:F7zBnMyn0Lo"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=juWvLApjecY:DI7LYOce5WM:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=juWvLApjecY:DI7LYOce5WM:7Q72WNTAKBA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=7Q72WNTAKBA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=juWvLApjecY:DI7LYOce5WM:V_sGLiPBpWU"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=juWvLApjecY:DI7LYOce5WM:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"></img></a> </div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729ubertwins@gmail.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-17699180022373385772009-05-17T17:20:00.000-07:002009-05-17T17:21:13.052-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/ShCpBXOv29I/AAAAAAAAEWM/y3TbZ1MwCxI/s1600-h/IMG_7002.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/ShCpBXOv29I/AAAAAAAAEWM/y3TbZ1MwCxI/s400/IMG_7002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336951399314873298" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/ShCohL7I2XI/AAAAAAAAEV0/5Rn-HgAIOks/s1600-h/IMG_6992.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/ShCohL7I2XI/AAAAAAAAEV0/5Rn-HgAIOks/s200/IMG_6992.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336950846524021106" border="0" /></a><br />My last post was a true confession about how hard it is for me to let go of the girls and start letting them learn for themselves the consequences of life's challenges.<br /><br />I am committed to doing that.<br /><br />But, I'm equally attracted to offering them as many educational and cultural experiences as possible. Just yesterday I was telling them hello in six different languages and playing Spanish music. I want, for them, many of the things I didn't have as a kid.<br /><br />I was recently honored to be asked to participate in a blog book shower for the next awesome book by Andrea L. Buchanan and Miriam Peskowitz. Last year, I wrote a review of their first "Daring Book for Girls," which I have proudly displayed on a shelf.<br /><br />Now, I'm even happier to display next to it the next volume: "<a href="http://www.daringbookforgirls.com/about-the-book/about-the-double-daring-book-for-girls/">The Double-Daring Book for Girls."</a><br /><br />For this shower, we were supposed to actually DO one of the activities. Well, I didn't want to just do it myself so I had to find one that was good enough for the girls, now 3, to do as well.<br /><br />I chose rock stacking. I've been wanting to do some rock activities lately because there are so many of them out there circulating the blogs. I'm sure I played with rocks a lot as a kid but I don't recall ever stacking them like blocks.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/ShCo4fcpODI/AAAAAAAAEWE/wu76_9GV7U4/s1600-h/IMG_7001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/ShCo4fcpODI/AAAAAAAAEWE/wu76_9GV7U4/s400/IMG_7001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336951246901819442" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We first went out with the girls' little pink wagons and collected some rocks in the back, backyard. They enjoyed that part alone.<br /><br />Then we took them to the deck and just started stacking them. They lost interested in about five minutes but I kept stacking and stacking. I thought it was a ton of fun. I didn't realize the challenge it would be to make them stack higher and higher.<br /><br />I was able to stack 8 rocks at the most. Can you beat that????? I'm supposed to challenge my readers to be my performance so if you have any luck, let me know in the comments, please!<br /><br />Rock stacking a great multi-step activity to do because once you gather them, you can wash them and then <a href="http://crafts.kaboose.com/earth-ladybug-rocks.html">paint them</a>. Once painted, you can add pictures on them to depict <a href="http://redbirdcrafts.blogspot.com/2009/04/mouse-stones.html">story characters </a>to tell stories outside (or inside on a rainy day).<br /><br />And, if you want more cool things to try that are new, that might inspire you in some new way today, pick up the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/006174879X?ie=UTF8&amp;tag=letttomydaug-20&amp;linkCode=xm2&amp;camp=1789&amp;creativeASIN=006174879X">Double-Daring Book for Girls</a> today.<br /><br />It does rock. You'll be smarter for it, too. Just don't let your kids knock them over too soon.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/ShCop1RIP1I/AAAAAAAAEV8/wEAp7ZOJBpE/s1600-h/IMG_6995.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/ShCop1RIP1I/AAAAAAAAEV8/wEAp7ZOJBpE/s400/IMG_6995.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336950995061063506" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-1769918002237338577?l=www.letterstomydaughters.com'/></div><div class="feedflare"> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=VOWlyOWhjLQ:uGWUXGFUVQA:yIl2AUoC8zA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=VOWlyOWhjLQ:uGWUXGFUVQA:F7zBnMyn0Lo"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=VOWlyOWhjLQ:uGWUXGFUVQA:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=VOWlyOWhjLQ:uGWUXGFUVQA:7Q72WNTAKBA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=7Q72WNTAKBA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=VOWlyOWhjLQ:uGWUXGFUVQA:V_sGLiPBpWU"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=VOWlyOWhjLQ:uGWUXGFUVQA:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"></img></a> </div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729ubertwins@gmail.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-80291689412145788122009-05-12T03:11:00.000-07:002009-05-12T03:24:18.918-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SglNiQmTLpI/AAAAAAAAEVs/WDieQ9f0ULI/s1600-h/IMG_6999.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SglNiQmTLpI/AAAAAAAAEVs/WDieQ9f0ULI/s200/IMG_6999.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334880484563562130" border="0" /></a><br />It's 6:15 a.m.<br /><br />There are times when I realize that I could let them go a bit more, yes. But there are other times, especially lately, when ...<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Hey, Mommy, Liana said next week about a movie and she got in my face.</span><br /><br />I realize that this is my life, the constant interruptions of one or the other or this or that even when I do try not to intervene.<br /><br />And so ...<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Mommy? (Yes Liana) I want to wear my blip on my belly. What?</span><br /><br />As I was saying, I am trying to ...<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Mommy, I want to get a movie, too.</span><br /><br />actually write and complete the novel that I have been ...<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Mommy, I can get a movie; I want a movie.</span><br /><br />working on for 10 years. I never finished it because, well, as a single woman and then as a childless wife suffering through infertility, I never had time.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">MOMMY, I WANT TO GET A MOVIE!!</span><br /><br />Funny, that concept of time, isn't it? The best time lately for writing has been right around bedtime. I'm tired as all get out, but it's the only hour I have that's uninterrupted and quiet. The man is on the couch, watching TV, and the kids are USUALLY sleeping soundly.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Blaahhhh! </span>(Jadyn pushes Liana)<br /><br />"Waaahhhh!"<br /><br />And I wonder now what I was so busy doing way back then when life wasn't crazy like this?<br /><br />Then again, I have more drive now than ever to finish it and I think it could be because of them.