being Mom2Amara

I finally figured out this Mother's Day thing

2013-05-13T05:00:00.000-04:00

How was your weekend? Mine, was fantastic. But it was just that... a "weekend."

I spent 48 hours in yoga pants and running shoes, all sans makeup. Amara and I adopted a new family member. We hit the nature center. She and I ate take out. Then she spent some time with Dad2Amara's family.

Yep, it was a typical weekend. And it was great.

I've thought back on past Mother's Days, and since Lola2Amara's death, they have been relatively simple. I'm not a fan of buffets so eating out on this holiday tends to be a nightmare. We no longer had to determine which mom deserved to be honored on which year at what time. And I realized I didn't have to be the center of attention <gasp>.

Why?

Amara is eager to affirm her unconditional love. She wants to prove she can take care of me just like I (try to) take care of her.

So I was served breakfast ~~in bed~~ on the sofa, complete with a homemade card complete with Amara coupons, a Carrie Burrows protein shake, and the New York Times on my iPad.

Amara made my bed. Then it was off to the Metroparks for a chilly May walk.

Then it was just me and Dog2Amara as Amara went to spend time with her other family. All in a weekend's work.

But really, that's the true meaning of Mother's Day, right? Spending time with my daughter, the one person I love more than life itself?

I lamented to my best friend last week how I was not going to receive a "present" from Amara this year and was deeply hurt by that. Deeply hurt. What? Look at that smile? How could I not listen to my BFF? How did I forget that Mother's Day is just another Sunday. It was about me and Amara. And if I had to celebrate with a bouquet of flowers instead of having Amara at my side, I'd be lost.

So I think I've finally figured out this Mother's Day thing. You can keep your Hallmark cards and nicely wrapped gifts. Amara, be warned, you'll be making my bed more often. From now on, I think every Sunday is going to be Mother's Day.

you can have Chicago

2013-05-09T05:00:00.000-04:00

The weather is getting warmer, and that often means trips to the local amusement park. But for me, the roller coaster hasn't stop. It's been a nonstop ride going 85 mph and topsy turvy at times.

But if there's one thing divorce has brought me is a desire for a fresh start.

I'm ready to tackle a healthier lifestyle (Bye bye coffee. Adios gluten.).

I've done a friend "purge" on Facebook and in real life.

And some days, I just want to start designing change-of-address cards.

Think about it. Everyone seems to have this bias against solitude. But if Staples can have an easy button, why can't I have a reset button?

My closest thing to an easy button is Foster, my car. He takes me to a rock under which I always know I can run to and hide. Here's photographic proof the trip is really only four and a half hours long for all you doubters - Route 611 exit to the Museum Campus.

Last week I spent four glorious days in Chicago.

Hanging with my BFF and the woman I would totally be besties with if she'd let me. Catching up with friends. Yes that is all a huge part of why I heart this city.

But I spent most of this long weekend alone. There's something so comforting about walking city streets, riding the train and having no one know your name. That anonymity allows me to clear out all of those distractions - even in a bustling city.

And I was able to reflect and just be.

But I realized I don't need Chicago. Don't get me wrong. I love the Windy City. It feels like home. But right now, I'll settle for any new scenery. Maybe the beach. Or the mountains. I know too many people in Cleveland. Too many memories in Chicago. My heart has been shattered into a million pieces and scattered throughout the Midwest.

So you can have Chicago. Cleveland too. And if you have suggestions as to where I might want to land, let me know.

between a rock and a hard place (or a tweet and the TV)

2013-04-21T15:00:00.000-04:00

Ever watch America's Next Top Model with a box of Thin Mints, wishing you could dominate the runway yet wondering why you can't stop inhaling Girl Scout cookies?

That's kinda how I feel on Marathon Monday. Long after Lelisa Desisa and Rita Jeptoo crossed the finish line, I settled in on my sofa and began to listen to a live stream of the Boston Marathon as I finished a few things for work.

I then saw a tweet. Then a second. With the third, I turned on the TV.

For the next several days, I sat paralyzed by fear, filled with sadness and angered amid all the confusion.

Contributing to that confusion were news reports on-air and social posts online.

Sigh.

Of course two of my greatest passions (not to mention sources of income) were being criticized and hailed during this time of crisis.

As an online community manager, I emailed my boss to prevent any Facebook posts, tweets or pins from being shared by our clients.

No one wants to be that brand.

As a former newsroom assignment manager, I took a step back and refrained from my own online activity so I wouldn’t contribute to the onslaught of unconfirmed reports. I learned my lesson early on - I once worked for a local affiliate that reported a local politician's death...before she was dead. I never want to be that station, that tweeter.

(BTW, look who's laughing now. I don't work holidays.)

But now everyone is on this bandwagon. And I mean everyone.

Every network, affiliate, radio station, and print outlet has some kind of online presence.

But that's not all. We now have citizen journalism. Twitter and Instagram have become the microphone and camera for Joe Schmoe.

Yet in the wake of tragedy, all accountability is tossed out the window. Our need for instant gratification tends to erase all common sense. Instead of being mindful, we want to be first. Rather than acting responsibility, we crave notoriety.

For over a decade, I listened to police scanners. Allow me to make something clear: what you hear on a scanner is not confirmed.

Here's another tip: not everything you read on the internet is true.

Shocking, I know. But it's not just the average social media user ignoring these simple truths. Journalists are just as guilty.

I too disappointingly fell into the retweet trap.

After this blunder, I became more cautious. I waited to share. And for the sake of humanity (dramatic but true), I waited to post.

Broadcast news is a fantastic tool in getting information to the masses. And as technology evolves, so do the methods in which we consume information. I remember Internet Chat Relays and blogging when blogging wasn't cool. I wanted to integrate social media strategy into local news coverage, and newsroom management scoffed.

Yet last week, I watched network news on television, live streamed local Boston affiliates on my tablet, tweeted from my phone, and did fact-checking from my laptop. As a community manager, this is what placed me between a rock and a hard place.

I still believe in the power of social media. And I know the strength broadcast journalism continues to hold. But my friends deserve truth and honesty. And the victims of the bombings deserved better than what I saw online. Our country deserved better.

I can only control my own actions. And keeping track of my own social media platforms (plus that of my clients'), is tough enough as it is.

But reporters, producers, citizen journalists and friends: if and when a tragedy of this magnitude attacks our nation again, we must remember we are all neighbors. Let’s take care of our community by acting responsibly on and offline.

the glamorous world of a newly single mom

2013-04-05T12:37:00.000-04:00

Helloooooo spring break! If you know me, you know I a-d-o-r-e Amara. Freaking love that kid .But I'm a single Mom now. So it's kinda fabulous to have her out of the house for some scheduled time off.

