The Traveling Circus

Sometimes we get it Right

noreply@blogger.com (Cristie Ritz King, M. Ed) — Mon, 26 Sep 2011 02:04:00 +0000

He told him what was for snack today.

Tonight, when I was exiting my son's bedroom in order to let my husband have a turn at goodnight, I overheard my son tell his dad what he had for snack at school.
For almost two years, every Monday, Wednesday and Friday this was a regular thing. My husband has a gift at getting information out of our boys. His secret is that he avoids the mom-like open ended questions. He never says, "what did you do?" or " What was fun?". Instead he goes for the black and white information. How many kids in class today? What was for snack? It's pure genius really. It became such a routine that my son would ask, if too much time had passed at dinner, "don't you want to know what was for snack?".
The best part of this was that he gave a retelling of snack and attendance with such enthusiasm that it was clear to anyone in the room that he adored his school and had his teachers as high on a pedestal as one can possibly go.
Then we moved and from March to June we never heard one word about how school was. It was heartbreaking.

The preschool we enrolled him in was fine. The teachers seemed nice. The school is lovely. But there was something. It was a gut feeling that I made the wrong call. I had no idea why but I just thought this school and my boy didn't fit.
I worried aloud to my husband who assured me the boy was fine and that we had just moved to a new state with an entirely new schedule and of course he might seem a little off. Don't blame the school. Don't blame yourself.
I agreed with him-mostly. But the days went on and we started to settle in to a routine and the school piece of the puzzle still seemed wrong.
Then one night, when I was worrying aloud-again- my husband said, "he never tells me about snack."
That was it. That's what was wrong. He thought school was fine. He didn't love it. He didn't race home to tell me about it. He didn't share with dad what he had for snack. Liking school is fine. Thinking school is fine is acceptable. Except-he used to love it. So liking it actually wasn't fine.
This post isn't about the mistake that I made last year. So much of parenting, for me anyway, is about second guessing my decisions. I used to be good at making decisions without looking back.When I only had myself to consider, I was somewhat of a slash and burn decision maker. Now, every decision I make on behalf of my kids is wrought with concern, and discussing and dissection and concern.
When really, what I should do more of is pay attention to my gut. My gut tells me when my kids don't fit. My gut also tells me when something is exactly right. My gut was on the money last year when I walked into the preschool I have my son enrolled in this fall.

Last May I walked through the doors of what I shall call Heaven for Children and I knew instantly this is where my children needed to be. It was warm and bright and everyone smiled. It smelled like paint. The bulletin board outside the office was littered with fliers. My boy, who was with me, skipped-literally- through the halls. I enrolled him on the spot. The people in the office thought I was nuts. I told them it felt like home. I tried to convey, unsuccessfully, how overjoyed I was at finding them. For the first time since I set foot in New Jersey I felt like we could stay and be just fine.
I was right. I was so right.
I just spent the day being the helper in my son's preschool class at Heaven for Children. To say that it was an enjoyable experience is wildly inadequate. I am not sure words can express how I felt this morning. My heart physically hurt from being so full. My cheeks were also sore because I could not wipe the stupid grin off my face for 3 hours. My eyes welled with tears at least four different times.
We sang songs. We read stories. We painted and we played kitchen. We made a book together. We ate snack and played spy on the playground. While we did all these glorious things, my toddler had the time of his life with his "teacher" Miss Penny in the childcare room. He also came home and told dad all about his "school" today.
Not only was I proud of my little men, who were having such a ball learning and playing (and learning through play) that one of them left me without even a glance backward and the other could have cared less that his mom stayed in his class all day (to my relief). But I was also proud of myself, for listening to my gut last spring and making the decision that lead to this bliss.
Tonight, he told his dad what we had for snack.
Sometimes, my decisions deserve no second guessing.

This post originally appeared on New Jersey Moms blog. It was then syndicated by The McLatchy Company and appeared in their online newspapers in cities nationwide.

The End is Near

noreply@blogger.com (Cristie Ritz King, M. Ed) — Mon, 29 Aug 2011 13:21:00 +0000


Moving on

No, this isn't a post about hurricanes.
Although I must admit Irene had me completely unwound. Having never lived this close to shoreline AND a river, I was not prepared for a storm like this in a town like this. I survived with just one (damageless) downed tree and so did most of my friend even though the flooded streets, destroyed beach fronts and downed power lines made it all touch and go for a while, so I won't dwell.