<br /><br />Other things have helped me reach the 50,000-word mark as well lately. More on that later. Gotta be mom now.<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-8029168941214578812?l=www.letterstomydaughters.com'/></div><div class="feedflare"> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=8k6LknNCVe8:2RuQUXEEOGQ:yIl2AUoC8zA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=8k6LknNCVe8:2RuQUXEEOGQ:F7zBnMyn0Lo"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=8k6LknNCVe8:2RuQUXEEOGQ:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=8k6LknNCVe8:2RuQUXEEOGQ:7Q72WNTAKBA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=7Q72WNTAKBA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=8k6LknNCVe8:2RuQUXEEOGQ:V_sGLiPBpWU"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=8k6LknNCVe8:2RuQUXEEOGQ:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"></img></a> </div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729ubertwins@gmail.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-25968012175251444022009-04-27T09:11:00.001-07:002009-04-27T09:19:20.902-07:00As my little babies turn, gradually, into little girls, my helicopter parenting skillz are apparent. They've always been exaggerated. We got to the part of the bike trail that overlooks a lovely, but roaring creek and I cringed telling them not to climb on the very large, very high metal fence. A foot could get stuck. They might fit through the two-inch slats. What if they do fall? They'll drown in the knee-deep water. (It was easily a 20-foot drop, by the way).<br /><br />Part of the problem, I know, is that I was a news reporter. I wrote about a 14-year-old girl that was sucked under by an Amtrak train and killed. I wrote about the 4-year-old boy who was sucked down by a swollen creek after a hard rain. I interviewed many families who lost loved ones who were shot, stabbed, drowned, pushed down to their death and, yes, abused.<br /><br />It's no wonder that I'm smothering. Or circling. Or hovering. Or standing too close. I've seen death at too many doors.<br /><br />But, I'm trying. Always, always trying.<br /><br />This week's inspiration will take you to two links: <a href="http://voices.washingtonpost.com/parenting/2009/04/the_two_words_that_can_drive_a.html?hpid=news-col-blog">The Washington Post column </a>I just read, and the author's <a href="http://freerangekids.wordpress.com/">blog</a> as well.<br /><br />It's a very good discussion. Makes me want to let my girls roam -- to the fenced backyard by themselves (while I watch from a window).<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0pt; BORDER-TOP: 0pt; VERTICAL-ALIGN: middle; BORDER-LEFT: 0pt; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0pt" alt="" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-2596801217525144402?l=www.letterstomydaughters.com'/></div><div class="feedflare"> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=uVsS1kX-F-w:jiPMgJ5wDXk:yIl2AUoC8zA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=uVsS1kX-F-w:jiPMgJ5wDXk:F7zBnMyn0Lo"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=uVsS1kX-F-w:jiPMgJ5wDXk:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=uVsS1kX-F-w:jiPMgJ5wDXk:7Q72WNTAKBA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=7Q72WNTAKBA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=uVsS1kX-F-w:jiPMgJ5wDXk:V_sGLiPBpWU"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=uVsS1kX-F-w:jiPMgJ5wDXk:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"></img></a> </div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729ubertwins@gmail.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-37959948254829829982009-04-20T06:11:00.000-07:002009-04-20T06:19:32.670-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/Sex2Ee_OTeI/AAAAAAAAES4/2IVNcMbXyQ4/s1600-h/candles+day+1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/Sex2Ee_OTeI/AAAAAAAAES4/2IVNcMbXyQ4/s200/candles+day+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326762278682250722" border="0" /></a><br />As I continue my journey to figuring out what I'm doing, I realized recently that while I love to surf the Internet, I rarely share any links anymore. I'm sorry for that.<br /><br />For the next couple weeks, I'm going to light a candle for all of the inspiring posts I read and want to share. These will be on anything and everything that make me smile, or laugh, or just make me get up and start doing something new.<br /><br /><a href="http://bullseyebaby.blogspot.com/2009/04/do-one-thing-every-day.html">Here's a link for you</a> to relish in all day, bathe in all week and perhaps dream about all year.<br /><br />Thanks, Jena!<br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-3795994825482982998?l=www.letterstomydaughters.com'/></div><div class="feedflare"> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=gfoY6mN5lIM:3nNmHe-K9gk:yIl2AUoC8zA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=gfoY6mN5lIM:3nNmHe-K9gk:F7zBnMyn0Lo"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=gfoY6mN5lIM:3nNmHe-K9gk:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=gfoY6mN5lIM:3nNmHe-K9gk:7Q72WNTAKBA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=7Q72WNTAKBA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=gfoY6mN5lIM:3nNmHe-K9gk:V_sGLiPBpWU"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=gfoY6mN5lIM:3nNmHe-K9gk:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"></img></a> </div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729ubertwins@gmail.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-65903919806443783582009-04-16T06:42:00.000-07:002009-04-16T06:50:42.913-07:00Shh. I'm at work today and it's quiet and I'm alone. Everyone's out, busy, gone and not bugging me with insanity. And I'm taking it easy. Real easy.<br /><br />Which means it's time to confess something to you.<br /><br />I've been cheating. I've not been reading your mom blogs. Well, not much of them.<br /><br />For the better part of the last two years, I've been reading and enjoying a whole other set of blogs that for the longest time I always admired from afar.<br /><br />While being a mom is still prominent in my head, it's not what I am interested in writing about on this blog anymore. <br /><br />The truth is that I am considering a change. A big one. And so, while I'll wait for this change to express itself to me, I'm leaving some space here. A pause.<br /><br />Sit still with me for a while.<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0pt; BORDER-TOP: 0pt; VERTICAL-ALIGN: middle; BORDER-LEFT: 0pt; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0pt" alt="" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-6590391980644378358?l=www.letterstomydaughters.com'/></div><div class="feedflare"> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=_ZXY4nbxegc:mwykqhoDNpE:yIl2AUoC8zA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=_ZXY4nbxegc:mwykqhoDNpE:F7zBnMyn0Lo"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=_ZXY4nbxegc:mwykqhoDNpE:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=_ZXY4nbxegc:mwykqhoDNpE:7Q72WNTAKBA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=7Q72WNTAKBA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=_ZXY4nbxegc:mwykqhoDNpE:V_sGLiPBpWU"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=_ZXY4nbxegc:mwykqhoDNpE:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"></img></a> </div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729ubertwins@gmail.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-67304247355419915752009-03-29T17:43:00.001-07:002009-03-29T17:53:20.672-07:00I have always had strong opinions.<br /><br />Really strong.