I haven't seen Amara in over a week. I love cuddling on the sofa with her and eating ice cream straight from the pint. We enjoy the same television shows and have dance parties in our pj's. But there's always constant noise. And she needs money. Or a ride somewhere.

So what's a single mom to do? Unadulterated time to myself? Fly to NYC? Dine at five star restaurants? Drink my favorite wines?

Nope.

Bake double chocolate mocha muffins of course!

Ok, not really. That didn't even happen. I just ripped the recipe from the pages of my Coastal Living magazine while I lounging in yoga pants in my living room.

I painted my toe nails, again in said living room.

I drank beer in the middle of nowhere (reminding myself I am not an IPA fan).

I tweeted some friends. And yes, this flipping made. my. week.

And by the time all the excitement wound down, Amara finally found time to FaceTime with her dear ol' Mom.

It's easy to be swayed into wishing life can be this way or that way. But I forgot a necessary component in making my dreams a reality - a millionaire boyfriend. Because in reality, there's not enough food in the fridge, not enough cash in the bank, and no little luxuries like haircuts and pedicures.

These days, if I don't laugh, I'll cry.

So laugh with me at my not-so-glamorous world. Because it is my world. And beer (and wine) is way cheaper and way more fun than tears anyway.

what 36 looks like

2013-03-11T04:30:00.000-04:00

Celebrating a birthday meant one thing for me - I am now closer to 40 than I am to 30.

Could that be why I heard "you're so old" over and over again all weekend long? I mean sure, FORTY is kinda intimidating, but I didn't care about 30 so am I really going to care about 40? And I know I certainly didn't care about turning 36.

Birthdays are a big deal for me. They are milestones, not negative moments to be avoided. Yes, my confidence tends to be over the top and annoys people to no end. And perhaps I rely on my Asian roots to put me above the anxieties of aging. But aren't birthdays just a really great excuse to go out to dinner?

So that's what I did.

Three counties, two days, thousands of calories

My birthday weekend began in one county, and my culinary adventures traversed across two more. Scott Kuhn is a fellow Solon grad. But more importantly, he is owner of the Driftwood Restaurant Group, which just happens to include several of my all-time favorite Northeast Ohio spots. Among my many stops this weekend, I had chocolate mousse at 87 West 2. Roma tomatoes and artichoke hearts with wild mushrooms at The Orchard House. Yea, I was in heaven.

I had plans to have Sunday brunch at a third Driftwood restaurant, but I'm not gonna lie. I wasn't hung over. I was flat out tired. Maybe 36 is old...

Thanks, Carrie, for this fantastic find!

Or maybe it was the footwear.

Yes, that's a boot of beer

I blame the band. I mean, who buys groupies drinks? Apparently the singer and the drummer of this band do.

It's incredible to me that during my birthday weekend, even in my "old" age, I am still reevaluating relationships. I am satisfied with where I am in life.

I know I was a bitch when I was in college. And if I look back at 30, I know I wasn't happy. Sure, I wasn't in CLE for my big day, but outside of my birthday week, I was pretty miserable. Dad2Amara and I were having problems. I was drinking bad wine. I was working insanely long hours (oh wait, that hasn't changed). And I didn't recognize - or appreciate - how truly brilliant some of my loved ones truly are.

Now, believe it or not, I'm more humble. I'm actually quieter. And I can drink more than you know (although please keep me away from Tequila. Tequila and I are not friends. We broke up a long time ago.)

So if this is how 36 looks, I'm ready for it. And I'll be ready for 37 and 38 and 39. And when the big 4-0 is around the corner, I'll be throwing one huge ass party. And you'll all be invited. Consider this your save the date. Boots optional.

in like a lamb

2013-03-04T04:30:00.000-05:00

Whoa. Where did the last month go?

No need to send out the National Guard. I am ok. Amara’s ok.

I worked on my tan, with my boss’ and the Mouse’s permission.

Disney's Yacht Club

I saw my future husband in concert. And I did so with two awesome friends.

Maroon 5 in Columbus, Ohio

I Jump[ed] Back.

Jump Back Ball, Playhouse Square

But most importantly, I had my most defining post-divorce moment.

I began dating.

I’m not talking oh-hi-we’re-friends-so-let’s-hang but hey-you’re-cute-want-to-go-out dating. This was HUGE. And I relished every minute.

It’s quite humorous if you think about it. The last time I went on a true date, Celine Dion said her heart would go on, and girls were hoping one of the ‘N Sync boys would direct “I Want You Back” to them. It’s been that long.

But I hate calling what I’m doing now “dating.” Trust me, I’m in no rush to jump into a relationship. I love being single. But I miss the excitement of being with agood man. I want to know there’s someone who shares the same interests and wants to experience life with me.

So I guess what I’m doing is… meeting new friends.

February was crazy fun. And it seems March is coming in as a lamb. But the way things are moving, it may go out like a lion. And I’m looking forward to more defining moments.

she's destined to be a star

2013-02-04T04:00:00.000-05:00

Just like her Mommy, Amara is into social media. The girl would be on Facebook and Twitter if she could. I did allow her to join Instagram. It's a private account, and she loves snapping pics and sharing them with friends.

I recently learned Amara's using IG for more than just photos. Hearing that freaked me out. I don't want to open her up to any risks. Bullies. Predators. Her brain becoming mush like her community manager-mom.

But as usual, I didn't have much to worry about. Amara is loving the quotable nature of the platform.

The first photo is the beginning of a quote from mega country artist, Taylor Swift.

I am an overachiever, and I want to be known for the good things in my life.

The second half of the shot shows that I obviously allow her to watch too much television. But hey, at least she's well rounded in her show selection.

But what I am most impressed by looking through her Instagram stream is not her photography skills, but her ability to connect her most personal experiences with inspirational quotes...even at age nine. And by creating her own meme's, she's engaging an audience - that's my girl, perpetually wanting to include everyone.

Already recognizing herself as an overachiever? Knowing she should be on television? Amara is going to be someone. Destined to be a star. And hopefully she'll remember all of these wise words.

I know I have found a few that have helped me. This is one of my favorites.

Do you have a favorite saying that gets your through your day? What brings out your inner rock star?

why I was willing to have surgery for a stranger

2013-02-01T06:00:00.000-05:00

It happened so long ago I had forgotten all about it.

I didn't recognize the number when my cell phone rang that first week in October. Typically I would ignore the unknown caller. But this time I was curious. No wonder - I was told I had the chance to save a life.