What I mean by the end is near is that for a few weeks I've been contemplating ending this little ole' blog. When I created Right Hand Mom, I originally envisioned merging the two websites into one. Then at the 11th hour I panicked about letting go of The Traveling Circus and decided to just maintain them separately. I thought RHM would be more of a resource site and TTC would still be my daily meanderings. I figured they'd have two different voices and purposes and audiences.

Guess what? I'm not so good at that. I have one voice and it's pretty meandering. Yes, RHM started with resources and reviews and a more informative style. But pretty quickly my style won out and even if some of the posts are informative, they still have a whole lot of my meandering and plenty of pictures of my kids. Right Hand Mom is just as personal and I haven't really held back any of my own self-making these two blogs somewhat redundant for readers and more than I can keep up on a daily basis.

So, why not stop Right Hand Mom? That's a great question and I might regret that decision later. I have more readers here. I have a history here. This is my first baby. I am emotionally tied to The Traveling Circus as the love story of my life.

But The Traveling Circus didn't start with any direction thus it isn't a step in a future path. I didn't start here to be a Blogger, but it seems that's exactly what I've become and it's quite alright with me.
Traveling Circus is a great name to describe my crazy family and all our stories. But the kids' stories will be fewer and fewer as they get older and earn the exclusive right to decide how and with whom those stories should be shared.

I'll still write about being a mom and woman. I'll share about starting a new business and how I cook and take pictures and listen to music and clearly, I'll share their photos for as long as they'll let me. But everything I write will have to be with more sensitivity to the young lives I'm writing about. My blogs will be less about the kids and more about what it's like to raise them and The Traveling Circus doesn't really encapsulate that going forward. In fact, if you google TTC, you now get the website of a punk rock band which does seem fitting for this clan now and again but doesn't really work for us long term.

Going forward, you can find daily stories, fortunes and foibles over on Right Hand Mom. I will eventually either transfer this URL over there or keep it as history so the last three years will remain.
If you've out grown us and can't possibly add another URL to your readers, I understand but know that you will be missed. If you can, I'd love if you came to follow us there.

I love writing this blog and while it first started as a way for me to work things out, it has turned into a wonderful connection to everyone who reads it. I so appreciate all of you who come here and share with me. I hope you'll continue on the journey over at RHM but if not then I bid you a fond farewell and say thank you to everyone who reads. You made the Traveling that much easier.

Wordless Wednesday-Mah Men

noreply@blogger.com (Cristie Ritz King, M. Ed) — Wed, 24 Aug 2011 10:03:00 +0000

Delicious.

Money, Money, Money, Money

noreply@blogger.com (Cristie Ritz King, M. Ed) — Mon, 22 Aug 2011 16:46:00 +0000

A long and winding road money story over at Right Hand Mom today. Visit if you dare.

Wordless Wednesday:Summertime and the Livin's Easy

noreply@blogger.com (Cristie Ritz King, M. Ed) — Wed, 17 Aug 2011 12:21:00 +0000

They Do Exist

noreply@blogger.com (Cristie Ritz King, M. Ed) — Mon, 15 Aug 2011 13:16:00 +0000

I was sick last week, strangely, mid-winter flu sick. I was also on vacation so it was a double-suck situation. Luckily, we were on vacation at my in-laws which is only twenty minutes south of our house so I could travel back to my own doctor which I did out of desperation on day three. I almost never go to the doctor as my past experience has been that you wait for hours after your appointment time to get in only to see a professional (almost never the actual doctor) for less than ten minutes and maybe you leave with some relief but often you leave with more questions. I am not a big fan of adult doctors, as you can imagine.

The morning of my appointment The Girl woke up complaining that her chest hurt. Usually, I would pass this off as too much time in the ocean (remember those days?) but she looked pretty panicky every time she tried to take a deep breath so I threw her in the car with me in the hopes a doctor could take a look.

I have the strange fortune of having a Family Doctor. Remember those from the good old days of medicine? They are doctors who can take care of the whole family. They're almost like an endangered species now that everyone has a specialty and you often have to be in four different offices for one problem. We got lucky when we found him which we only did because he is married to our pediatrician. So, (Mr.) Dr. Mehra is our the GP for mom and dad and Mrs. Dr. Mehra takes care of the kids. Ya follow?
We see Mrs. Dr. Mehra A LOT. I mean, three kids? We're in there weekly it seems. We adore her. Not only is she efficient and gets us in and out quickly, but she is also kind and gentle, thorough and personable, realistic and everything else you want in a pediatrician. She gets us in and out without every making us feel rushed.

She has been with me and The Baby for every bizarre thing I take him in for and she was there when The Middle One has his breakdown after we moved. She holds my hand every time without a hint of condescension and advises me how to proceed that will most benefit my babies and me. I love her. Truly.