<br /><br />And, none of that has really changed much since I became a mother a little more than three years ago.<br /><br />If anything, motherhood has helped me own my opinions even more, anchored them inside me and led me to feel pretty confident about some things (more than others).<br /><br />Lately, I've realized I've been on a little advocacy kick.<br /><br />I've had a few over the years. My first big thought was how my town NEEDED a cafe that was infant-friendly. You know, take out at the curb that wasn't McDonald's. Tables with lots of space for two car seat carriers, two high chairs and lots of room for bags of stuff. And, above all, open to families with crying babies. I had this place all picked out from the menu to the open play area that was age-divided so that parents could, ah, breathe and eat for just a few minutes.<br /><br />Yes, I was dreaming a lot in my sleep-deprived days.<br /><br />Lately, my kick has been something pretty expensive and dramatic and for the better of my community. A children's museum. A hands-on museum. Our city is pretty historic, but it's also faced with a plethora of issues, none of which I care to drone on about here but all of which are why we have been trying to sell our house and move to a less depressing neighborhood.<br /><br />I tell everyone I meet in meetings, who is trying to better the city, that we need this museum, that it would help revitalize the downtown.<br /><br />After all, I know plenty of moms who are, let's just say, EAGER to find things to do during the week and currently travel far and wide and pay $$ for these kinds of venues in other towns nearby.<br /><br />I know, I have been one of those moms.<br /><br />What's your cause? Anything you're working on either by word of mouth, or blogging or maybe even writing your State House of Representatives about??<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-6730424735541991575?l=www.letterstomydaughters.com'/></div><div class="feedflare"> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=m5s3krELeLc:Hcd4j-O_nzs:yIl2AUoC8zA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=m5s3krELeLc:Hcd4j-O_nzs:F7zBnMyn0Lo"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=m5s3krELeLc:Hcd4j-O_nzs:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=m5s3krELeLc:Hcd4j-O_nzs:7Q72WNTAKBA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=7Q72WNTAKBA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=m5s3krELeLc:Hcd4j-O_nzs:V_sGLiPBpWU"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=m5s3krELeLc:Hcd4j-O_nzs:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"></img></a> </div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729ubertwins@gmail.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-77301498031916858402009-03-24T03:19:00.000-07:002009-03-24T03:35:18.288-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/Sci3Xjc3sUI/AAAAAAAAEQg/xa-srQEGMYM/s1600-h/IMG_6955.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/Sci3Xjc3sUI/AAAAAAAAEQg/xa-srQEGMYM/s200/IMG_6955.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316700975392076098" border="0" /></a><br />For a long time, during my fights for the disadvantaged, I spent countless hours advocating for the underprivileged who were black, Hispanic, and poor.<br /><br />I still make those same arguments now, in the working world, but I've added in mothers, too.<br /><br />I wear the Scarlet M. Do you?<br /><br />Where ever I go, it's there sitting on my chest. It's in my clothes. It's in my walk. It's in my head. Following me. Pulling me. Holding my hand.<br /><br />Everything from automatic flushing toilets to the way parking lots are configured are clearly inventions and creations and engineering constructed only by men who were not fathers, or were fathers who were too busy creating a life outside of fatherhood.<br /><br />And the paternalistic attitudes. I've <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2009/01/anti-parenting-world-we-live-in.html">seen them</a> a lot lately. I've fought against them. I'm trying to tell the powers that be who are aging yet still full of cash about what they're missing. Of course, I'm doing it nicely, womanly, sweetly as possible. We're a new generation of mothers. A new generation of women.<br /><br />But inside I'm angry, filling up with anger and ready to send outbursts into the air that say something like girls matter, women matter, mothers matter and what the hell are you thinking?<br />We're mothers; not poison, not caged animals. Not covered in snot. Not germy. My kids scream, so what? My kids cry, a lot, so what? I deserve to eat out, too, you know. I can't afford a babysitter for that stupid event. (And, hey, my girl twins are now peeing on the potty, ya'll!)<br /><br />I'm on a destiny to change everything related to mothers and women and raising girls right now. Something's gotta give.<br /><br />I wear the Scarlet M. Do you?<br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-7730149803191685840?l=www.letterstomydaughters.com'/></div><div class="feedflare"> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=lL1RMB14Cd0:gomiZsfRG8A:yIl2AUoC8zA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=lL1RMB14Cd0:gomiZsfRG8A:F7zBnMyn0Lo"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=lL1RMB14Cd0:gomiZsfRG8A:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=lL1RMB14Cd0:gomiZsfRG8A:7Q72WNTAKBA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=7Q72WNTAKBA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=lL1RMB14Cd0:gomiZsfRG8A:V_sGLiPBpWU"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=lL1RMB14Cd0:gomiZsfRG8A:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"></img></a> </div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729ubertwins@gmail.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-74809118239731913672009-03-12T02:26:00.000-07:002009-03-12T03:07:31.819-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/Sbje3H7CsQI/AAAAAAAAEQA/bSlrMa8qopA/s1600-h/IMG_6826.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/Sbje3H7CsQI/AAAAAAAAEQA/bSlrMa8qopA/s200/IMG_6826.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312240799084359938" border="0" /></a><br />I keep coming back to this thought about parenting. I imagine that for some people parenting (ie: handling the crying, choosing rewards over discipline and managing the minor stresses of how and when to roll over, stressing about the health and safety of it all) comes easy.<br /><br />I would not be one of those mothers. First, I take everything too seriously. Second, I take everything too seriously.<br /><br />I know this and have known it and yet I can't seem to find a good place or age when it just starts getting easier for me. Sure, 3 is easier than that first year. It's still easier than the second and third years.<br /><br />Now, I realize that having two of the same age intensifies this feeling. And, I also know that since I'm dealing with the first born times two that I don't get that natural take-it-easy approach that usually tags along with the second and third borns. For us, it's all the first time and it's a bit frustrating that there are so little books for parents of twins dealing with discipline vs. rewards. You can't honor one and not the other without someone having their feelings hurt.<br /><br />There are things about 3 that lead me to wonder ... is parenting always going to be this hard for me? Will I ever get to feel relaxed again? Stop worrying? Stop having to intervene.<br /><br />It's been three solid years of changing diapers, worrying how to get them back in bed when they wake too early, trying desperately to get them to settle down for bed at bedtime in their shared room and making sure they get a healthy diet that does not include too many sweets.