Just after my Mom's death, I attended a benefit at which they were recruiting bone marrow donors. Knowing that minorities have a lower chance of finding a willing donor, I signed up. Then promptly forgot about my commitment.

Until last October.

The voice on the other line said I was a potential match for a little boy with leukemia. She asked if I would undergo further testing to determine if the patient's immune system likened mine. The rest of the conversation is a blur.

I immediately thought about not the child, but his mother. I know I would be devastated if Amara was diagnosed with cancer. And I could only imagine how desperate this mother was trying to find a match. I know I would do anything to save my own child. I guarantee this boy's mother hoped she would be a match. How awful it must have felt to standby so helpless. She must have prayed every day for a miracle.

So I agreed. And a few days later, I was told I was nearly an exact match. I was the miracle.

I was humbled. It goes without saying that not every registry member will be asked to donate. And here I was, given an opportunity to make a difference in someone's life.

Harvesting bone marrow from a donor is outpatient surgery. The bone marrow is drawn from my lower back under general anesthesia. As I prepared for the big day, so did the little boy. Doctors needed to destroy his bone marrow cells with chemotherapy in order for him to receive my healthy stem cells.

Then it happened. I was no longer the miracle.

The patient was responding to chemo. After a second round, doctors felt he was well enough not to undergo a transplant. What incredible news! Yesterday, I was told I was no longer needed for this patient. But because the need is so great, I would remain - with my permission - on the registry. After a rough few months, I didn't need a miracle. And my life is at a place where I see the miracles around me. Now, this child is being blessed with a miracle of his own.

I'd do it all over if I could. I concocted up what I believed my recipient would look like. I imagined him to be dark haired with olive skin. I dreamed about how we may meet one day and how good it would feel to have another child hug me with an indescribable love. If I have an opportunity to be a donor again, I think my recipient wouldn't change.

What would your recipient look like? Over 50,000 people join the registry each month. Could you be that match? Want to help? Check out marrow.org.

thank God for Britney Spears

2013-01-20T21:29:00.001-05:00

Three years ago, I literally thanked God for Brit Brit.

I had forgotten all about it until I reread a blog post written by my friend and former co-worker, Danielle. She always appreciated my snarkiness.

The post also reminded me how much I take life for granted, my friends for granted.

My heart fell heavy when I found out Dani was killed in a one car accident Sunday. And I was overcome with sadness, knowing she died alone. Guilt filled my heart knowing I don't tell friends how much I love them. They don't hear it enough.

I met Danielle 14 years ago. She partied at my wedding, was a guest at my baby shower, hung out with me in the Dawg Pound, and stood beside me as Bono sang to "us" from eight rows away. Just this past summer we saw Rascal Flatts. Guess it shouldn't surprise me she related to my musical Britney Spears moment.

Dani's last gift to me was a necklace worn by her Mom. Such an amazing gift from an amazing person. Love her or hate her, Dani was Dani. And this generous present means even more now than it did just a short time ago.

Dani has joined the choir of angels, undoubtedly welcomed by her Mom and her dog. While many will miss her infectious smile (and perhaps miss less her blunt ways), I know she's happy to be home.

Amara's version of brain gain

2013-01-06T10:00:00.000-05:00

There's always talk in Northeast Ohio about "brain drain," the mass exodus of young professionals for the greener hills of other cities. Don't get me started on it. (And if you think you know my opinion on this, you may have to think again. But I digress.)

But for my overachieving daughter, brain drain can take place during winter break. Or summer break. Or over the weekend. So Amara reads. A lot.

Amara began reading the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series back in the first grade. She devoured each and every book. And then rereads them for a second and third time. It was no different this time around with the series' seventh book Diary of a Wimpy Kid: The Third Wheel.

I surprised her with the book right after Thanksgiving. And appropriately enough, she has read The Third Wheel three times already. Could be because love is in the air for Greg, the main character. And we all know Amara takes love seriously so it seemed only right for her to give her thoughts on the book (and writing helped with the whole "brain drain" thing).

Diary of a Wimpy Kid: The Third Wheel is a very funny book. I really like the series because it's hilarious. You'll LOL after reading the whole series. The Third Wheel is also a good sequel to the other Diary of a Wimpy Kid books. The dance committee at Greg Heffley's school is organizing a Valentine's Day Dance, and things don't go exactly the way Greg plans it will. Greg and his date, Abby, first go to dinner at a fancy restaurant but have to eave because Greg wasn't dressed right. Then Greg thinks Abby has chicken pox at the dance when it really was a pimple. I thought that was funny. I hope you'll read The Third Wheel and find out what happens next for Greg.

Amara and I agree. This would make a great Valentine's Day. Parents can buy any of the Diary of a Wimpy Kid books anywhere books and e-books are sold.

Amara "wimped" herself

And if you're looking for fun activities, you can Wimp Yourself, learn how to draw Greg, and learn more about author Jeff Kinney by checking out WimpyKid.com.

Disclosure: I was provided a copy of Diary of a Wimpy Kid: The Third Wheel for review. As always, opinions are my own.

got grapes?

2013-01-01T06:00:00.000-05:00

Kissing at midnight. That's so passe. So simple.

Ringing in the new year is so rewarding (and a lot of work) when you're Filipino.

Don't believe me? Just explaining it to a co-worker was exhausting. And of course, his reaction to our "traditions" was priceless.

Seriously, who else but a Filipino would run to the grocery store on New Year's Eve simply because she was out of grapes?

Yes, grapes. The girl who doesn't eat fruit unless it is stuffed in a beautiful piece of bakery needed grapes. Because at midnight, you have to eat 12 grapes, one grape for each month of the upcoming year. Grapes signify prosperity.

I had to make sure there was money in Amara and my wallets and purses so a run to the ATM was needed. Filipinos believe money in your pockets at the stroke of midnight will mean money in your possession all year long. We also throw coins in the air at midnight too to bring prosperity into our home.

What else did we do as the ball dropped in Times Square?

It's winter yet my front door and windows were open. Had to let the bad mojo of 2012 out and allow the good blessings of 2013 in.

Every light fixture and lamp was on, illuminating the entire neighborhood. Had to ensure the new year will be bright.

And noisemakers? Not for Filipinos. They're not loud enough. We had to make as much noise as possible to drive away the evil spirits. So only pots and pans would do.

My favorite ritual? Amara was forced to jump 12 times at midnight. Filipino children jump as high as they can because that's how tall they will hopefully grow. (This obviously didn't work too well for me as I am a nice 5 foot 3.)