I almost never see Mr. Doctor. The Husband goes for antibiotics once a year and I get reminder calls for physicals that I never follow up on. He seems lovely, but I really don't know for sure as my aforementioned distaste for adult medical doctors keeps me away more often than not.

Well, last week not only did Mrs. Doctor sneak in my girl for a quick check-up, but she spent a good deal of time examining and explaining her diagnosis and treatment. Turns out it was nothing serious, but it was more than too much ocean swimming-though She confirmed that is something She sees so I'm not just making it up!

After Mrs. Doctor left our room, Mr. Doctor came in and spent so much time talking to me I thought I might be in therapy and not checking for Strep. He asked a million questions, took all my vitals (himself!) and then explained his thoughts so thoroughly that I fell in mad-doctor love. The kicker was when he faxed in my prescription so I didn't have to wait at the pharmacy, then spent a good five minutes going over the written chart he gave me that had a schedule for when and how to take the meds to ensure optimum results and go easiest on my system. At this moment, when I started to get a wee bit antsy, I gave myself a mental slap and reminded myself that this was the kind of medical treatment most people dreamed of.

I knew I adored our pediatrician. Now, I know I will stick with my big girl doctor and eventually transition my kids over to Him too when they're old enough. In all the current media madness where all we hear is how we have to reform health care or how everything is turning to minute clinics and doctor pill pushers, it's good to be reminded that there are mostly still doctors out there who genuinely care. There are doctors who remain true to their oath to do no harm but also step it up a notch and really get to know their patients and work hard to make their lives better. There are great doctors out there and I know for sure some are right here in Jersey.

*This post was inspired by the book In Stitches, a memoir by Doctor Anthony Youn, a plastic surgeon with a heart. The book is surprisingly funny and a great read that will restore some faith in the medical community. Dr. Youn isn't just a good doctor. He's a pretty entertaining writer as well. For more inspired posts, visit The bookclub site From Left to Write.
** I was given a copy of In Stitches by the publisher for review. All opinions are my own.

For Jennie on RHM

noreply@blogger.com (Cristie Ritz King, M. Ed) — Wed, 10 Aug 2011 22:43:00 +0000

I don't always share here what I'm doing over at Right Hand Mom. But today, it is important. Please click and read.

BlogHer11: Yep, it's that simple.

noreply@blogger.com (Cristie Ritz King, M. Ed) — Mon, 08 Aug 2011 20:32:00 +0000


First Panel of weekend put me on cloud nine. LtoR: Gretchen Rubin, Brene Brown, Shauna Ahern, Shannon/Mr. Lady

I spent last week in San Diego at BlogHer which is simply put a conference for women bloggers, but for me was more like a spiritual retreat.

I had four days to not only think and learn, but I also got to be surrounded by women who do incredible things and aren't afraid to share with me how they do it. I got to meet women I have greatly admired and I'm thrilled to say they lived up to all my expectations. I spent time picking brains of women whose stories sounded familiar to me and they shared unselfishly for longer than I'm sure they had time for. I even had my brain picked at one point (about personal finance no less!) which is great for a girl's ego sometimes.

Brene Brown, on whom I have a giant Girl-Crush, Trying to contain my giddiness in this picture.

I drank cocktails at fancy places I'd never venture into in my regular life. I chatted with PR reps and published authors. (Heck, I even shared my bed with someone there to promote an awesome book!) Best of all, I shared precious time with women I am proud to call friends. (I hope they don't mind that I do.)

I ran a 5K one morning and went to a yoga session with a "celebrity trainer"the next. (He was fabulous by the way-celebrity trainer or not, I loved his class.) I exercised every morning overlooking the water and the best part was no one looked at me like I didn't belong there. That's the part I love about the conference that BlogHer so masterfully puts on: everyone belongs. There are thousands of women who all fit in-no matter how different we all are.

I'm sure there were plenty of complaints and whiners and nay sayers. I'm sure there were plenty of flaws with BlogHer, but I went in with a plan-to take from it whatever I could and not worry about the rest. What I got was far more than I ever expected and one thing I know is that next year, I will be there again for sure.

*Yes, I have way more pictures of both BH and San Diego. But currently I'm on vacation and am without the connector cord for my DSLR so I have no way to get pics to my computer. I promise I'll share more next week.

