mommy writer :: bethany hiitola

Where in the world?

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Sat, 27 Jun 2009 21:13:36 PDT

Somewhere in my life right now, I am desperately trying to fit in writing. Not work writing crap, real writing. The stuff that makes me tingle and sweat and keeps me up at night because I can't get the ideas to stop. That writing.

Between caring and keeping my family sane, my day job, drinking more water, eating less red meat, cleaning, laundry, dishes, picking up toys again and again and again--as well as showering and all that cleansing stuff--there isn't but a whole 5 minutes left. Even when I use my grand plans of using 10 minutes of down time wisely (nice thought, but when barely have time to go to the bathroom, you take the necessity over the nicety).

So here I finally sit at close to midnight, just NOW getting a free moment--staring at a cursor. And a blog that hasn't been updated in about 20 days. And a master bedroom that is overflowing with laundry. A sink full of dishes and toys piling at my feet.

It's amazing. My muse sometimes will flutter around in my head when I am the busiest of busiest. Whispering sweet story ideas, plots, and characters into my left ear. And it floats around in my head until I can find any moment to get it down onto paper (virtual or not). But lately? The must has run off for greener pastures. My life seems to full for her and she's a bit pissed off. The better part of myself agrees and is ready to do the same. Especially when a reprieve is nothing more than a pipe dream at the moment.

But, I've decided to hell with it all. I submitted non-fiction work to a publisher. And I'm even going to bust my ass to submit a small piece to a local contest. If I get picked up by a publisher my life will turn into even more chaos and I'll scold myself continuously, but damn. Kill me or not, I can't let this dream die. My soul might just go with it. So, I'm off to write. Even if for a an hour tonight. Or 10 minutes tomorrow. I'm entering the damn contest too. Because it's my dream, and I'm the only one that can make it happen.

I'm sorry, I didn't hear you...

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Sun, 07 Jun 2009 21:02:55 PDT

I haven't been able to hear out of my right ear since last Wednesday. On a practical level, yes--a doctor has been visited (ear pain on Friday insisted I do the trek to the medical office), antibiotics prescribed and taken regularly, and resting has been taking place. But on a more emotional stance, it's just odd trying to decipher muffled conversations, turning my head to hear important ones, and to just be all out, not really together when I'm trying to have conversations with just about everyone. And after 5 days, it's becoming a bit of an annoyance.

I can't seem to even think straight--even my conscience keeps chirping, "I still can't hear out of my right ear!" And believe me when I tell you, tomorrow will be more than interesting. Trying to decipher Corporate lingo during a morning full of meetings with less than stellar ear canals could be blessing in disguise. Or the worst day of my life if I get caught up in a bunch of follow up items. Not to mention conference calls. It's my phone ear. And even in the last 5 days I still haven't adjusted to placing a phone on my left ear.

So, I expect a day full of, "What?", "Sorry, could you repeat that..." and "Huh?!?!" and then a few eye rolls from those that know me (and don't). Sure it might be easier to explain the whole ear infection thing, but then I'd be backed away from like the plague. It's called germs, viruses, and sickness. My house has been swimming with it, not like I need to pass it around.

Ideas, they always seem better in my head

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Sat, 06 Jun 2009 09:08:00 PDT

As I lie in bed last night waiting for my daughter to fall into blissful sleep, I came upon a new book idea. I love those. In fact, I might go out on a limb and say I LIVE for those moments. The story idea, the characters, the plot lines all seem so clear. So exciting. Something akin to magical. The entire story makes sense in all the right places and so easy to just sit down and write. Well, when I get up and write them.

That is, until when I actually do sit down to type/write/stutter out the fragments of the idea into something more official. Whether that be in an electronic document, piece of paper or just verbalizing it to my husband. Then… it all gets ruined. The idea suddenly becomes real and I find holes in the plot that seemed so flawless only moments before. The characters, superficial. And well the idea, just not quite where it needs to be. And, yet, I still take the time to continue writing it all down. Every piece of inspiration. Just in case I need an idea to grow into something more.

Though the doubts that start when I start writing? Never go away. In fact, I think more and more of them creep up the more I write the story. I’m convinced it has to do with the fact that I am *actually* writing and progressing and doing what I want to do. The little old thing called FEAR has weird ways of trying to ruin your plans. And right now, I’m just going to blame him for how I feel about that idea. Because the other part of my brain--the better half--still likes it. And thinks with a bit more tweaking (and letting go), the great parts of it just might come out and play. If I let it. And right now, I have nothing else to lose. Except, the excitement that is all in my head.

Mr. & Mrs.

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Fri, 05 Jun 2009 04:07:00 PDT

I think my wedding day might have been the last time someone called me Mrs. Hiitola. Except maybe the damn telemarketers. And then I became The Kiddo’s Mom. You know at those play date or kid functions and they need a way to refer to the various parents sitting around. I’ve grown used to that one, far more than my own name these days as my kid schedule has suddenly quadrupled with activity. But Mrs. Hiitola? Not so much. Mostly because it just seems so old-fashioned.

Well, seems I might have to get used to it again. At least when I get notes home from school for my son. Those teachers are all about formality. And Mrs. Hiitola I have become. My husband the Mister. And we stare at each other a bit dumbfounded with each letter about how we became the Mr. and Mrs. It seems so sudden. And makes me feel like I’ve aged a good 20 years. Granted, I have. But let’s not even go there.

Call Me Paranoid

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Thu, 04 Jun 2009 16:06:00 PDT

My son found his way back into a hospital stay a few weeks ago due to a ferocious cold that just found its way into his chest and caused him to have some sort of bronchitis that almost looked like pneumonia. No matter what it was called, he was coughing, having a hard time breathing, and all over an asthmatic kid having a really (really) hard time. Within a matter of 6 hours he was playing outside with “a bit of a cold” to being put on oxygen so that he could maintain a relatively safe level of oxygen in his blood.

Scary doesn’t even begin to explain how it felt. Not to mention like I was a complete failure as a mother. How could I have *not* known at Noon that day that he was not going to be able to talk to me later that night because his chest was so tight? Why did I wait so long to bring him to the ER? Why didn’t I just know?

I didn’t. And then I felt like a bigger idiot when the ER nurse scolded me for not calling an ambulance to bring my son in. Aside from the fact we live under 10 minutes away and by the time I called them, he was already being wheel-chaired into a space to be checked. But, again, let’s put that all aside. He survived after a few blood draws, an IV of antibiotics (due to the though of pneumonia), vomiting due to the abuteral treatments, and some more IV for the Orapred to get him breathing right again. The oxygen mask, an overnight stay in the hospital, and some Popsicles and ice cream at his every call (the nurses loved him) and we were back home. Still giving frequent breathing treatments but home and making strides for the better.