Still seem easy to you? How about cleaning the house - floor to ceiling? A clean home to start the year means a clean home year round. Bye bye dust. Same goes for laundry. All of our closets are organized and the laundry baskets empty.

Just don't complete household chores today because cleaning on New Year's Day means you'll be doing it all. year. long.

It doesn't stop there.

We'll be eating noodles today for a long life.

But stay away from dishes that include poultry. Chickens scrounge around for food, so you wouldn't want to be searching for food in the new year now would you?

Given how 2012 shaped up, I can't take any chances. So every ritual will be observed. I learned a lot in 2012 but 2013 is going to be better. I promise.

five things I learned in 2012

2012-12-28T06:00:00.000-05:00

I began the year with such high hopes. 2011 was less than stellar, and 2012 started off with a bang (and lots of pecan pie). But the divorce dragged on, and upon my arrival to the promised land of singledom, well, quite honestly, the year still sucked. My moving costs (and life in general) ended up being more than what I had anticipated. The days without Amara felt like never ending eternities. And my longing for the city has been magnified threefold.

Yet I still grew. Sure I probably reverted back some, trying to recreate a life I didn't get to experience. Yet I realized you have to keep moving forward. Looking back at the past keeps us from reaching our dreams.

But that's not all I learned in 2012.

"Love is hope. It fuels our dreams, and if you're in it, you need to enjoy it because love doesn't always last forever." Yep, I unwillingly snubbed my reality TV obsession and watched "Once Upon A Time" with a friend. Snow White is living proof that fruit should not be a part of my diet. Mulan proved women are just as capable as men. I love a good fairy tale, so it should come as no surprise that I am hooked on this show. Happily ever after may be questionable at best, but I still believe in true love. Just sometimes the timing isn't right.
We all stand to lose at one time or another, but we can also gain so much. Oh, I've learned this lesson 25 times over in the last year. Literally. Remember this? Apparently by gaining my sense of self, I also gained half of that weight back. I take full responsibility. It's been months since I've hit the trails and gone for a run. And I have a unhealthy love for white rice. And cookie dough. I know I'll lose again. And I will gain. Yet no matter, I'll continue to move on.
There's always something stronger than a stiff drink. I enjoy my glass of Cabernet. Always have. I adore Katie, the bartender at a local steakhouse. But she - and the Mandarin and Seven's she always has ready for me - was not who I needed in my life. I am a stubborn bitch. I'm an independent woman. But I know now I must also rely on people stronger than myself. I have experienced firsthand what extraordinary measures those strong loved ones are willing to take to ensure I'm on the path towards fulfilling my dreams. Wine can't do that.
Change is inevitable I hate this lesson. HATE. But people change. Circumstances change. And life is too short to harbor hate. So we have to move on from the change we cannot accept to achieve happiness.
Money isn't everything, but it can make you happy. I can't pay my bills, provide for Amara, or enjoy life without cash. Paycheck to paycheck is no fun. A little money can go a long way.

I've come to terms with 2012. No matter how tough things get, I can move on. The amazing people in my life never cease to surprise me with their capacity for generosity and goodness. They taught me these five lessons.

And these lessons make me who I am.

nothing short of a Christmas miracle

2012-12-22T23:49:00.000-05:00

One of my dearest friends recently asked what I was hoping Santa would bring me for Christmas. After the year I've had, I didn't have high expectations and merely hoped he wouldn't fill my stocking with coal.

The first two months of divorce have been a financial nightmare. Adjusting to my new life has been a challenge, and mounting debt and court rulings have stung deep. I couldn't eat dinner with Amara today because spending money on my share of the meal would have been quite the burden to my bank account.

But sure enough, Santa made a special delivery to my (second) home this weekend. I couldn't help but tear up. I was told Santa thought I could use a little bit of magic. In a moment when I thought all was lost, I found myself in my favorite city, alongside my precious daughter, with the magic of the holiday surrounding us both. Definitely the work of the Big Guy.

But Santa wasn't done.

After forcing my daughter to skate by herself because I could not justify spending an extra $10 to rent skates for myself, we walked around Chicago, hitting the no-cost attractions: viewing the Marshall Field's tree, reflecting upon Cloud Gate, and enjoying Christkindlemarket. But an unexpected thing happened as we perused glass ornaments and schnitzel.

A complete stranger gave Amara and I two tickets to see War Horse at the Cadillac Palace Theatre.

And they weren't just any tickets. These were center stage second row loge level seats. On a day I worried I wouldn't have enough money to fill my gas tank to get home, two women performed this random act of kindness. Because I was left speechless and in tears, they never will know how much cheer this brought my heart.

Yet Santa had one more surprise. Admitting to my daughter I could not afford to buy one book at the American Girl store is a quite sobering experience. I haven't been able to buy Amara everything she's asked for for Christmas this year. So imagine my shock when I heard Santa had a sack filled with toys for Amara to bring home to Cleveland. Again, I was unable to control the tears.

Holidays are brightest when we help those in need. And the course of events in the last 24 hours are nothing short of a Christmas miracle. I will be unable to reciprocate the generosity displayed by my personal santas. But their selfless acts will remain with me forever.

wow, aren't we a bitter nation

2012-12-17T05:30:00.000-05:00

It's no secret I've had a rough year. Horrendous may be more like it.

Even before the divorce, I've always joked (yes, it's in jest, people) that I am a bitter soul. But last week I saw this in my healthy dose of Entertainment Weekly:

Adele? She has a phenomenal voice. I totally understand why she would be voted in the top spot for favorite musician of 2012. But take another look. Following close behind the British singer are Taylor Swift, P!nk, and Katy Perry. The real message of this online poll could hardly be clearer.

Um, does anyone else recognize the angst and rejection that typically fill these performers' albums? Are we a nation of bitter women? Or at the very least, does this mean the readership of the magazine is largely women disgruntled by failed romance? How can performers who sing songs filled with betrayal, hate, and sadness top this list?

Bitter women are scary. We are angry. We are mean. And it all boils down to the trauma of a relationship that has ultimately infiltrated all areas of her life.

I am in no way comparing a breakup to the insurmountable tragedy in Newtown. But why is there so much rage among us? No, life does not always end up the way we expect. But damn...why does disappointment over a failed relationship fill our lives so much? Why have these women gained a cult following because of their anti-love anthems? Daily we hear them sing:

"But don't your remember, don't your remember the reason you loved me before?"

"I say 'I hate you.' We break up. You call me, 'I love you.'"

"You think I'm just too serious. I think you're full of sh-t. My head is spinning so blow me one last kiss."