The Responsibility of the Free

noreply@blogger.com (Cristie Ritz King, M. Ed) — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 02:15:00 +0000

Tomorrow morning I will leave for San Diego. I will get on a plane (mostly) easily and fly over three thousand miles away from my home and no one can tell me I can't. No one can question me at a border and no one can deny me this trip.
That is not true for Yoani Sanchez, a blogger from Cuba who has used her words for far greater purpose than I. And yet, despite being awarded an International Blogger Activist by the very people at BlogHer that I am traveling to see, Yoani may not be able to attend with me.
What Yoani does with her words is so important that the people from BlogHer wanted to recognize her for it. But her government says no.
That's hard for me to comprehend and impossible for me to accept.
When I saw this post from Catherine, a blogger that I adore for what she does with her words, I knew I had to say something.
If I have learned nothing from these women I admire it is this: our words have power and when we see something that needs attention, it is incumbent upon us to use our words to speak out.

So read this, it is the simple version of what is going on and it is explained by Catherine and her friend Ana far better than I could do on my own. Read this and then use your voice to help Yoani come in person for the recognition she so clearly deserves. Because the only thing you need to know is that there is an injustice being done and our words may help to stop it-even if just for today.

From Catherine and Ana: (If you write a post, please add it to this blog hop, at Latism. You can also help by tweeting and retweeting all the messages with the #YoaniBlogHer hashtag. Ana tells me that Yoani goes tomorrow for a final answer on whether she’ll be allowed out of the country. Please blog/tweet/holler tonight and tomorrow. Let’s be heard.)

Starting to Move

noreply@blogger.com (Cristie Ritz King, M. Ed) — Mon, 01 Aug 2011 10:01:00 +0000

A few weeks ago I started a program to become certified as a Holistic Health Coach. It is something I've looked into for years and finally all the necessary elements of my life aligned and I closed my eyes and jumped. I couldn't be more excited about it but that doesn't mean it isn't scary. I've decided on a career ladder and until now I've calmly waded in the pool of undecided. Now, I feel like my safety net of indecision is gone and I better man-up and make something of myself or else that's real failure.

Last week I started running again. I mean more than one day running. I signed up for a training program and therefore can't cheat because it's more than just me that will know now. I have put off this commitment for years, mostly because I was lazy. I mean I could give you a million other excuses, but the bottom line is that if I wanted to run badly enough I could have made it happen. Before, the discomfort that came from being out of shape and unfit was less than the discomfort of regularly incorporating exercise into my life. Now, that is not so. It's only been five days of working out, already I feel the change. Now, I want to run instead of staying in bed. I find myself looking forward to the 5K I have next week. I think about how to plan working out in because I don't want to miss it, not because I have to do it. It's not a burden, but a gift. It's a weird feeling, this wanting to exercise. I must admit, after years of being the master of excuses, it might take a while to get used to.

Lately, I feel like a totally different person today than I was at this time last year.

Next week I will travel to San Diego to attend two different conferences, one for writing and one for the business of blogging. I am exhilarated. I say that because to me, exhilaration means both excited and terrified. Thursday, I will spend an entire day with a room full of people that identify themselves as writers. That means I'm admitting that Writer is something I want to be. I've never fully admitted it out loud before. That's the terrified part.

Last year, at the blogging conference, I didn't know enough to be scared. Overwhelmed maybe, but not scared. This year, I know there are parts that will be great fun which has me very excited. Plus, it's San Diego which is exciting in and of itself.

Last year, I walked around ogling people I'd only seen through my laptop screen. I clung to my roommates (friends from my non-internet life) and didn't know a soul in real life outside of them. This year, I have invitations to specific events and plans to meet up with both friends and company PR reps. It's a strange feeling, being a part of this thing instead of just an onlooker like last year. I may have liked it better when I didn't know anything. It's scary when there are expectations, no matter whether they're yours or someone else's for you. I've had a few weeks of sleepless nights and nervous days. I'm worried about things I never worry about. I'm clearly anxious about what is ahead.

But guess what? I started this post with two things I've begun that both exhilarate me. I am still not comfortable with my new education or my new fitness regime. Maybe that's the key-staying a little uncomfortable. Maybe that's what makes life rich.

So instead of using the scared to find an excuse to cancel the entire trip, I'm looking forward to my week ahead-even if I am uncomfortable.

**This post was inspired by Kick in the Blog. The prompt was to write about what you would start right if you knew there was no sense in waiting. When I reflected on that, I realized the two decisions I made recently-to study health and workout, came about after years of waiting for everything to be perfect. When I finally made the decision to do them both, I realized all that waiting was just my way of being scared. Looking for things to be perfect before you start is a sure way to never start.