Until this weekend when we headed to a family wedding. Suffice to say, the cough came back, so did strained breathing, and so did my paranoia. Maybe it was the residing lecture of the ER nurse, a mother’s (my) intuition to get him home as soon as possible to rest, or just the fact that I, too, found myself with a nasty virus that had me pilfering numerous tissue boxes most of the weekend that drove me to just throw in the towel and head home right after the ceremony.

My son didn’t like the decision--he’d been holding in coughs all morning long in hopes of making the stay as long as possible. The grandparents weren’t happy--we were taking away their grand kids with barely a 24 hour stay. And hell, I wasn’t thrilled to be traveling back 7 hours or so when we only just arrived. But that cough. That pale face. Those pleading eyes. Yes, I thought at dinner on the trip home we might not actually make it home and an ER trip was back in our horizon. And then there was that moment at the gas station when he was coughing so hard he thought he might vomit. Or the coughing fit just before he drifted into a fit-ridden sleep only an hour from home.

Well, it makes you realize that you really are a mom. One that, even though, pretty sick herself, was more worried about her son. Paranoia be damned. Or talks of leaving a wedding party early. It was all about her son. His health. And well, the fact that (thankfully) we didn’t visit any emergency rooms on the entire 7 ½ hour ride home. Or this entire week. All thanks to that little voice in her head that said, “Just get him home to rest.”

Sure it took more breathing treatments, abuteral, cough drops, Kleenex, suckers, and Popsicles than maybe necessary. But we made it no worse for the wear. And next time, I just might have to keep him in a bubble for a while longer.

WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? by Alyse Myers

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Tue, 02 Jun 2009 15:26:30 PDT

Today, I should have been working. Yup. Should have been a normal (busier than humanly possible) 9-to-5 work day full of conference calls, meetings, deadlines, and emails. But I called in sick. The Cold That Just Won't Go Away was still here, and I just needed another day to decompress (have been out of the office since Friday for wedding fun and travel). So instead I sat down with a book or two. And what found it's way into my hands today, but Alyse Myers' Who Do You Think You Are?

It's a lovely memoir about mothers and daughters, relationships, growing up and everything in between. And my in between, I mean all the complications of having a mother.

We all have them but sometimes--especially when we are say 15 and think we own the world--you just don't get along. In my case, the "not getting along" was because I was a teenager, naive and really, just was ready to go out on my own into the world. It's all normal. And hormonal and all that stuff. And even today, mom and I--don't always see eye-to-eye and that's what a so-called normal relationship is all about. But after having a daughter of my own, well I understand even more how hard it is to mother... and that is a whole new perspective (and let me tell you, there are more days than one I wonder if I am going to screw her up too. We women, so emotional on both sides--mother OR daughter).

And this is what this book is all about--Alyse growing up, dealing with death, dealing with siblings, dealing with her mother. But she had other variables in her life to overcome than I. Mine were just high school, boys, and life with a curfew. Her home live was not the best circumstances--not so much money, life with parents that loved each other but only knew how to fight, a bit of drugs, infidelity. But through it all, she loved both her parents dearly. Tenderly. And always did what she thought was best. Even in tough times.

The book is honest in ways that let you really see what it was like growing up for Alyse. And then how she is looking back now and understanding it all. You feel her hurt, pain, and all the in-between of what it was like growing up with her mom. And her dad. And her 2 younger sisters. How she wanted and strived for more. And then realized, well, that her mom was doing all she could. Flawed and all.

It's well written. Poetic. And a true testament to the love she felt for her mom. Bittersweet in ways that it brings Alyse and her own daughter together in ways she likely never imagined (but desired nonetheless). Great book for mothers day or just a read on a lazy weekend afternoon (or say an extra day off of work). As it gives one a sense of hope and love.

Netbookin’ It

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Thu, 28 May 2009 16:50:00 PDT

I finally broke down and purchased a netbook last week. And by finally I mean, it’s been about a year in which I have walked passed those sweet little machines on the shelf, oohing and aahing about how fabulous it would be to carry this small little pouch with me so I could write on a computer ANY time (writing long-hand was my alternative. And as old school and fun as it can sound, finding the time to THEN transfer to a computer… well in my world just takes to damn long) So, I bought one. And after a week of hell (2 kids with pneumonia, one hospitalized for about 24 hours), I am finally using somewhere other than my kitchen table to check my email.

HP Mini won out the competition for one reason only--keyboard. I can type on the thing without completely re-adjusting my typing style. Really, I spent hours typing on all the various machines trying to get the feel for the keyboard, what it would be like typing on the thing, if the keyboard was noisy, and… well a myriad of other things one does as a writer when testing a keyboard. And the HP mini won hands down. Mostly because there were no spaces between the damn keys. And secondly, have you seen the nice swirly design on the outside? It’s fun. And it felt so me. Thus, happy netbook owner is in your midst.

Now if the kids stay healthy, and sleeping on their own at night without a bit of prodding, a work schedule that gives me a 15 minute break here and there--you just might see more writing from me right here on this blog. Or in an even BETTER place, more fiction writing from me. That’s right, have some more freebies (finally) that I plan to post on the site. Mostly so I keep writing, and secondly, to see if I can get some followers of my writing. It always helps when trying to get the publishing Gods to notice you.

So, off to type happily away on my little netbook and hopefully produce a story worth posting on the site. And if you are a writer and looking for the perfect writing any-time pal that is fun and stylish and just well… useful. Try one out. Don’t expect your full computer (it’s not), think of it as the portable writing version, and you’ll love it. I’m just dying to use it for more than 15 minutes…

Weighty Topic

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Wed, 27 May 2009 04:41:00 PDT

My husband is training for a marathon. I sit on the couch and try to simultaneously watch the kids, read, and possibly take in some television (like my weird obsession lately with America’s Top Model). Yes, I’m the lazy ass in the family. But who the hell is going to watch the 6-year and 20-month old? It’s not like I can have The Peanut run along beside me. Then again, at the pace I’d run a mile, she might have a leg up on me since she’s got more energy in an hour than I might have in an entire day.

But this brings up a good point. When I was all over the Weight Watcher thing (pre-kid), I’d lost over 60 lbs. I was eating healthy, exercising a bit and having a good ole time at looking good. Husband at the decent food, but didn’t start a running kick. In fact, I think he had a good time drinking a ton of beer and laughing at my beer-to-water ratio I deemed upon myself so I wouldn’t add too many calories to my daily intake.