"Throw your bombs and your blows, but you're not gonna break my soul. This is the part of me that you're never gonna ever take away from me."

Damn those lyrics for being so memorable.

Sure, I have some favorite breakup songs. But I am trying to shy away from all the self-pity often exhibited by bitter women. Venting is healthy. Screaming is great for the soul. Yet life is not all mistletoe and sentimental gifts.

Perception is reality, right? So I'm trying to create a remarkable life that I envision to be my new reality. Do I fail? Yes. But do I get back up? Yes. Most of the time. But we are accountable for only our own lives.

So how about we focus on love - past and present - and move on from all this bitterness?

How about we be better not bitter?

Ask for help when you need it. (Something I don't do enough.)

Learn from your mistakes.

And don't overthink it - simply let it go.

call me (maybe) a grinch

2012-12-11T09:33:00.000-05:00

So I may be the only person on earth that cannot stand Christmas carols.

There, I said it.

As Steve and Ed of the Barenaked Ladies say, "the streets are filled with Christmas cheer, at least it's only once a year."

Yes, I knew that lyric from Green Christmas. And honestly, I can handle all the non-traditional kitschy stuff. Wintersong. I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus. Even Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer. And I love this gem. LOVE.

I even sang Hanukkah songs (in Hebrew) in high school that I think sounded so much prettier than traditional carols. Maybe I find carols a bit slow.

Not to mention Christmas music tends to rear its ugly head right after ghosts and goblins have made an appearance. So two months of ornaments, wreaths and snow just gets plain old for me.

Christmas is my favorite holiday. I love the sights and smells of the holidays. Poinsettias. Fresh evergreens. White lights. But with me, there is too much of a good thing.

I will say I do make exceptions for the Hallelujah Chorus, The First Noel, and O Christmas Tree. But Rudolph can take a hike. How that's different from the kitschy stuff above I'm not sure but it is.

Do you have a favorite Christmas carol? How about a hated one? (Yes, I know your hated one may be on my list above. I'll forgive you.)

when three years feels like eons

2012-12-04T02:04:00.000-05:00

Just seven months ago, I was asked to speak as the keynote address at the Hospice of the Western Reserve annual meeting. Feels like a lifetime has passed since I stood on stage.

But three years ago today, we lost a beautiful woman to a horrible disease. If seven months feels like a lifetime, three years must be eons ago.

It's no secret that I miss my Mom terribly. So does Amara. She and I both still cry over her loss. I did not know how to honor her memory today - I've said all that I can.

So for those who did not have an opportunity to hear me speak, here is an abbreviated copy of what I said. Rereading this is just as difficult as reliving the day Mom died. For those that knew my Mom, I hope it reminds you of her generous spirit. And for those of you that never met my Mom, I hope it inspires you to hug your loved ones tight.

Caregivers comfort without any effort at all. It’s a skill that is not taught in any classroom. At the core of every caregiver is the innate ability to understand the needs of another. Caregivers are individuals we want filling our world, stepping foot in our daily lives.

My Mom was a caregiver.

That's not me.

I come from a family of nurses. Me? I work with words.

I was bitter throughout my Mom’s entire illness. My Mom died two years ago, and I still find myself angry. At the mention of her name, I cry. For months, I hated driving to one of my best friend’s house because it meant driving past the East 185th Street exit for Hospice House.

I often replay in my head Mom’s last months, questioning if I had done enough. I didn't “care” for Mom. I wasn’t even her favorite child. I was just being her daughter.

I used to work in television news. I would always hate when a person passed, and all of a sudden everything about him or her was glowing. People would wax poetic. He was a good person. She was loved by all.

I couldn't do that for Mom. I loved my Mom. She was a good wife and mom, loyal friend and compassionate nurse. But the cancer ate at her heart. It made her mean and resentful. And in turn I became mean and resentful too.

Pre-cancer, my Mom literally took care of everyone in every way possible. If you knew my Mom, there was God, her family, then donuts. So one year, the day after Easter, she went to church and decided to satisfy her sweet tooth. It came as no surprise it was not the hospital that called to tell us my Mom had suffered her first (and only) seizure and was being flown to the Cleveland Clinic. It was members of our community who saw her being transported by paramedics. The phone chain began until it reached me. My Mom touched the lives of so many.

I was pregnant with my daughter, my Mom's first grandchild, when Mom was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. Glioblastoma Multiforme. Remember, Mom was the nurse. So who knew I could pronounce that, much less learn so much about it?

Doctors said the cancer my Mom fought daily as an oncology nurse would likely take her life before my daughter's first birthday. My Mom taught clinical courses. So how was it now that this disease would end her life?

Yet just as my Mom encouraged her patients to be strong, to accept help, and to enjoy life, she did the same. For six years, the tumor would rear its ugly head. And my Mom did everything she could: chemo, radiation, experimental treatments, surgery after surgery after surgery, whatever it took for her to see many of not only my daughter's milestones but that of my newborn nephew.

But one day, we noticed a change in Mom. It happened in an instant. I didn't need a doctor. I knew. We all did. But no one said a word.

So my family did what any family would do. We packed everyone up and headed to the happiest place on earth, just as we had done so many times in the past. There was no talk of cancer or tumors or death, only Mickey, Minnie, and maybe Goofy. Mom always loved Pixie Dust.

Two days after returning from Disney, doctors told us nothing more could be done.

One week later, Mom entered hospice care.

I knew next to nothing about hospice. I work with words. And the word “hospice” made me shudder. But I knew I wanted Mom to receive the best care. So I started to do my research and became overwhelmed with the sheer amount of information coming my way. And selfishly, I wanted Mom close to me. Mom was in Summit County, me in Lorain County. East vs. West. I already felt defeated.

When tragedy struck our family, we knew this horrible disease would destroy my Mom's mind. But if there was one thing my Mom firmly had a handle on, it was her decision to be with the Hospice of the Western Reserve. It was as if this was Mom's final way of taking care of us. She was again being the caregiver. Mom always spoke highly of Hospice - to patients and to her friends - so she insisted they care for her during her final days.

After two trying days of home care, Mom entered into Hospice House.

I felt this profound loyalty to my Mom, but at the same time, guilt. I knew our days together were limited. But I had a daughter. I was the mom of a kindergartner, and I had a responsibility to her. Add a full time career, and I don't remember much.

What I do remember is how the staff treated my Mom with such respect, even when she was unpleasant and demanding.

My Mom was a high maintenance woman. My Mom dressed to the nines and would never leave the house without being dolled up. It was no different at Hospice House. She would worry about what pj's she wore or how her hair looked. But what frustrated her most at the beginning was the loss of her independence.