<br /><br />I'm fairly sure that they are happy and smart and that we've done a great job thus far. But, I'm also fairly sure that I've made some bad mistakes, things I wish I could do differently -- for them and for myself.<br /><br />Does anyone else feel this way? Not necessarily regret, but remorse.<br /><br />Since I will not be getting a second chance at parenting a second born, I am going to dedicate this week to my advice for new mothers, especially new mothers of twins and how to deal with issues of rewards and discipline.<br /><br />Because, seriously, we can't always sweat the hard stuff in parenting. Because it's all hard stuff -- if you ask me.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-7480911823973191367?l=www.letterstomydaughters.com'/></div><div class="feedflare"> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=bc1hjOArhd4:hFMgIq8snUc:yIl2AUoC8zA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=bc1hjOArhd4:hFMgIq8snUc:F7zBnMyn0Lo"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=bc1hjOArhd4:hFMgIq8snUc:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=bc1hjOArhd4:hFMgIq8snUc:7Q72WNTAKBA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=7Q72WNTAKBA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=bc1hjOArhd4:hFMgIq8snUc:V_sGLiPBpWU"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=bc1hjOArhd4:hFMgIq8snUc:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"></img></a> </div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729ubertwins@gmail.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-16921960175226870352009-03-03T03:19:00.000-08:002009-03-03T03:42:39.386-08:00When I started blogging, I had so much free time it was ridiculous. First, the girls napped twice a day. Then, as they got older and started taking just one nap, they were so enamored with their daddy that when he got home he consumed most of their bedtime routine, especially bath.<br /><br />For the last several months, he has not been enough and my free time in the evenings has been zapped.<br /><br />Bedtime woes, in fact, have been tormenting us lately though I think we've finally passed that stage and it's getting easier. I received lots of insight from people and never followed any of it.<br /><br />We just rode it out because we're those kinds of parents. We've always done this the hard way -- the long way around. We'd rather sit in that chair and ride out the tantrums than leave and teach them a good lesson. (Though, secretly we complain the whole time that we need to teach them a lesson.)<br /><br />I've written so much on this blog, but never our bedtime routine. It has changed over time, but mostly it's the exact same as it was when they started having a bedtime -- around 10 months or so. We've recently moved everything up by 15 minutes because we felt it was part of the problem and that did help a good bit.<br /><br />Dinner at 6<br />Play until 6:45 (used to be 7)<br />Bath or wash up<br />Pajamas<br />Drink smoothie (eat snack if we're having one)<br />Read 2 or 3 books. (I'll list our favorites right now at the bottom)<br />Brush teeth<br />Blow out the light by saying 1-2-3 and blowing. (Twice for twins)<br />Turn on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cloud-Twilight-Turtle-Constellation-Night/dp/B000BNQC58">Turtle </a>and <a href="http://thechunkypurse.blogspot.com/2009/03/revew-sylvania-palpodzzz.html">Ladybug </a>lights; play quietly for 5 or so minutes.<br />Turn them off, get in bed and Jadyn usually requires time in chair with us.<br />Snuggles and kisses<br />Asleep by 8:15 p.m.<br /><br /><br />This is usually when she fights or tantrums but has stopped that and is now sleeping through the night again! Whew!<br /><br />Our favorite books lately have been these:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/Sa0WO1pz0pI/AAAAAAAAEPw/cPndYTkuoAQ/s1600-h/llama.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/Sa0WO1pz0pI/AAAAAAAAEPw/cPndYTkuoAQ/s200/llama.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308923979916104338" border="0" /></a><br /><br />"Llama Llama Red Pajama," by Anna Dewdney"<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />"Are You My Mother?" by P.D<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/Sa0W7dUqQlI/AAAAAAAAEP4/M65u50RzyXc/s1600-h/rumother.gif"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/Sa0W7dUqQlI/AAAAAAAAEP4/M65u50RzyXc/s200/rumother.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308924746479059538" border="0" /></a>. Eastman<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-1692196017522687035?l=www.letterstomydaughters.com'/></div><div class="feedflare"> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=DZVyx8kolPo:zMFT4AMBHAc:yIl2AUoC8zA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=DZVyx8kolPo:zMFT4AMBHAc:F7zBnMyn0Lo"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=DZVyx8kolPo:zMFT4AMBHAc:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=DZVyx8kolPo:zMFT4AMBHAc:7Q72WNTAKBA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=7Q72WNTAKBA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=DZVyx8kolPo:zMFT4AMBHAc:V_sGLiPBpWU"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=DZVyx8kolPo:zMFT4AMBHAc:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"></img></a> </div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729ubertwins@gmail.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-26000308573344806202009-03-01T17:42:00.000-08:002009-03-01T17:55:04.138-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/Sas8ODj72eI/AAAAAAAAEPI/Ka8QkPOMBBU/s1600-h/IMG_6900.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/Sas8ODj72eI/AAAAAAAAEPI/Ka8QkPOMBBU/s200/IMG_6900.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308402797958126050" border="0" /></a><br />My brain is too cluttered to write anything coherent here. Am I writing for me, Shawn -- the one I've known forever? Am I writing for me, the mother? Am I writing for you? Am I writing for the new me, the working mother who's finally getting it together? Or, am I?<br /><br />I haven't a clue, which is why I haven't been writing.<br /><br />Not that I don't have anything to say; I'm just not sure how it fits. Or, perhaps, when I'm downstairs in the kitchen and think, "Wow, that's a great blog post" I'm often instantly sent in another direction to answer a question (because that's what it's like now) or to reason with a 3-year-old. And then my mind forgets the good idea. Or, I walk to the computer to write and then I get stuck on Facebook, which reminds me of the past and soon I'm walking down memory lane and getting stuck. And then tired.<br /><br />And, where was I?<br /><br />Lately, my good ideas have been centered around the me I am now, the one I've talked about lately -- the one closest to the everyday me.<br /><br />Stop.<br /><br />Smell.<br /><br />The.<br /><br />Roses,<br /><br />Mama.<br /><br />Breathe.<br /><br />Breathe deeper.<br /><br />Let your ears fall away from your neck.<br /><br />Hug your husband.<br /><br />Giggle with the silly girls.<br /><br />Write with no strings or purpose. Just do it.<br /><br />Be patient with yourself.<br /><br />Be even more patient with others.<br /><br />Lower your expectations.<br /><br />Forgive yourself. The things you've said. What they're saying now.<br /><br />Live.<br /><br />Stay awake.<br /><br />Create. With your hands.<br /><br />Enjoy.<br /><br />Find peace. Know peace. Hold peace.<br /><br />Sleep.