Then--time passed, I dropped the diet, had a kid, found employment that was inevitably more stressful, moved a few times, had another kid… deaths in the family… and well, here we are. My husband the new healthy one and me not so much. I’m doing nothing but scolding myself for what I SHOULD be doing to get myself in a better state (about 50 lbs lighter). I think about exercise, about how I should be doing it, and I cook meals that are healthier--and eat them, but yet, here I am. Still sitting on the couch, taking the kids for a short walk here and there, but still feeling crummy.

I’ve taken baby steps at drinking more water and adding more exercise, but overall, the motivation isn’t there. And I am not sure what I can do to GET that motivation to just keep going.

Believe me when I tell you, once I got over the initial hump of eating healthy, it got easier. Much easier. And I felt great. In fact in a month, my clothes were feeling looser. I was able to drop a jean size or two in a matter of a few months. And those compliments thrown my way? Genius! So, I know what’s possible. I know what I can do and what’s possible. But…

Yes, but… I have nothing else to say. Am I not ready? Is it just that it is easier not to think about it?

If I really think about it, I am just exhausted. I am trying schedule everything, get the kids where they need to be every day, tracking homework, diaper needs, reading schedules, soccer games, snacks, dinners, housekeeping, work meetings, deadlines, bed times, bathing needs, and all things that all of us has to do. But to track calories? Points? Minutes I have worked out (miles run)? It’s just another damn thing to track and I am sick of it all. I’ve scheduled out. Completely. And dieting in any form (even if it just means eating healthier) means I have to track yet another thing to get my day moving correctly and I just don’t think I have it in me. At least today. So bear with me while I haul the extra 50lbs around for another few months. Maybe by then I’ll realize the lost weight just might give me the extra kick I need.

Hospital Conversation*

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Tue, 26 May 2009 16:40:36 PDT

“Mom?”

“Yes honey?”

“Thanks for bringing me here.”

“You’re welcome buddy. Just get well.”

“I will.”

* The Kiddo was admitted to the hospital last Monday. For his asthma. The asthma that comes on with almost every cold. Only this time, it seemed pretty bad. Oxygen. IVs. And this feeling of being such and awful mom. And this conversation? Well, it broke my heart in more ways than one.

Cleaning Room Drama

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Wed, 20 May 2009 14:18:48 PDT

"Keep cleaning? That means I'd clean my room all up!"

Of course Kiddo, that's the idea.

Worry Wart Challenge (Double-Daring Book for Girls Shower)

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Thu, 14 May 2009 15:13:24 PDT

All right ladies and gents, it's time for a challenge. A goodness challenge.

Andy Buchanan and Miriam Peskowitz have written a lovely new book--THE DOUBLE-DARING BOOK FOR GIRLS--which is a follow up to the first book (which I reviewed here). It's a wonderful book full of information, games, tricks, and loads of things about being a girl. A daring girl to be exact. You can learn a ton of card games, how to win at Scrabble, how to catch a fish, run away and join the circus... but well, buy the book to figure all that stuff out. I'm here for a throw down!

And all of us share a friend named Melissa. And she is throwing them a book shower. What's that you ask? Well who really knows--because can't it be anything we want? Sure can. So we decided to challenge our readers to one of the goodness items in the book. I picked the item on page 167--Worry Dolls.

Ahh, the land of worry. I never thought of myself as a worry wart. But maybe that was because all I ever really wanted was to be fancy foot and carefree. I'm an eldest child, NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN. And then I became a parent which forever takes away the carefree days of anything. Thus, why I picked this Worry Doll Challenge.

What is a worry doll? From my friends at Wikipedia they are (and of course all this info is in the book too):

Worry dolls (Spanish: Muñecas quitapenas, "Dolls [that] remove worries"), or trouble dolls, are very small and colorful dolls traditionally made in Guatemala. A person (usually a child) who cannot sleep due to worrying can express their worries to a doll and place it under their pillow before going to sleep.

According to folklore, the doll is thought to worry in the person's place, thereby permitting the person to sleep peacefully. The person will wake up without their worries, which have been taken away by the dolls during the night. Parents may remove the doll during the night, reinforcing the child's belief that the worry is gone...

Now, I know, I know it is all around children above, but I don't give a damn about that. Because reality is, I lose many hours of sleep due to worry and I know many other ADULTS that do too, so here's the details, my dear readers:

I challenge you to choose 6 of your favorite friends or family, and cut them a little slack--make them a Worry Doll so they can shed those worries good-bye. Normally with the folklore thing, you make them in groups of 6--but I've made it easy. Make 6, give 6. And you should be golden. I figure if you spread the worry-less karma around, maybe you (the giver) will also reap benefits.

My dolls are going out by the end of the month--so friends and family members--START watching for them! Now it's your turn--weigh in, tell me who you sent your worry dolls to and why, or beat my score and tell me how many dolls you made, who you sent to, why, and well join in the challenge.

p.s. I really want you to buy the book and all the cool stuff it tells you what to do (it is great if you have a son or daughter, I mean--hello--EVERYONE want to learn how to make a lava lamp right?), but I also want you to make Worry Dolls for friends and family and join the challenge. So, here's some online instructions on how to make them. You know, so you can join in. Let's see if we get the most participants!

The Wedgie That Binds

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Sat, 09 May 2009 15:07:39 PDT

The hard part about turning over a new leaf, is the actualness of it all, the finality of giving up/trying/COMMITTING to this new endeavor. And it's where I am uncomfortably sitting right now.

I'm going to give up soda. The sugar, the calories, the fact that I obsess over drinking it to keep me awake/happy/someone immune to the craziness called my day job is true to the old adage, I've become dependent on it. And I've probably gained a good 20 pounds in my dependency. So, out it goes. I figure, if I can tackle that hurdle first, then I'll give up my morning espresso drink. But, hey, one step at a time. And they will indeed be baby steps.

For me, these first few steps are not only critical, they are the hardest to take. More than 6 years back I lost somewhere around 60 pounds. The last 30 where quite easy actually--the first? Not so much. I think I cried away the first 10. Seeing the foods I wanted desperately to eat, the drinks, the very fact that I could only have my white mochas one day a week? It nearly killed me. But therein lies the small solution--give yourself what you want (for me it might be a soda here and there, or that damn white mocha). But just not EVERY meal. Even though a burger and fries are easy and quick when I am rushing through my day, it should be an every day solution.

Thus, my start at healthier eating without going crazy about it. First step. Soda.

BOOK REVIEW: He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not by Trish Ryan

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Thu, 07 May 2009 08:02:45 PDT

First let me say, I've had Trish Ryan's HE LOVES ME, HE LOVES ME NOT on my bedside to be read table forever (the hardcover version actually). It's been there for about a year. And I'm feeling pretty crummy about it. Sorry Trish! Especially since I had personally asked Trish to read and review the book. Sigh. Personal Failure Alert.