One morning, I left Mom earlier than usual and as soon as I disappeared, she immediately called for her nurse. Mom insisted her makeup bag be brought to her. Remember, Mom was high maintenance so this was no small bag. It was a case. And it was three in the morning. Recognizing this, the nurses asked if she needed help. And my Mom politely declined.

I returned that morning, not knowing what had happened overnight, and as soon as I walked into the room, I began to laugh. My Mom very smugly looked at me and explained she was tired of relying on others to dress, go to the bathroom, or simply walk. So she wanted to prove she could still put on her own makeup.

Unfortunately for my Mom, it wasn't makeup. There was a black Sharpie mixed in with her cosmetics, and she generously lined and filled her lips with it. And the nurses, in an attempt to not humiliate my Mom, would simply ask her to "blot."

That was Mom. And that truly is Hospice of the Western Reserve.

This was about the time Mom began losing her verbal and cognitive abilities, I too changed. I was exhausted. So I accepted Hospice's invitation to "live" with Mom. I had been catnapping on the green recliner in the corner of Mom’s room. But the staff at Hospice House brought me a bed with fresh linens. I was able to do laundry, shower, watch television in the lounge, and use the family kitchen so I could forgo fast food for every meal. I did all of this so I could stay at my Mom's side.

Hospice [became] a place for my Mom to spend her last days with dignity. It's a spot where she – where we - could celebrate life. So one by one, group by group, people flocked to see Mom with food, flowers, and music. If you know us Filipinos: We. Are. Loud. And we know how to celebrate. We know how to party. It was a party nearly every night.

No one at Hospice ever complained about my family or our friends. In fact, they knew us so well, they would bring in my daughter's favorite candy or accompany her to the children's room. They would ask about my sister and her family in Columbus. We “trick or treated” at the nurses’ stations for my nephew's first Halloween. They became our family. And that helped put me at ease when I needed to leave Mom for a few hours.

There are not many people who can say this. But just as my Mom witnessed my first breath, I was there as she took her last.

I was the only member of my family that did. Again, Mom was taking care of me.

I relive that moment in my Mom's room in the east wing often. Her room overlooked the garden. It was a cloudy Friday morning. It was just me, my Mom and her pastor but it seemed so chaotic. And all of a sudden, the room turned silent.

What I did was not noble. I made no great sacrifices. It was painful. I look back and still question why her, why my family. How unfair it was for her life to be cut short. How unfair her death is to my daughter, my nephew, and my niece who never had a chance to meet my Mom.

And I’m sorry all of you didn’t get to know Linda Jimenez.

If my Mom was here, she would tell me she’s proud of our family.

She would express her gratitude to Hospice of the Western Reserve for recognizing the need for a second residential House in Northeast Ohio so families wouldn’t have to endure the mind numbing drive I often did.

Mom would tell nurses in the crowd you are all overworked and under-appreciated and underpaid.

And Mom would tell all of you as caregivers that it's ok to question, it's ok to want a break, and it's ok to let go because ultimately, your work never stops. And most importantly, she would say the work you do is difficult but truly needed and amazing.

Thank you for all you do. And thank you again for allowing me to share the kind of caregiver my Mom was.

We love you, Mom. You are always in our hearts. xo

well played Mayans, well played

2012-11-30T06:00:00.000-05:00

Clevelanders may remember when 107.9 FM transitioned into an alternative rock station and played R.E.M. for 24 hours straight. I literally sat on my bed and counted down the minutes until the end of the world. I so did not feel fine.

I've admittedly said "screw you, world," and lived under a rock the last few months, so I had no idea about the doomsday prophecy surrounding December 21.

Oh Mayans, thank you for giving me a reason to party like it's 1999.

I realize if the world ends as predicted, my bucket list as it stands is not that fabulous. And even if it were, many of the activities would be difficult to achieve in three weeks. I mean, my passport isn't travel ready to hit Australia. And unless an immaculate conception occurred (thus explaining my recent weight gain), Amara will remain an only child.

So I've made revisions and some edits and viola - here is the Cleveland edition of my bucket list. Snicker all you want, but you seriously can live life to the fullest in CLE.

My home ec-less existence has always created this deep desire to take cooking classes. But why cook when the end is so near? I want to be served the meal of a lifetime, prepared by Northeast Ohio's culinary geniuses. Wild mushroom and Ohio City pasta gnocchi, tots and cornbread from Hodge's Cleveland to start. Devils on Horseback, crispy chicken wings confit, and animal style frites from Chef Sawyer at The Greenhouse Tavern would be up next. (I'd likely toss in a Smartee cocktail for good measure.) Mack and cheese from Washington Place Bistro is a must. Then I would order Zack's signature chicken at Table 45 before having dozens of macaroons created by Brit at Coquette Patisserie. Only then do I think I would be satisfied.

With only a few days remaining, I want to live a life of luxury...one that includes Table Thai and chemical peels. So I'd max out the credit card and take refuge at Walden Inn and Spa. I could get used to massages, facials, and pedicures.

After the lap of relaxation and luxury of Walden, I'd taken in a performance of the Cleveland Orchestra. I appreciate the arts of Northeast Ohio so much. But because of the Mayans, I believe after the concert, I would streak on the Severance Hall stage prior to the encore. I have to run off all of that delicious food I inhaled, right?

And why not live life on the wild side while I'm at it. I'd drive west out to Cedar Point to ride all 16 roller coasters...including Jr. Gemini and Top Thrill Dragster (which I have not yet had the pleasure to try).

Since heights are obviously not an issue, I would want to roll snowballs from the roof of the Rock N Roll Hall of Fame. Why not, right?

So how will you be spending the last few days of 2012? Let me know!

Darth Vader totally screams Christmas, no?

2012-11-26T06:00:00.000-05:00

My family is known to have some quirky holiday traditions. And in the spirit of the new Family2Amara, Amara and I are creating new traditions of our own.

I mean, a waterpark Thanksgiving is completely normal, right? (And no, I did not have turkey and stuffing. Prime rib all. the. way.)

But what I most look forward to year after year is dressing up our home, with a smooth transition from neutrals and orange to hues of red and green.

I love Christmas so much that there were surprisingly few moments of sadness and loneliness associated with our tree trimming. Decorating brought smiles and laughter. Amara carefully strung popcorn to create wonderful garlands that smell delightful each time we walk into the family room. We trimmed our tree with ornaments handmade with love by Amara throughout the years (plus one or two to remind me of my favorite spots.)

yes, we have presents under the tree already

Each time I glance at our tree, I'm reminded of fond memories of what seems like times long, long ago.