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-2600030857334480620?l=www.letterstomydaughters.com'/></div><div class="feedflare"> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=Fl-tAhvz_dg:ClDNXLnJOwg:yIl2AUoC8zA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=Fl-tAhvz_dg:ClDNXLnJOwg:F7zBnMyn0Lo"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=Fl-tAhvz_dg:ClDNXLnJOwg:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=Fl-tAhvz_dg:ClDNXLnJOwg:7Q72WNTAKBA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=7Q72WNTAKBA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=Fl-tAhvz_dg:ClDNXLnJOwg:V_sGLiPBpWU"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=Fl-tAhvz_dg:ClDNXLnJOwg:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"></img></a> </div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729ubertwins@gmail.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-90867665991357858292009-02-16T11:44:00.000-08:002009-02-16T11:56:12.545-08:00I've looked long and hard at myself lately in reflections in the microwave or the dirty car window and even in the mirror. I'm surprised to see myself there because I hardly recognize the person in front of me.<br /><br />She has lines of aging and sagging skin around her greenish brown eyes that used to be the highlight of her face.<br /><br />Her teeth, more yellow now than ever, have shifted in their roots and are now crooked where they never were before.<br /><br />She's heavier. Her clothes hardly fit. Even the new, bigger ones.<br /><br />The sight is not pretty, and it leaves me wondering where did I go wrong? All of this has happened in the last three years. Some, in the last year or two.<br /><br />Is it too late to reverse the signs of aging, I wonder?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-9086766599135785829?l=www.letterstomydaughters.com'/></div><div class="feedflare"> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=z_uz6OZCY6o:FsNR4HLFTAA:yIl2AUoC8zA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=z_uz6OZCY6o:FsNR4HLFTAA:F7zBnMyn0Lo"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=z_uz6OZCY6o:FsNR4HLFTAA:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=z_uz6OZCY6o:FsNR4HLFTAA:7Q72WNTAKBA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=7Q72WNTAKBA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=z_uz6OZCY6o:FsNR4HLFTAA:V_sGLiPBpWU"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=z_uz6OZCY6o:FsNR4HLFTAA:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"></img></a> </div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729ubertwins@gmail.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-91949413899341610532009-01-29T03:22:00.000-08:002009-01-29T03:35:07.195-08:00Dear Jadyn and Liana:<br /><br />Don't ever accept <a href="http://www.feminist.org/news/newsbyte/uswirestory.asp?id=11493">less</a>. Don't ever give up. You're <a href="http://www.usnews.com/articles/news/national/2008/04/23/equal-work-unequal-pay.html">worth full price</a>. Always. Even after 180 days or a 180 years. Even if it <a href="http://www.usnews.com/blogs/sam-dealey/2009/01/28/ledbetter-law-makes-sex-discrimination-suits-worse.html">isn't convenient</a> for employers. Even if it will make a few <a href="http://www.heritage.org/research/legalissues/lm34.cfm">overpaid thinkers</a> whine. The world <a href="http://themiddleclass.org/bill/lilly-ledbetter-fair-pay-act-2007">sides with you</a> today.<br /><br />Love,<br /><br />Mama<br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-9194941389934161053?l=www.letterstomydaughters.com'/></div><div class="feedflare"> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=CdDG3ZgqM0c:SpMnd75Wi-o:yIl2AUoC8zA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=CdDG3ZgqM0c:SpMnd75Wi-o:F7zBnMyn0Lo"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=CdDG3ZgqM0c:SpMnd75Wi-o:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=CdDG3ZgqM0c:SpMnd75Wi-o:7Q72WNTAKBA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=7Q72WNTAKBA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=CdDG3ZgqM0c:SpMnd75Wi-o:V_sGLiPBpWU"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=CdDG3ZgqM0c:SpMnd75Wi-o:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"></img></a> </div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729ubertwins@gmail.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-66163233689208792622009-01-25T16:41:00.000-08:002009-01-25T17:20:00.243-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SX0PsB1_GMI/AAAAAAAAEN4/FeSBKhB2vdA/s1600-h/IMG_6660.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 116px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SX0PsB1_GMI/AAAAAAAAEN4/FeSBKhB2vdA/s200/IMG_6660.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295405985941100738" border="0" /></a><br />I've been lucky that my job is very flexible toward the fact that I am a mother first and foremost in this life right now.<br /><br />That does not mean that I haven't had to make some very tough decisions, mainly regarding how to leave a meeting late and still get to the girls somewhat on time. (You see, I start to stress that they are sitting in the dark center alone, getting scared and worried that I'm not coming for them. Yes, I have issues.)<br /><br />Truthfully, I do worry about running late. I worry about how to get to the car out of the garage and not get stuck in the rush hour traffic, then hurry to pick them up and rush home to also make dinner as they starve and cling and cry at my legs. In fact, that last hour before dinner is often my most frantic and stressful. Even when I'm not late and mostly prepared.<br /><br />Some days are worse than others and leave me wondering about who sets the agenda:<br /><br /><ul><li>7:30 a.m. meetings. </li><li>Working sessions at 3:30 p.m. that last two hours, and include dinner.</li><li>Non-child friendly venues like ballrooms instead of ball parks.<br /></li><li>Evening invitations. Period.<br /></li><li>An inauguration that outlawed <a href="http://www.usatoday.com/news/politics/2008-12-02-inauguration-banned_N.htm">strollers</a>.</li><li>Bathrooms without diaper changing areas.</li><li>Restaurants without <a href="http://fastfood.freedomblogging.com/2008/05/08/cheesecake-factory-balks-at-kids-menu-even-near-disneyland/">kids menus</a>.<br /></li><li>Diapers and milk buried at the BACK of the stores.<br /></li><li>New Year's Eve celebrations that don't include families with children.</li><li>Happy Hours.<br /></li></ul>The other day at the dinner meeting in the middle of the afternoon, an old acquaintance who saw I was not eating asked me if I cook dinner every night.<br /><br />"Um, yes," I wanted to say. "Isn't that what all mothers do or should do or try to do?"<br /><br />"Yes, I try," I said to her.<br /><br />She shook her head in disbelief.<br /><br />Perhaps the bar, even for myself, is to high, I thought as I was stuck in traffic afterward, stressing about how I'm already late to get them and don't have anything really easy planned for dinner.<br /><br />I experienced a slight epiphany as the setting sun burned into my eyes.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">I need to relax. </span></span><br /><br />So, I'm declaring this week as <span style="font-weight: bold;">Mama's Week Off From Cooking</span>. The dinners are so easy they can practically make themselves. The agenda is to have fun and be healthy -- without eating out, without spending a fortune and without a bunch of fuss.<br /><br />And, of course, still be Mama -- because I can't be anything else right now.