Anyway, let me get into the reasons why I wanted to review the book--and then why, now ready to write something about it, was having a bit of trouble. Don't let that statement trick you, the book is well written and entertaining. Trish, being that is a memoir, was honest and truthful and so sweet I just kept reading even though--the idea of being born again Christian was tripping me up--I kept reading. And reading until the very end. So let me start at the beginning.

I'm not very spiritual. In fact, church is only something I attend for weddings, funerals, baptisms, christenings, maybe a holiday here and there, but really for nothing else. Am I anti-religion? Not really. In fact, I believe in some sort of higher being. And honestly, that's been enough for me for years.

Long story of my childhood in short is: we didn't go to church much then either. My father went all the time as a child and even went to a Catholic school through is younger years. And from that, he decided, we wouldn't need to. And hey, Sunday mornings were never more fun for us! We didn't have to get up early and attend anything in dress up clothes! My Mom was okay with that too--but did spend some time teaching us the Bible basics. Basically the who's who of the important characters, brought us to holiday festivities at the local church, and let us tag along with Grandma and Grandpa when they attended every Saturday night. It was an easy existence, really. And one I never questioned. Even when all the other kids in the neighborhood went off to church and something called Sunday School (sounded brutal to me).

Fast forward a good 20-some years and here we are today. That sort of upbringing didn't haunt me, didn't allow me to make too many bad choices, and I am living a pretty normal life if I say so myself. I've thought about religion. I've had friends and dates and all that stuff with people that were highly spiritual to those that could have given a shit less.

What does all of this have to do with the book? Well, it's about becoming "one with Jesus." For Trish anyway. And as much as the book is about her, she sorta challenges us (the reader) that maybe it might be right for us. Which for me, really not so much. And as much as I loved the beginning of the book, found myself skimming later chapters that were going on and on about how praying with her boyfriend was just the most wonderful thing ever. Because for me, that just went over the top. For. Me.

I wanted to read the book since we shared an agent, she was a first time author, and I've seen her in some writing circles. Overall, it was a writer to writer thing--and having shared personal details of my life here on this blog (and in a possible book someday), I wanted to see how it was done. WITH a touchy subject for some.

So, in a nut shell, here's the skinny: beginning of the book was SO RELATABLE, so real and so fun I just kept reading. Cheering Trish on to find love and happiness, and crying with her when she shares the not-so-good relationships she had. It was an honest look and life, love, and her search for spirituality. She brought us along for the ride she had looking into fueng shui, alternative/new age healing, astrology... and well everything in between. I'd compare it to a cliff-note trip of my own--peaking into all those communities without having to try it for myself. And in fact, we do the same with her love life (the book does have another plot. The husband angle. She's looking for one, wants one desperately, etc). We glimpse in, take part, and really enjoy the ride while Trish remains open and honest--even about the dirt.

And even when she begins exploring Christianity, the writing and Trish's voice kept me captivated. She talked a lot about her doubts and uncertainty. All of which, being in her situation or wanting to "try something new" I would feel the same way. It was all relateable, fun, and easily readable.

But she keeps going down the path... and well, this is where my mind wandered. Everything was going so well. And weirdly well. And all the praying. And well, I kept reading because in the end I like a good love story, I had to be sure she found a man. BUT, I will caution you, it is riddled with Jesus and praying (so much praying I wonder how there is time for normal conversation) and just a world that maybe I am so far removed from I will never get. Trish never loses her voice, even tells us that she is uncertain herself... which helped. But in the end, it just went a bit too far--again--FOR ME. The writing was superb and I love that Trish went out on a limb and wrote the book. It's an insider look into her life, and into a part of religion I'm not so sure I will ever get.

Trish--thanks for the read. I know it is a year late. Sorry, and please forgive me. But girl, you keep writing. Love your voice and writing. I might not be ready to go to church any more today than I was before reading, but the book at least gave me a glimpse into your life, which is what a memoir is intended to do.

Balancing Act

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Tue, 05 May 2009 14:31:33 PDT

I worked from home today.

That is no huge admittance of wrong-doing. In fact, I used to work from home 3 days a week or more (in my consultant life, I worked from home full-time unless I was on client site for meetings). The term used to is what is killing me here. Because the used to is even the past tense of this particular job. It was an alternative that wasn't frowned on or discouraged in any way. In fact, it was just a given that a dial in number would be given for every meeting and not to expect that you'd be meeting with everyone face-to-face. We were a dynamic group that worked across the globe, forward-thinking, pro-active in telecommuting... until now. Or well, the last year.

Suddenly expectations have shifted for numerous reasons all tying to staffing, volatile market conditions, the economy, and well, now I am in the office more than not. And it's wearing on me. Me as in the woman/mom/wife that is trying to have what we call-- ALL of life's opportunities. I mean to balance a job that is 45 minutes away from home, the schedules of a kindergartner/soccer player/6 year old son with interests outside of school, caring for a 19-month-old that has to have child care so I can work, and maintain a house and marriage is a tall feat for ANYONE in existence. Male/Female/Super Hero--Anyone and yet, I try to do it all on a daily basis. Sometimes in lieu of fostering friendships with women I have known for over half my life and personal time to just be me.

I worked from home full time (yes consultant) for 2 years WITH my son at my side. It was hectic, oftem chaotic, and tiring all at once. I loved being with him, but my work suffered as did I as I never got down time from work or him. Today, I work more at an office and less at home and sometimes with my daughter at home and sometimes not. It's clear, it's easier, more effective, and definitely better for ME when she's still at day care and I work from home (hell, I get 20 times more work done!).

Let me re-iterate--today, it's become clear there's a price that has been paid. And it's a doozey. It's partly my health and partly my families well being. See, having to dress and pretty myself up to get out of the office is one thing. But then I have to do that with the children too. And rush us all out the door and to places by certain times to make appearances at an office where STILL half the people are at other offices and then we all are on calls anyway. BUT we need to make appearances.

Unlike, my better work at home day today, when I got the kids where they needed to be without rushing myself silly (and raising my blood pressure) without one lick of prettying up besides brushing my teeth and a glancing view of myself in a mirror, getting online and working within 20 minutes (before 8am), answering email, being productive and all that fun stuff and then doing the call thing with those that WERE in the office today and across the globe. And that isn't even going into the details of the load of laundry (or 3) I got done today between conference calls, and the fact that I actually ate a lunch (a healthy one at that) ALL while working very diligently from home. I even got my washer fixed by the wonderful repair man that stopped by about 9am.

The day isn't over yet and I can confidently say I have gotten more done today--work and home wise--than the last week combined because I could focus. Become un-distracted by all things water-cooler related at work, and just do my thing, my way. And now I am missing my old schedule. The one that didn't matter where I worked or when. Just that I worked and got things done. It was something of a balance for me. One that is clearly missing now.