But I did not want to focus on what is different. I knew I needed to accentuate the positive and lean on traditions, pre- and post-divorce. So I did what any respectable parent would do...I tossed on a favorite timeless flick.

Not only did Amara get to experience a Hollywood classic for the very first time, but she was able to grasp the genealogy of the Skywalker family tree. Oh yes, we plan on this being a new family tradition as we trim the tree.

That's when it hit me. Everything feels so comfortable. This is genuinely "me." The fine china. The perfectly coordinated ornaments, garlands and lights. The piles of presents...it wasn't me. I didn't need the white picket fence. I hated living in Stepford.

But Mickey ears, foam polar bears and mismatching stockings...that's me. Fresh garland hanging from the front door with cutout felt snowflakes...that's me.

This door would never have welcomed you into House2Amara. Little things like this are taking time for me to become accustomed. But I know this: I love being the Rebel Spy on Star Tours. I enjoy musical theatre. I buy organic milk. I now have this amazing opportunity to reclaim parts of my life that were lost. I'm rediscovering who I was before marriage, who I am today. And that's a fantastic Christmas present if you ask me.

building up the holidays: gingerbread houses at the Cleveland Botanical Garden

2012-11-25T17:18:00.003-05:00

Confession time yet again: I have never had a gingerbread cookie. Does having a gingerbread latte at Starbucks count?

So when the good folks at the Cleveland Botanical Garden invited me and Amara to guest judge donated gingerbread houses decorated for the season, we were up for the challenge. Up until a few years ago, I had never even touched a gingerbread house. And now, the only houses with which I have any experience deal with young girls versed in other kind of cookies (like Samoas and Thin Mints).

As part of Glow, the Garden's wintershow, not only can you walk among trees trimmed to the nines. You can also browse gingerbread houses of all sizes decorated by members of the community.

There's everything from the traditional to the unexpected -

To an homage to good ol' Cleveland (you'll shoot your eye out!) -

There's even an opportunity to decorate your own house and bring it home for the holidays.

I won't say which houses were Amara's winners (although, the gingerbread house by the Shore was my favorite). So feast your eyes on these pretty houses, check them out for yourself and let me know which ones you think Amara handed perfect scores.

Disclosure: I was provided tickets by the Cleveland Botanical Garden to experience Glow, the 2012 Wintershow. As always, opinions are my own.

giving thanks and love

2012-11-22T06:00:00.000-05:00

I bought an artificial tree this week and picked up a gift for Amara. Slowly I’m getting into the Christmas spirit. But I try to fight it as much as I can until Black Friday.

While I’m not a Thanksgiving fan, I do think the holiday deserves its due. Saying I am thankful for my divorce might land me on the “naughty” list. But it’s not for reasons you may think. I have made no secret that this has been a challenging year, which has led me to reevaluate the relationships in my life. But divorce isn’t the end of love, but the end of a marriage. It’s not the end of trust, but perhaps the end of a friendship. And my divorce has taught me so much.

To my family, particularly Aunt2Amara and also my uncle: Thank you for supporting me and Amara. You could have easily taken sides or passed judgment, but you did not. I am truly grateful.

To one of my dearest friends, John: I may not always agree with your so-called brilliant ideas, but I know you will never ditch me. And you can’t get rid of me.

To Jason: Your inappropriate jokes always brighten my day. Small time divorce lawyers have nothing on you.

To Carrie, Chrissy, Stacy, Natalie, Charlene, Whitney, Tara, and Molly: You are the best friends for which a girl could ever ask. You showed me that I can have it all. I can be nurturing Mom2Amara while being a courageous woman able to chart new territory. You gave me the confidence to speak out.

To Heidi, Lissa, Kelly, Melissa, Allison and Brooke: You are all strong, independent women. In times of crisis, our creativity can determine alternatives to option one and option two. Together, our friendship found a solution for penguins mating in the autumn.

To Dana, Michelle, and Megan: Thank you for letting me know I’m not alone. Thank you for proving I could make it through the gut-wrenching sorrow. I hope one day I may be able to repay you for your compassion.

To Emily, Amy and Mike: I have become a better listener because of you. Doors may close but others have opened. You have given me an opportunity to heal.

So what does it all come down to?

Amara and I lead blessed lives. I treasure all with whom we have connected. Today, Amara and I will spend on our own. But know we are celebrating all of you and will hug each of you the next time we are together again.

a very CLE Christmas

2012-11-21T06:00:00.000-05:00

Confession: I grew up in Northeast Ohio, and I've been to the Lake Erie Islands once. And that one time was as an adult.

Then I realized I was never able to attend the tree lighting downtown or watch fireworks at Edgewater Park over Fourth of July.

Geez, I felt like a sheltered child, only knowing the suburban malls on the east side. (I kid, I kid. Kinda.)

I have now made it a priority for Amara to experience all Cleveland has to offer. Some events have become an annual tradition. Others are absolutely new to us. But either way, we're looking forward to a great December. Not to mention, I'm looking forward to saying adios to 2012.

So where can you find us?

Glow
Cleveland Botanical Garden

University Circle is one of my favorite spots in Cleveland. It's gorgeous any time of year. But I cannot wait to take Amara to Glow for some winter fun. Think carolers, train rides, gingerbread houses combined with the beauty of the Botanical Gardens.

But what I am most excited for is the Treetop Shop. Anyone else remember visiting Mr. Jingeling at Higbee's then shopping for family with the elves? This is like sharing a part of my childhood with Amara. Kids enter a tree house where elves help them pick out gifts. Love it!

Glow opens Friday and runs until the end of the year

Holiday Tree Festival

John S. Knight Center

No, this is not technically Cleveland. And no, being from the Chagrin Valley, I had never heard about this festival until a few weeks ago. But once I did learn about Akron Children's Hospital's annual Holiday Tree Festival, I knew I had to take Amara.

Imagine more than 400 trees decorated for the holidays and proceeds from each tree sale fund patient programs and research at the hospital. Oh, and did I mention admission to view the trees is free? But you'll have to hurry. The trees are on display now until Sunday, November 25.

Winterfest
Public Square

The event Amara and I look forward to the most during the holiday season is Winterfest downtown. I haven't been lucky enough to attend any tree lighting ceremony outside of Crocker Park (yes, another one of those deprived-as-a-sheltered-child things) so I wanted to make sure Amara would see our cool city lit up in grand style.Winterfest is an all day extravaganza taking place this Saturday.

So where will we see you in the upcoming weeks?