<br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-6616323368920879262?l=www.letterstomydaughters.com'/></div><div class="feedflare"> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=I0saET6Lhzc:SeOjHSySPYg:yIl2AUoC8zA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=I0saET6Lhzc:SeOjHSySPYg:F7zBnMyn0Lo"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=I0saET6Lhzc:SeOjHSySPYg:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=I0saET6Lhzc:SeOjHSySPYg:7Q72WNTAKBA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=7Q72WNTAKBA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=I0saET6Lhzc:SeOjHSySPYg:V_sGLiPBpWU"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=I0saET6Lhzc:SeOjHSySPYg:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"></img></a> </div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729ubertwins@gmail.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-61297453005253337612009-01-20T07:02:00.000-08:002009-01-20T07:04:44.451-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SXXnqNDVEOI/AAAAAAAAEMc/_DAzNNsxCHI/s1600-h/20INAUG.MS.600.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 275px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SXXnqNDVEOI/AAAAAAAAEMc/_DAzNNsxCHI/s400/20INAUG.MS.600.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293391649288032482" border="0" /></a><br />Thank you. Thank you for this day. It's a new day. A new path. A new light.<br /><br />It's your turn.<br /><br />It's our turn.<br /><br />Onward with peace, prosperity and fairness for ALL.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-6129745300525333761?l=www.letterstomydaughters.com'/></div><div class="feedflare"> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=qrC2BPSgDLU:dKgXc9EZUnE:yIl2AUoC8zA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=qrC2BPSgDLU:dKgXc9EZUnE:F7zBnMyn0Lo"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=qrC2BPSgDLU:dKgXc9EZUnE:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=qrC2BPSgDLU:dKgXc9EZUnE:7Q72WNTAKBA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=7Q72WNTAKBA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=qrC2BPSgDLU:dKgXc9EZUnE:V_sGLiPBpWU"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=qrC2BPSgDLU:dKgXc9EZUnE:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"></img></a> </div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729ubertwins@gmail.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-41655791545793709612009-01-15T17:19:00.000-08:002009-01-16T02:55:21.221-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SW_jlEvfRTI/AAAAAAAAEL0/GiVE_UO1tkY/s1600-h/IMG_0006.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SW_jlEvfRTI/AAAAAAAAEL0/GiVE_UO1tkY/s200/IMG_0006.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291698313251210546" border="0" /></a><br />One of the most peculiar aspects of returning to work after just two years is the fact that I see people I haven't seen in years at meetings.<br /><br />And we look at each other. I know them because they haven't changed, for the most part.<br /><br />Me? I've changed like a dozen times -- all because I'm a mother now. I don't see things the same. I'm in a different crowd. Instead of bars and fancy restaurants, we can be found at Target, Lowe's and the local grocery store on a Saturday evening.<br /><br />So, it's been interesting watching people's reaction as they realize that first I was gone from the scene for a while and now I'm back.<br /><br />But it's nice having a voice again. It's nice being heard. Listening. Solving problems more complex -- but twice as easy as -- than helping two preschoolers share a new birthday toy or convincing a 3-year-old not to get out of bed and yell for us five times in one night.<br /><br />It's still true that there is no harder job than being a mother -- a parent. At least, not in my experience.<br /><br />That makes working again kind of difficult. It's hard for me to take anything too seriously. It's hard to watch people with minor problems freak out. It's hard to see single people call themselves busy. It's hard to see why the childless can't get stuff done.<br /><br />Still, my inability to take command of my parenting skillz is nothing compared to the problems we deal with in this state government job. It's really easy by 4:30 to drop everything and rush to pick up my girls, knowing that at the end of the day, that's the highlight, the prize, the pot o' gold at the end of the rainbow.<br /><br />OK, not a pot of gold ... a couple cranky 3-year-olds who make me chase them around the school before I have to pin them down and force them into their winter coats, gloves and hats, and then shove them out teh door to the car, where they cry all the way home and cling to my leg until I get their dinner on the table and then they just shove it away and cry some more and I start to want to pull my hair out and start feeling despair and frustration and vowing to never, ever, ever, ever make another meal again.<br /><br />It's right about then that I start thinking, "Oh, good, I work tomorrow."<br /><br />It's not perfect, but it's my life.<br /><br />And, in other news, I'd like to thank <a href="http://kisatrtleskreativekorner.blogspot.com/2009/01/golden-globes-did-it-why-cant-i.html">Kisatrtle </a>for honoring me with a One Lovely Blog Award. That just rocks ... it's been a while since I got<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SW_kkuVRnGI/AAAAAAAAEL8/wEcW8bQq2SE/s1600-h/lovely-blog-award.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SW_kkuVRnGI/AAAAAAAAEL8/wEcW8bQq2SE/s200/lovely-blog-award.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291699406747311202" border="0" /></a> a blog award.<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-4165579154579370961?l=www.letterstomydaughters.com'/></div><div class="feedflare"> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=EyP454aFQH0:MgTUFR0JWbc:yIl2AUoC8zA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=EyP454aFQH0:MgTUFR0JWbc:F7zBnMyn0Lo"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=EyP454aFQH0:MgTUFR0JWbc:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=EyP454aFQH0:MgTUFR0JWbc:7Q72WNTAKBA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=7Q72WNTAKBA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=EyP454aFQH0:MgTUFR0JWbc:V_sGLiPBpWU"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=EyP454aFQH0:MgTUFR0JWbc:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"></img></a> </div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729ubertwins@gmail.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-70986000611413357532009-01-07T17:49:00.000-08:002009-01-07T18:01:39.278-08:00After missing all of last week due to Jadyn having a very bad sinus infection that wasn't diagnosed for treatment to start until New Year's Day, I had high hopes for Monday. The Highest.<br /><br />Here's what I didn't expect:<br /><br /><ol><li>That I'd wake Monday morning with a half-closed left eye and two swollen, red eyes.</li><li>That I'd end up at the doctor's office, for myself, not once, but twice this week.</li><li>That I'd master putting eye drops in my eyes, and still dread each one.<br /></li><li>That I'd use this opportunity to stop and write, even when I could barely see the computer screen.<br /></li><li>That my daughter would, after many near-misses, actually leave her bear blanket at school accidentally. Oh, the heartache.<br /></li><li>That nearly all of our 20 invitations for the third birthday party have been accepted!</li></ol>And, what I did expect was this: To order cupcakes for the party. And, then I haven't gotten to do that yet.<br /><br />So, this puts me right around ... oh, shoot mode.<br /><br />Still, not caring because my girls are turning 3 and some fantastic friends of theirs -- and mine -- are planning to attend. And, since my vision is clearing up, I just might see them.<br /><br />Fab.