You're a true soccer mom when...

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Fri, 01 May 2009 14:56:12 PDT

... you thank God and the moon and all the stars in the sky because both of the weekend games got canceled due to field conditions.

Yes. I am that soccer mom.

My Daughter

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Thu, 30 Apr 2009 15:11:19 PDT

If you haven't met my daughter, let me share a bit about her. She's a spitfire, shows no fear, chases everything in life, loves to laugh, free-spirited, rambunctious, has no shame, loves endlessly, and chases ALL things in life right now to better understand them. Mostly, it's all the things I wish I was/did/had in my life. And then some.

Is she tough to mother? Some days. I mean, she tells me when something isn't right and then in the same breath rushes over to give me a kiss/bear hug that you dream of as a mother. And she can do all of that (and scream bloody murder) within 5 minutes. But, again, I love her for it. I hope she keeps up her right to be emotional if she wants and driven to DO what she wants as she gets older.

I wonder how she found those traits. Her father and I--we're not so free-spirited. I mean sure, we love to have fun, but it's always a little cautiously. And by all means, we are emotional (don't come to our house when there is a death in the family. Someone is always crying). But the attitude my daughter has? Just. Love. It. I wish I could wake each morning and be as optimistic, adventurous, and all-out driven to go about the day with as much ambition. She doesn't let anything get in her way.

Sure she's 19 months old. But I can see the twinkle in her eye, she won't stop at anything. And already I admire her for it. Even though at 15 years old, I might be crying in my own pillow trying to maintain some sort of motherly control. I just hope the rest of the world doesn't crush her spirit. It is too good. If only I could bottle, produce, and sell it. I'd be rich. And one of the happiest women on the planet.

GUEST BLOG POST: The Call by Karen White (author of THE LOST HOURS)

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Thu, 30 Apr 2009 03:02:00 PDT

Since I've been so sporadic in MY posting as of late, decided to call in some reinforcements. Or I should say some reinforcements found me. A fellow writer. Kathy White has a new book out and she wanted some action on the blogs. I am a kind writer and obliged--especially because I'd love to read her book myself (adding it to my Amazon Wishlist right now!). And I just love her story about getting "the call." For those not in the writing world, this is when your agent calls (or and editor) and you get a book deal. And it's an ever-waited moment (I am still awaiting my own CALL). So, without further ado, read Kathy's story below.....

GUEST BLOG POST: The Call

In mid-December, 2003 I finally received the call from my agent that I’d pretty much given up hope ever getting. She left a message on my answering machine saying that she had a two-book offer on the table from my dream publisher, Penguin Publishing Group.

I stood listening to the message about a dozen times, holding heavy bags of groceries, wanting to believe in her sincerity while the whole time picturing my long-suffering husband standing behind her while she made the phone call with a weapon pointed at her head.

Let’s back up three years to explain how I got to that point. Granted, it wasn’t technically my ‘first sale’—but for me, it was the first sale that counted. Most people who know me know my story—how I entered the first book I ever wrote into a contest and it ended up not only winning, but also garnering the attention of a literary agent who offered to represent me. My first sales were to two small publishers. At the time, I would have worked for free (and I just about did!) for the privilege of being published. My advances were small, my print runs and distribution even smaller. Still I was grateful, and pumped out four award-winning books of which I’m still very proud.

I was at least climbing the ladder of success, although my paltry print-runs and publisher non-support kept me firmly planted on the bottom rung. I felt as if I were going to the prom. Sure, my date was the dorky boy with pimples, but at least I was going!

And then even my foothold on that bottom rung was shaken loose and I crashed to the floor. My publisher dropped me, stripping me of confidence and pride. I couldn't sell a book for 2 ½ years. Even the dorky boy didn't want to take me to the prom anymore. I was humiliated, devastated and heartbroken. It no longer mattered to me that I’d published four really great books (as friends and family kept reminding me). At the time, all I could do was point out Tom Petty's song, Even the Losers (Get Lucky Sometimes).

I was inconsolable. St. Jude, the patron saint of hopeless cases, became my close companion and we'd talk every day. I even thought seriously about making voodoo dolls of certain New York publishing personnel and holding them over hot flames.

I gave myself until December 31st of 2003. If I hadn’t sold another book by then, I was hanging up my word processor. I simply couldn’t bang my head against the wall any longer. On the day I received the call from my agent, my husband was on a business trip in New York . Before he’d left, he asked, “Is there anything I can get you while I’m there?” My despondent answer, “A contract.”

ALL ABOUT KAREN (from her PR Goddess Dorothy)

They had her at hello. From her first moments in Charleston and Savannah, and on the South Carolina and Georgia coasts, novelist Karen While was in love. Was it the history, the architecture, the sound of the sea, the light, the traditions, the people, the lore? Check all of the above. Add Karen’s storytelling talent, her endless curiosity about relationships and emotions, and her sensitivity to the rhythms of the south, and it seems inevitable that this mix of passions would find its way into her work.

Known for award winning novels such as Learning to Breathe, the recently announced Southern Independent Bookseller Association’s 2009 Book of the Year Award nomination for The House on Tradd Street, and for the highly praised The Memory of Water, Karen has already shared the coastal Lowcountry and Charleston with readers. Spanning eighty years, Karen’s new book, THE LOST HOURS, now takes them to Savannah and its environs. There a shared scrapbook and a necklace of charms unleash buried memories, opening the door to the secret lives of three women, their experiences, and the friendships that remain entwined even beyond the grave, and whose grandchildren are determined to solve the mysteries of their past.

Karen, so often inspired in her writing by architecture and history, has set much of THE LOST HOURS at Asphodel Meadows, a home and property inspired by the English Regency styled house at Hermitage Plantation along the Savannah River, and at her protagonist’s “Savannah gray brick” home in Monterey Square, one of the twenty-one squares that still exist in the city.
Italian and French by ancestry, a southerner and a storyteller by birth, Karen has lived in many different places. Born in Tulsa, Oklahoma, she has also lived in Texas, New Jersey, Louisiana, Georgia, Venezuela and England, where she attended the American School in London. She returned to the states for college and graduated from New Orleans’ Tulane University. Hailing from a family with roots firmly set in Mississippi (the Delta and Biloxi), Karen notes that “searching for home brings me to the south again and again.”

Always, Karen credits her maternal grandmother Grace Bianca, to whom she’s dedicated THE LOST HOURS, with inspiring and teaching her through the stories she shared for so many years. Karen also notes the amount of time she spent listening as adults visited in her grandmother’s Mississippi kitchen, telling stories and gossiping while she played under the table. She says it started her on the road to telling her own tales. The deal was sealed in the seventh grade when she skipped school and read Gone With The Wind. She knew—just knew—she was destined to grow up to be either Scarlet O’Hara or a writer.