Disclosure: I was provided tickets by the Cleveland Botanical Garden to experience GLOW. Akron Children's Hospital is a client, although I am not directly associated with Holiday Tree Festival. As always, opinions are my own.

Bitter Thanksgiving? Here are songs to help celebrate that breakup

2012-11-19T08:29:00.000-05:00

Ahhh, Thanksgiving.

Thursday will be my first holiday officially divorced. The last few months have provided me an opportunity to truly reflect on my life. Amid the uncertainty of the future, I have so much for which to be grateful. But for a few minutes, I will have a bitter Thanksgiving before reminding myself of the better Thanksgiving I will be celebrating with my daughter (and without, politely put, the “big turkey” or any of the extra trimmings).

I know finding my true self is one blessing that has come out of this divorce. To quote from Twitter,

"Sorry, I’m not Adele. I don’t wish the best for you nor do I want to find someone like you."

The journey was bitter. But I was urged to confidently continue and felt empowered because of loved ones, indulgent meals and music. Bitterness accomplishes nothing. But this past resentment made me the person I am today. So for a few minutes come Thursday, I will play the music that helped me define who I am and get me through the heartache.

CONTINUE READING Bitter Thanksgiving? Here are songs to help celebrate that breakup on Patch.com

when size matters

2012-11-18T08:00:00.000-05:00

Don't believe the hype. I've always believed size does matter.

That's why I am not a warehouse club type of girl.

One, it's a warehouse. Usually it's dark, and I feel like everything has the potential of being dusty. And did I mention it's a warehouse?

Two, I have just over 800 square feet of living space. I don't have room (or the need) for 300 rolls of toilet paper and five pounds of beef.

So I was skeptical about an invitation I received from BJ's Wholesale Club to preview holiday gift and entertaining ideas. As the next few weeks fill up with party after party and errands galore, BJ's wants to be the one-stop shop for gifts, food and everything in between.

So let's go over what surprised me most.

The store offered a ton of toys that are already on Amara and my niece's and nephews' wish lists.
There was a lot of alcohol. A lot. Huge selection.
There were tons of afforable stocking stuffers, teachers' gifts and hostess gifts. (And yes, I realize the two photos here are again "spirited" but there are other ideas such as chocolates wrapped with jingle bells and hot cocoa in adorable mugs.)

I seriously love the festive wine bottle sweaters!

But here's what I also learned.

The baked goods and desserts are tasty. Who could resist cheesecake and brownies? But I wouldn't buy hors d'oeuvres or entrees from a wholesale club. Call me a food snob. But for a dinner party or get together, I'm making my own or having it catered. The concept of frozen to table doesn't resonate well with me. I was able to taste among several items quiche and an antipasto platter. While BJ's offers a variety of organic and natural food choices, the quiche and platter just downright tasted processed.
I love the holiday gift wrap options BJ's has. Colorful. Sparkly. But let's be honest. Unless I plan to wrap my gifts the same way for the next four years, I have to resist the urge to purchase. I have no use (or storage) for yards upon yards of paper and gift cards. It's not practical for this divorced Mom of one.

I'll definitely take advantage of BJ's 60-day free membership trial to cross off a few gifts on my Christmas list. For several reasons I think it'll be worth it. But for me, I'll stick to presents and bypass the food aisles.

Disclosure: I was provided a gift card and various products by BJ's Wholesale Club to attend its blogger event. As always, opinions are my own.

what two things do you need?

2012-11-05T08:06:00.001-05:00

Have you ever sat down and thought about what you need? Really truly need and not simply want?

Lately that's all I've been thinking about, perhaps not only because of my new "status" but also my new financial reality.

Gone are the days of dining out every other night. No longer am I buying to die for purses. I'm paying for dance classes. I'm buying vegetables (ok this has nothing todo with my budget but a good lifestyle change, no?).

If I had to narrow it down to simply two things, I would have to say my daughter and my ABC's.

Amara? Rather self explanatory. I know the job I do best is being Mom2Amara. She's my everything. When the world isn't revolving around me, it's attending to her.

But my elementary alphabet? In so many deeply wonderful ways, I have rediscovered new obsessions and past loves, and all can be stripped down to what we were taught preschool.

Remember my Pinterest inspired bedroom? In an attempt to decorate my new place as economical as possible, I turned to the social platform for ideas. And I've fallen in love with letter-inspired projects.

As a child, I remember spending hours upon hours in the basement of our local library, devouring over any book I could. I now watch as Amara does the same thing. And I wondered why my love for reading vanished.

And as I continue to evaluate my relationships, I find myself writing more. Blogging. Journaling. Sending a note in the mail (we all know my addiction to stationery thanks to a cool college job). Something about writing puts me at ease. And I enjoy it.

So I've employed my ABC's in these ways too. I allow the letters inspire me.

What about you? What two things do you need for a good life?

color me pink

2012-10-29T07:17:00.003-04:00

I never shy away from color. I think color goes hand in hand with my loud boisterous personality. Plus there are times I can be a girly-girl.

But the most I have been able to get away with in my previous homes were red walls beneath a chair rail. Call it compromise.

Until now.

Starting over has helped me reclaim my life and create a stable one for Amara. But as the dust settles, I realized I need to reclaim my space too.

I now have a sanctuary just for me. I can retreat to my bedroom to cry, laugh, and think. And I can sleep (a BIG deal after the last year).

Moving gave me a clean slate and my bedroom is just that - mine. New bed. New furniture. Photos that have come out of hiding and are now displayed proudly.

But allow me to remind you that I am an arts and crafts failure. So DIY projects tend to fall under that category too.

But my headboard...been in my family since I was a toddler. My dresser? Reclaimed. My bedside table? Second hand and painted bright yellow to match my sunny disposition.

And the accent wall - I did that. With inspiration from Pinterest and dummy proof directions from Ariel at Offbeat Home, I chevron'd my pretty little pink heart out.

No math was needed for this project. All I needed were chalk, a 12x12 foam board, the lid to one of my boot boxes and paint.

I traced out a grid, outlining the foam board over and over. Then I used the shoe box top as a straight edge to connect corner to corner. (Here's a tip: use only light colored chalk. I could wash the yellow, orange and light green right off. But remnants of purple and blue lines remained, leading me to buy while paint for touch up.) Next was taping off my lines.

Is it perfect? No. But what is perfect in this little world of ours? And there's no one to scold my crooked lines and horrible corners Yet add my new bedding and I think my room screams "Monina!"

If I can't make my home 300 miles west just yet, I'm going to make the most of my cozy new home! Project Bedroom complete. Project Dining Room is next!