<br /><br />And, here's Six Surprising Things that comes along with two 3-year-old girls.<br /><br /><ol><li>Jadyn leaning on the wall, quietly, talking to a pretend person about her day. Visions of teenager-hood snapped me awake. </li><li>Here Mommy (as Liana proceeds to hand me everything I don't need and do need even when I don't need it and yet half the time she's right and I'm wrong).</li><li>Pushing (up the stairs, at the counter, to get to me, etc.) and fighting (still!)<br /></li><li>"I'm not talking to you, Mommy." (OK, whatever!)</li><li>"I'm talking to you, Mommy"</li><li>Fights over still wanting to wear Pampers diapers -- with Elmo on the front, not just the back.</li></ol>Ah, the drama. I love it!<br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-7098600061141335753?l=www.letterstomydaughters.com'/></div><div class="feedflare"> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=mmVi6hi2ix0:AQwMY1GUvXc:yIl2AUoC8zA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=mmVi6hi2ix0:AQwMY1GUvXc:F7zBnMyn0Lo"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=mmVi6hi2ix0:AQwMY1GUvXc:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=mmVi6hi2ix0:AQwMY1GUvXc:7Q72WNTAKBA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=7Q72WNTAKBA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=mmVi6hi2ix0:AQwMY1GUvXc:V_sGLiPBpWU"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=mmVi6hi2ix0:AQwMY1GUvXc:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"></img></a> </div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729ubertwins@gmail.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-70302287654795268772009-01-05T17:26:00.000-08:002009-01-05T17:37:59.531-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SWK1mwGm6aI/AAAAAAAAEHo/0nz5kQ5Vl0M/s1600-h/dream2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 194px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SWK1mwGm6aI/AAAAAAAAEHo/0nz5kQ5Vl0M/s200/dream2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287988589838657954" /></a><br /><br />If I wish it enough. If I long for it enough. If I will it to come my way by whispers and desires. If I dream it. If I survive it. If I wake up day after day with the same nightmare -- that I didn't achieve it. <br /><br />If I weren't so tired. If I didn't have dishes to wash or lists to make. <br /><br />After I work out. After I make the bed. After I drink my coffee. After I gather our things. <br /><br />Once I start, I'll begin. Once I start, I'll know. Once I start, it will come. <br /><br />Just sit down. <br /><br />Just sit down and type.<br /><br />Just sit down and type what comes and eventually the words, the dreams, the ideas, the creativity will fill me up like a balloon. <br /><br />I can't live without blogging. <br />I can't not write for me, for you, for us. <br />I can't live a life without words drifting effortlessly, endlessly, ungrammatically, on these pages. <br /><br />This is about finding soul and passion again. This is about reaching inside and turning a life of routine and office cubicles and constant emails on its side and starting again. <br /><br />Again. Again. Again. So many agains. <br /><br />Happy Writing, my friends!<br /><br />Photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/jup3nep/">Katarina2353</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-7030228765479526877?l=www.letterstomydaughters.com'/></div><div class="feedflare"> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=NqCQ77N3GRs:MdIobZ8_E0o:yIl2AUoC8zA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=NqCQ77N3GRs:MdIobZ8_E0o:F7zBnMyn0Lo"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=NqCQ77N3GRs:MdIobZ8_E0o:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=NqCQ77N3GRs:MdIobZ8_E0o:7Q72WNTAKBA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=7Q72WNTAKBA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=NqCQ77N3GRs:MdIobZ8_E0o:V_sGLiPBpWU"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=NqCQ77N3GRs:MdIobZ8_E0o:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"></img></a> </div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729ubertwins@gmail.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-74308704763523968312009-01-04T18:27:00.000-08:002009-01-04T18:40:58.859-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SWFzK6cO57I/AAAAAAAAEHY/ip3GX8Y3k8Y/s1600-h/IMG_0055.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SWFzK6cO57I/AAAAAAAAEHY/ip3GX8Y3k8Y/s200/IMG_0055.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287634068833232818" /></a><br />Later this week, Jadyn and Liana will turn three. <br /><br />They've been three for a while already with their demands and wants and emotional dramatics. At least that's what I've been telling myself, hoping that this phase will end. <br /><br />While I've been busy being their Mama, I couldn't help finally take some time to reflect on last year and what it meant to me. On one hand, it was crazy dealing with two little girls. On the other, I did manage to meet some goals and accomplish something other than a diaper change. <br /><br />(Potty training was NOT one of those accomplishments, unfortunately).<br /><br />In fact, if you look at my list of <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/01/2008-year-of-writing.html">goals for 2008</a>, I think I did OK. The truth is that once I was published in a national glossy magazine -- and then two more -- I felt I had reached a true milestone. I also doubled by freelance income for the third year in a row. <br /><br />And then I took a job I knew little about and the story has changed dramatically. <br /><br />I've been thinking about that decision I made and wondering if it was the best for me. <br /><br />I'm not sure. There's parts of the job that fit me well; there are others that leave me unsettled. For one, I am not the star and never would be. That's hard for me to admit, but it is true. It's hard to aspire to be your best when often you're just an afterthought. <br /><br />Still, I like it enough and the boss is cool. I think I'll be able to rebound this week with a yet another evolved MamaWriter, someone who knows that writing is her truest path. That is what I have to do and even when I have other things to do. <br /><br />I didn't write 2,000 words a month let alone a week last year. I didn't produce an ezine. I didn't send out one query for my novel. I didn't even finish my novel. Though, I did get an agent interested in reading it. Shame on me for not staying up late at night to finish it. <br /><br />When I'm ready, I'll do it. When it's in me, I'll exhale it out. <br /><br />For now, I'm still Mama to two very sweet, very demanding little girls who couldn't care less if their Mommy writes a book or not. <br /><br />So long as I read them a book, it's all good. <br /><br />And, really, that's enough for me. <br /><br />Most of the time. <br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-7430870476352396831?l=www.letterstomydaughters.com'/></div><div class="feedflare"> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=-kRnBdhxz1Y:0Zw8C9UMCRc:yIl2AUoC8zA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=-kRnBdhxz1Y:0Zw8C9UMCRc:F7zBnMyn0Lo"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=-kRnBdhxz1Y:0Zw8C9UMCRc:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=-kRnBdhxz1Y:0Zw8C9UMCRc:7Q72WNTAKBA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=7Q72WNTAKBA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=-kRnBdhxz1Y:0Zw8C9UMCRc:V_sGLiPBpWU"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=-kRnBdhxz1Y:0Zw8C9UMCRc:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"></img></a> </div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729ubertwins@gmail.