Karen’s work has appeared on the South East Independent Booksellers best sellers list. Her novel The Memory of Water, was WXIA-TV’s Atlanta & Company Book Club Selection. Her work has been reviewed in Southern Living, Atlanta Magazine and by Fresh Fiction, among many others, and has been adopted by numerous independent booksellers for book club recommendations and as featured titles in their stores. This past year her 2007 novel Learning to Breathe received several honors, notably the National Readers’ Choice Award.

In addition to THE LOST HOURS, Karen White’s books include The House on Tradd Street, The Memory of Water, Learning to Breathe, Pieces of the Heart and The Color of Light. She lives in the Atlanta metro area with her family where she is putting the finishing touches on her next novel The Girl on Legare Street.

You can visit Karen White's website at www.karen-white.com.

ALL ABOUT THE LOST HOURS

Now a near fatal riding accident has shattered Piper’s dreams of Olympic glory. After her grandfather’s death, she inherits the house and all its secrets, including a key to a room that doesn’t exist—or does it? And after her grandmother is sent away to a nursing home, she remembers the box buried in the backyard. In it are torn pages from a scrapbook, a charm necklace—and a newspaper article from 1929 about the body of an infant found floating in the Savannah River. The necklace’s charms tell the story of three friends during the 1920s— each charm added during the three months each friend had the necklace and recorded her life in the scrapbook. Piper always dismissed her grandmother as not having had a story to tell. And now, too late, Piper finds she might have been wrong.

If you're interested, you can find it here.

Pumping up the Dirt

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 16:22:41 PDT

First, if you could care less about breastfeeding--move along to another blog or post. This one's all about boobs, milk, and things I'd rather not share anywhere else but on this blog. I'm not exactly proud, but I'm into sharing the dirt.

If your still reading, then, I need another favor. Imagine a time when I had just returned from 2 nights away from the kidlings and had forgotten my breast pump (about a week ago). You there? Good. Then start reading....

Word of advice--never (EVER) forget a breast pump when you plan to be away from a nursing child even if for one measly night.

I can go into all the physical pain you might endure, or rock-like breasts, or the impending pressure that might cause them to just leak all over your shirt, because it would all be true. All. Of. It. But let me instead tell you how I tried to cure that situation.

Some would have purchased a $40 manual breast pump, but that's the easy way out. I tried to manually express. Yes. I mean milking myself. In a running shower. Like 3 to 4 times a day.

It was down right ridiculous. And silly. And worked only to get out the minimum amount of milk so I wasn't screaming in pain. Not to mention the water-logged feeling of sitting in a shower for 30 minutes or so (again about 4 times a day/night) trying to drum up images of my daughter nursing so my milk would let down. Killer man. Let me tell you, I'll NEVER do that again. Ever. Granted, this daughter of mine better be done with this mess in the next 6 months or so (she'll be over 2 years old by then)--but just sayin'. It was by far the most eye-rollingly tedious process I have ever put myself through.

Your body knows what you're doing. Trust me. The first time, it was relieving pain, so let the milk go. But by day 3 (when I was to be with said child in a few hours)? It wanted nothing with hot water, hands, or "milking." So, I dealt with rock hard boobs, a short car ride, and a blessed child that wanted nothing more from me than to nurse when I walked in the door. THANK GOD.

Part of me wants to go into other details here... about how I actually made all of that work. But really, that might be too much information. Aside from the fact that some things are better left in the shower and I can move on to forgetting about it. I mean, really people. It wasn't pretty.

Though, in a pinch, to have 2 nights away and fun like I was in college? Priceless. So, I guess I'd do it again. Though I might fork over the $40 next time.

Life Detox

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Thu, 23 Apr 2009 15:34:34 PDT

It's become apparent I am stressed out about work. My nightly dreams revolve around screen captures, videos, office politics and of course night wakings from my almost 2 year old. Sound like fun? Then welcome to working motherhood. At least for me.

On our recent endeavors to the Great White North to pretend like we were back in college (and pre-children since my mom watched the kidlings for 2 nights), I came to realize maybe this Corporate life ain't worth the mayhem. Trips to my old home town do that to me. The cost of living is a helluva lot less than it is here and life just seems calmer and simpler. Granted having lived there 23 years, it is all appearances. Sure life is simpler but bills still need to be paid and life still moves on. But it FEELS less stressful than my current situation. And that makes it the greener grass at the moment.

That feeling seems to be catchy. The Husband is talking about going back to school again (which is all good. The economy screwed that idea a couple years ago) or finding another outlet called work. You see, we've both been doing pretty much the same job for over 10 years now. And, truth be told, I can't imagine doing it for 30 more years. I'm already sick of the fact that I can say, I remember when tech writing in Framemaker was a big deal! And honestly, I can't stay in a career for 40 years or more. Who can these days?

So anyway. I'm dreaming again about a lot of things. Leaving Corporate life for something else (among ideas discussed a restaurant, my writing-of course!, going back to school (my husband), leaving the area) but we aren't huge risk takers. This talk of change is likely causing my skin to crawl as much as work. Even though I am craving the change in my head. Actually doing it, well, is another story. Especially when you have 2 kids, a house, 2 cats, a dog, school... and life to live.

Wish us luck. It lasts another 30 days or so and then we find something else to talk about. And it might end up with my job woes again. Can't wait for things to turn around a bit. It saves me from "just being happy to have a job."

THE SPARE WIFE by Alex Witchel*

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Mon, 20 Apr 2009 18:12:15 PDT

Some get into reality TV. Me? I just love a good book with some dishing, dirt, and a life FAR, FAR from anything close to my reality. THE SPARE WIFE by Alex Witchel? Well, it's the farthest thing from my day-to-day life as possible, and it has some dirt. So it had me at hello. Or "Jacqueline Posner stood at the edge of her dining room and aimed a blow-dryer at the center of a pale peach rose." Mostly because roses in my house are few and far between. A peach one--even farther!

Anyway, the books about high society New York city. Women who have worked their way to that position via marriage, others who worked their asses off and then the ones who just wish they were there. All revolving around "The Spare Wife," Ponce Morris. She hangs with the boys and the girls in the marriage and everyone is happy. She's been around the block, seen it all, married for money, and then went to law school and divorced (there is a whole slew more to that back story that's equally interesting but read the book to get the details). The woman is a straight shooting hard ass. Well until you find out she's having an affair with one of the richest and notable in town.

But what makes it so dishy is that it's all secret until an underling at the one of the city's entertainment magazines catches her. Well, this is when it gets interesting (to me anyway). It's all about scandal and an expose and things that make us realize that even if you're rich, life ain't perfect. For Anyone.