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-61441412490595106422008-12-28T10:29:00.000-08:002008-12-28T10:41:47.604-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SVfIX837AwI/AAAAAAAAEG4/AV1Q1fFdv-k/s1600-h/IMG_0016.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SVfIX837AwI/AAAAAAAAEG4/AV1Q1fFdv-k/s320/IMG_0016.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284913001545794306" /></a><br />There was enormous joy spilling over my Christmas stocking this year. Mr. Claus was very good to me, leaving me smiling over my cookies and milk. I am feeling the pieces fall into place now. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Little girls rule. </span><br /><br />There was very little we didn't bring into our home this year. The full throttle of peace was nestled between us and formed great big hugs around our shoulders.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The magic was alive.</span><br /><br />Dress up attire, a new kitchen set, classic board games, big and small stuffed animals and much, much more. None of it, of course, meant more than the bright eyes of two little girls who now believe Santa Claus brought them a bunch of presents. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I believe, too.</span><br /><br />Now, as we nurse a high fever and keep the spirit alive, we enter the last of this great vacation and the end of a year of conflict and energy. Everything and nothing is changing. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Time to set new goals; achieve new dreams.</span> <br /><br />There's lots on the horizon for us this year, I believe. I've entered a new realm of working motherhood, of being a a mother to twin toddlers, of being a daughter and a grand-daughter. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I am finally free. </span><br /><br />Christmas pasts have finally found the place where they belong and that little girl who grew up with them, has finally come home. She is Santa Claus and Mrs. Claus. She is the mother. She is the wife. She writes the story of her Christmas, of her birthdays, of her Mondays. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">She is at peace. </span><br /><br />Happy New Year! Stay tuned for some new, peaceful Between the Lines blog posts. <br /><br /><br /> <br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-6144141249059510642?l=www.letterstomydaughters.com'/></div><div class="feedflare"> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=u1LN6UrmEo4:ASA3CRZ8jiU:yIl2AUoC8zA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=u1LN6UrmEo4:ASA3CRZ8jiU:F7zBnMyn0Lo"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=u1LN6UrmEo4:ASA3CRZ8jiU:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=u1LN6UrmEo4:ASA3CRZ8jiU:7Q72WNTAKBA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=7Q72WNTAKBA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=u1LN6UrmEo4:ASA3CRZ8jiU:V_sGLiPBpWU"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=u1LN6UrmEo4:ASA3CRZ8jiU:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"></img></a> </div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729ubertwins@gmail.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-50905116854628297432008-12-18T02:39:00.000-08:002008-12-18T03:18:07.927-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SUoxZlx8uzI/AAAAAAAAEE4/T5OPoC1AZGw/s1600-h/store.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SUoxZlx8uzI/AAAAAAAAEE4/T5OPoC1AZGw/s320/store.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281087828753431346" /></a><br /><br /><br />Perhaps it's because I have one almost 3-year-old who is very in touch with her wants.<br /><br />Perhaps it's because living on one income was so hard that being on two makes me feel rich.<br /><br />Perhaps it's because after working so hard, for so long, we deserve some nice things.<br /><br />Perhaps it's none of this, and just the stress of life pointing me toward things. Things.<br /><br />It's been a juggle, a hassle, to walk the line of saving and spending. Of needs and wants. Of this and that.<br /><br />What's harder is that if I enter a store for say, diapers, I see the girls' clothes clearing rack, then I think about how one pair of shoes isn't enough, or how they need snow boots now that we've encountered our third snow storm of the season and we're still a week from Christmas.<br /><br />Then, I remember that I need printer ink, so I head to that part of the store, easily getting sidetracked by my love of books, which luckily haven't been easily found in my favorite big box store lately. But, it brings me closer to the toys, where I think I might finally find a toy that my two almost 3-year-olds will play with. I scour each shelf, high and low, smiling and at how much joy each one of those brand, spankin' new toys will bring such immense joy that is not currently in our house, relishing the thoughts, maybe even picking up one or two.<br /><br />I sneak out past the home and garden section, where I long to buy more storage bins to feel more organized and less cluttered. And that reminds me that we need this and that for the girls' bathroom, which was recently painted and looks lovely, despite it's lack of anything in it.<br /><br />I skip past the food, only going back a second later to remember to pick up that easy-to-fix dinner item that the girls, hopefully, will eat tonight. Turkey dogs. Chicken tenders. Cheese sticks. Annie's macaroni and cheese. Then, I rush past the snacks trying to grab just one more healthier-but-easier bedtime snack in the hopes that they will be so full they won't actually wake up, again, tonight.<br /><br />By the time I make my entire circumfrance around the store, which started all because we were down to one last friggin' pull-up, I usually have a full cart. So, I swing into the make-up and beauty section, examining my goods, and tossing out what I know I don't need right now. Diapers? Yes. Turkey dogs? Yes. Paper towels? Yes. More girls' clothes? No.<br /><br />As I pile what's left onto the moving belt, I realize that I've probably just saved myself a nice chunk of cash by impulse shopping, but with a final once-over.<br /><br />But then the verdict is in: The bill is 80-something dollars.<br /><br />If this isn't a vicious cycle, I'm not sure what is.<br /><br />Which gets me wondering, does the American reliance upon THINGS have anything to do with wanting to get their kids to stop crying?? To get five minutes of peace to make dinner? To have just one more cute craft to hang up so that there is just one thing that proves we were somewhat productive today?<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/burtgummer/">Dan Halen for President</a></span><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-5090511685462829743?l=www.letterstomydaughters.com'/></div><div class="feedflare"> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=fNZ_-Ewtk68:xdUqz0aIhCQ:yIl2AUoC8zA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=yIl2AUoC8zA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=fNZ_-Ewtk68:xdUqz0aIhCQ:F7zBnMyn0Lo"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=fNZ_-Ewtk68:xdUqz0aIhCQ:F7zBnMyn0Lo" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=fNZ_-Ewtk68:xdUqz0aIhCQ:7Q72WNTAKBA"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?d=7Q72WNTAKBA" border="0"></img></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?a=fNZ_-Ewtk68:xdUqz0aIhCQ:V_sGLiPBpWU"><img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~ff/LettersToMyDaughters?i=fNZ_-Ewtk68:xdUqz0aIhCQ:V_sGLiPBpWU" border="0"></img></a> </div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729ubertwins@gmail.com3