So really dig into this witty, satirical book about life in the upper class in the Big Apple. For me, it gave me a glimpse into the other side of the life of the rich and famous in the city. As much as it is dishy and like living the life of a fly on the wall to a life I will never have--it's also a big slap in the face to the Desperate Housewives television. This has more meat and definitely a better statement on that type of life.

Dig in. Enjoy. And I promise to write something NON-book related in the next few days as I dive back into my working mom reality bright and early tomorrow morning.

* Yup, another Mothertalk sponsored post. Which means they sent me the book. I read, I like, I post. Simple as that.

What do you do with an extra day off?

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Mon, 20 Apr 2009 18:11:03 PDT

Why drop the kidlings off at school/day care, crawl back into bed until noon, and then eat at the local greasy spoon diner for a brunch. Or early dinner. Or whatever an 1500 calorie meal called a "garbage plate" can be.

It was awesome.

MOJO MOM: Nurturing Your Self While Raising a Family by Amy Tiemann, PH.D.*

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Mon, 20 Apr 2009 08:11:41 PDT

So, I've been absent. Sue me. I went on a long weekend getaway with my husband and left the kids with Grandma so I could pretend to be 21-years-old again. I'm paying for it now, with some deep exhaustion. And having to go back to work sooner rather than later. But man... having those 2 nights without the kids? GLORIOUS. Haven't had that kind of kid-free time, in about 5 years. And I'm not kidding. We've only ever spent 2 other nights away from children, when my son was about 2. We were due. And a fun time were had. Which sorta leads to this book review (you'll have another one coming tomorrow too. Bear with me, I told you I was behind), MOJO MOM: Nurturing Your Self While Raising a Family by Amy Tiemann, PH.D.

Like the title suggests, it's about getting your groove back after kids. But not the sex groove so much (but that is included!), it's about finding yourself after you rip open your insides and give birth to this thing called a child. And you have no idea what the hell just happened, what you do with it, and then how you try to balance it all in day to day life while still remaining a woman--outside of the family and husband department.

I wish I had this book after my son was born. I was a bit of a mess. I was trying to work, be a mom, a wife, and well everything in between. We didn't live near family and I didn't have a babysitter. And hell--I was told growing up I could do it all. So why not do it now? I'd managed to find myself living outside of Chicago, with a new house, cars, and was managing a career to the point that I worked regularly out of my home in my pajamas. Who could ask for more? Well, I did. I wanted a baby. But what I didn't count on was the fact that--THAT BABY--would change everything.

Sure, sure. You hear it will change it all and that you will never the be the same. But trust me, until you have that baby in whatever means you have it... it doesn't make a lick of difference until you are looking at yourself in the mirror one morning and realize you have dark circles under your eyes permanently. And that worry you feel in your gut? Won't go away until the kid can take care of him/herself forever. Which means--that worry will never go away. But I am off on a tangent here....

MOJO MOM is just an honest look at motherhood. About the identity change every mom goes through. Some as quickly as a few hours (God bless them) and others where it takes years to figure out where you are and WHO you are now that you are a mother. I loved the book in that Amy is just plain honest. And gives a lot of personal examples about how motherhood collides with just about everything in your identity... your career, your marriage, your dreams. And although at first it seems like it kills all of that. It really doesn't. Just takes some time to shuffle it all around to make sense. Thus, the book.

It lays down the simple process a mom goes through. And then gives you ways that MIGHT work to help you through it all. Because, as with everything, we are all different. And it might take you 3 years to move through to true mojo mom, where me? Hell, I think I just made it through the night with two wee ones that were clinging to my side after a long weekend away. But, I have hope that my mojo will be back in full force. Give or take a year.

Anyway, check out the book. Amy is awfully honest, gives great insights, and overall, just gives us mom's what we need to know we aren't insane in this motherhood business. We just need a little help, pick me up, and an occasionally girlfriend time to regain what was our PRE-CHILD and then who knows, turn into so much more afterward. And she's got a cool website that helps too. Check it out.

* Yup, a Mothertalk sponsored post. Which means they sent me the book. I read, I like, I post. Simple as that.

True Signs the Stress is Showing

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Wed, 08 Apr 2009 05:19:06 PDT

When you don't want to admit how often your child asks, "Mom are you just tired? Or are you mad at me?"

The Noticer Project - Part 1

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 14:40:38 PDT

Want to send some positive vibes to the world? Make a difference in someones life? It's all about the small stuff. Just last week, I left money with a bartista at Starbucks to pay for the next customer's order. Whatever it was. Why? Because someone did this small ity bity thing for me about a year ago, on a day where I was in a pretty crummy mood, and it made my week. So, I passed it along. Well, now you have that chance as well. Welcome to The Noticer Project.

Here's the official low down:

On April 7, 2009, a viral grassroots movement called The Noticer Project (TheNoticerProject.com) is calling on people everywhere to "notice" five people who have made a positive impact on their lives.

The concept is based on the new book "The Noticer" (Thomas Nelson, April 28, 2009) by bestselling author of "The Traveler's Gift" Andy Andrews, which is all about gaining fresh perspective on life by noticing the little things. How you choose to recognize the five people who made a special impact on your life can take many forms-by joining The Noticer Project Facebook group, by publicity posting on TheNoticerProject.com, by posting a note on your personal Facebook site or blog, or even just sending individual emails. The basic point is to offer hope and encouragement in these tough times through the simple act of recognizing someone significant to you.

First, I'll give you a heads up. Never read any of Andy Andrews work. In fact, never heard of him until the email landing in my inbox about this latest online venture. But, the IDEA based around this book/web site--noticing people who had some influence in your life--I love. So, I'm in. The website, is apparently not completely live yet (tomorrow is the go-live date!), but I'm ready to share some love. So here it goes, 5 people that have influenced my life that you might not expect (in no particular order):*

Dana P (name changed to protect the innocent)
High school is a pretty impressionable age. An age I don't want to re-live if you paid me. It was full of wonder, growing, and of course my first fist fight. Yup, Dana charged me at a dance and slugged my across my right jaw over some rumor she'd heard earlier in the night. With little thought I just charged back at her--thank God for the big guy over in the corner, Mark, he stopped me. Just flat out grabbed my wrist, and said, "It's not worth it Beth. Just walk away." I think I swore at him, maybe even tried to wrestle away from his 6 foot 5 inch, 230 lb. frame, but in the end I walked away. You'd think he was the one with more influence, but really it was Dana. She was taking sides with some friends of mine. Close friends. In fact, she CREATED the sides in a way. And, although it killed me at the time, it forced me to stand alone as myself in the high school crowd. To stand up for what I thought was right (me) and not worry about what the rest of the world thought. And I did. For about 6 months. Until my closest friends and I made up over the trivial mess that had torn us apart. So, Dana--if you're out there--you may have thought by throwing a punch you pushed me down a notch. Really, looking back, it gave me a bit of confidence to stand on my own. No matter what.

Jenny S (name changed to protect the innocent)
Seems I was pretty influential in high school. It's a time of learning how to deal with the rest of the world... before the real grown up part. And for me, being mostly geek, I spent a lot of time reflecting and internalizing almost everything. And then walked in Jenny. She was a senior. Me? An impressionable Freshman. Both in forensics trying to make a name for ourselves. To me, she was THE girl. Confident, beautiful, smart... and didn't care what the rest of the world thought of her. And I liked that. It was everything I wanted to be but wasn't. And bless her, Jenny befriended me. We lived out a bit from school--she often would pick me up to chat, bring me to practice, and help me become better at my "role" in the group. It was great. I'd like to think that she took me under her wing and let me be me. I think she did. But she also did more, she shrugged off the rest of the crowd and kept hanging out with me, even when it was over. And ALWAYS told me to believe in me. It didn't matter what the rest of the world thought (Remember the first one? Yes, without Jenny, I don't know I would have survived Dana).

Nancy G (name changed to protect the innocent)
Moving on to college, when you really don't have a clue what you want to do. Or you might, but just have no idea how to get there. It was just after Freshman year, I was ready to move out of the dorms and on my own (for real), and get a job. One that would give me a flexible schedule, but also--just maybe--get me out of waitressing. And I landed in the Writing Center. Loved the job, loved what I was doing (helping others write!) and loved the crowd that worked there. We were encouraged to thing for ourselves, adventure into uncharted territory, and learn. Learn everything we wanted to know about ourselves and writing and life. I even presented a paper I WROTE to graduate students (and I was an undergrad).

But during all of that, I had a hard time writing. In fact, that paper I ended up presenting took almost 9 months to write. I had the bones. I had the hard facts. I knew what I wanted to say. But the writing just wasn't. The voice just not quite right... and I was frustrated. Nancy would smile each time I "tried" and just encourage me to keep trying. That the writing was inside me, it just took time. And finally, that 20th time, it was right. And instead of reading through with a red pen in hand, she only patted my shoulder and said, "You got it. Go get 'em." From that moment on, I wanted to be just like her.

Kurt R (his name was changed to protect the guilty )
I'm moving chronologically here... and we're going to land right at my first job. Green as green can be I landed a tech writing gig at a company that was in the hay-day of technology. It was hip, industrial, and full of a team of tech writers that were everything surrounding fun. And really (really) smart. So smart in fact, I felt a little out of my league. How was I, a recent grad, going to compare to these ultra-cool geeks that could set up a SIP network with their hands behind their back and rebuilt a PC with nothing but junkyard parts? Well, it involved many bar nights followed by days in the computer lab, and one kind gentleman who walked me right into my own geekdom (aside from my husband, who I met in college and MADE me sit my ass down in front of a computer and learn how to use it). And here I am today, a pretty knowledgeable tech writer. But what Kurt really taught me--was to just get right into the nuts and bolts and learn now to use it FOR REAL (none of this text book bull shit, get into loosening screws, and typing in code).

My Late Mother in Law
And the last on this list.... hmmm. There's a lot I could say here--we weren't fast friends, in fact, not sure we would call each other friends at all. In fact, the relationship was rocky at best. And there were a number of factors that made the situation what it was. BUT, she made me realize it isn't all about me. Not that was completely self-absorbed in any right, but I had to look past the difficult situation and make the best of it, for my husband. And for OUR life. When I was younger, I'd always thought I'd have a family much like what I had growing up. Mom's parents and Dad's parents, coming over all the time at the same time and eating HUGE meals together. And all getting along. Not that getting all the parents in the room didn't work for us, it was just uncomfortable. And there was always that hidden reservation hiding in the corner. In the end, I had to believe in myself, my husband, and my marriage. It made me stand up, and be me. Be a wife. And be a mother. BE something larger than just a woman trying to keep it together. And I was. And in the end, I'm stronger for it. Even though, the relationship tough.

It's kinda funny this list. I never really thought about how I would answer this question beyond those I am closest to. And yet, here it is. Every one of them helped me learn to be me. And, you know what, I'm still learning. But Dana, Jen, Nancy, Kurt, and Chris... hey, you made an impact. And I'm who I am today because of you.

Want to play along? Please do, just make sure to link to The Noticer Project (and add your choices to the page when it goes live tomorrow!). And if you think of it, let me know. I'd love to see who has influenced you.

* I decided to add on the "might not expect" qualifier here because, honestly, I'd pick my parents, my husband, and my kids. I obviously grew up around my parents, found and lived with my husband for over 10 years, and now am raising 2 kids--how can that NOT be influential? So, I've made this more difficult for myself. I'm going to call out people that may or may not know--that aren't immediate family--they've influenced my life and how/why. You can play along in any fashion you like. There are no rules.

Writing Talk

noreply@blogger.com (Bethany) — Thu, 26 Mar 2009 16:40:24 PDT

I submitted a short (short) piece last month to an online mag. It got rejected today.

Don't worry, this was one of those rejections that gave me the warm fuzzies. The editor gave me feedback. It was good feedback. And I plan to submit again. Eventually when I find the time to write something that isn't in Powerpoint, full of charts, and speaking a language that only can be called Corporate. Which, really, I need a break from. It's killing the creativity of words. And sentences. And language for me.

But, let's not bring back the stress of my day job here, shall we. Let's talk writing. There's this online mag I want to really submit to but worry I am not literary enough. Then there is Glimmer Train. And Brain Child. And I have a whole slew of articles hidden in the depths of my brain waiting to come out. Along with another short story. And a book of essays that just recently came to me while conversing with another author. All of this thinking about writing has finally done me some good. Now I just have to carve out the time.

Let me try to virtually plan for a bit. Okay? I can't do mornings. I wish I could do them, but I've tried the 5am thing and I just can't. I'd be a zombie by 2pm during the day, and that is usually when it is just heating up. So that's out. Midnight is also out right now due to The Peanut's atrocious sleep schedule (which is not really a schedule but a demand for me to sleep near her). That leaves chunks. 15 minutes here and there throughout my day to get my writing done.

Is it effective? Not always. But, if I carry a notebook around with me (like I do anyway at work). Jot down notes (bullets really. I'm a tech writer by training, it's in my blood). And ideas. Then when I DO get the 15 minutes. I haul ass with my writing. It's the way I work when I need to ease back into writing my own stuff a lot. Or when I have a project I want to finish before a self-enforced deadline.

On my mark... get set.... go!