Coaches are my Heroes

noreply@blogger.com (Cristie Ritz King, M. Ed) — Thu, 28 Jul 2011 10:03:00 +0000

I've run seven miles this week. I can't tell you how that feels. I haven't run seven miles since before I was a mom. If you've spent any time here, you know my fitness struggle seems an endless saga. I've spent the better part of eight years, since my first was born, trying to find my mojo.

I won't bore you with the details of my journey, but I will say that I think this time it might just work. You may remember me writing about my boot camp experience earlier this year. Well, not only did I love boot camp but I also learned something about myself: I need a coach.

Almost as soon as those ten weeks were up, my exercise routine went to shit. (Pardon my language but sometimes it is the only word that works.) I got way into yoga but as far as strength and cardio I had nothing and boy did it show when bathing suit season hit.

So I wallowed in my failure. Then, I whined the "why me" that usually comes when I see some naturally skinny ladies who I know don't work out strut their stuff around my pool. Then, I transitioned from whining to despair. What was I to do? How was I to recover? It seemed physical fitness wasn't for me.

Out of desperation, I signed up for boot camp again and even though I'm not loving it like last time (it's hot and working out in the sand just isn't fun. Sorry.) I am going and doing what I'm told.

Doing what I'm told. Huh? That seems that's the secret; I'm good at doing what I'm told.

If you look back at my sports and fitness life, the times I excel are when I have clear direction from someone else. I was an excellent pitcher because I had a motivating catcher and I adored my coach. I played for them. I swam fast because my coaches provided my training and threatened my fun summer if I didn't do it all. I ran a marathon at the side of my brother who handled every single detail of the training. I am a great team player, working hard so that my friends and fellow players can enjoy a win.

I beat myself up for this for a while. I am a grown ass woman who handles every other portion of her life with efficiency and aplomb even. Why couldn't I just figure this part out myself? What was wrong with me?

Then I realized that all beating myself up was doing was making me fat. After all, part of the reason I handle life with aplomb is that I put myself in situations where I know my strengths. If I know something is not my strength, I find a work around. Working out isn't a problem, knowing how to work out and getting started working out is. So, I found a work around. I got a coach.

It's clear that my strength is not figuring out my own fitness routines. I need accountability. I need direction. So that's what I got. Mary walks me through an hour of Boot Camp hell every week. Lori sends me running schedules and expects that I'll check in when I've done them and Jenn sends super- excited facebook messages to keep my chin up.

This is not some wildly expensive training program. I thought that was the only way to do it, but it's not. Mary, Lori and Jenn are all part of Mommy-Moves, a local group that started out as a stroller fitness group but has morphed into a woman's powerhouse training, fitness and wellness program. I'm not suggesting you need to call Mary & Lori to be successful. I'm just saying it is out there if you look for it-support that isn't beyond your reach.

I pay for the classes I take, but the prices won't break me and even more these women go above and beyond doing more than money can buy. They care about our success. They motivate us and believe in us more than we believe in ourselves. Now, I still have to do the work. Every morning when I come up with 4, 675 excuses for why I shouldn't get out of bed, no one can make my feet hit the floor but me. Every Saturday I have to tear myself away from warm and cozy family time to get my butt Boot Kicked. To really be successful, I still have to do what they tell me. But I'm feeling good about that happening. I always listen to my coach.
These are just the coaches I needed and I can't wait to see what I do under their watchful eyes.

Photo Courtesy suebarrphoto .com

Wordless Wednesday-Forty Years

noreply@blogger.com (Cristie Ritz King, M. Ed) — Wed, 27 Jul 2011 10:49:00 +0000

The ladies in this picture hate the song, but I can't help but think it when I see this picture:

All Because Two People Fell in Love

Love Nothing

noreply@blogger.com (Cristie Ritz King, M. Ed) — Mon, 25 Jul 2011 12:52:00 +0000

There are days where I want nothing more than to do nothing. Yesterday was on of those days. I know my time with my kids is limited. That sounds more dire than I mean for it to be. All I mean is that they are growing faster than I can keep up with and I'm already seeing with my oldest that the time is too near where they'll prefer just about anyone else's company to my own. Not to mention, with five schedules to manage, it gets harder and harder to have any days with nothing on the calendar so when we do have the rare one, even going to the beach seems like too much of an activity.

I love family nothing days the best because they're often filled with the things I love most as a mom, baking, movies and games. So, for now and as long as they'll let me I will pick days to keep them all home and love them on my couch as long as I can. The Husband doesn't do so great with nothing days. He's all for them in the morning but about mid-day he starts to get antsy and downright rude. I've learned over the years not to take it personally and usually we can get him to snap out of those feelings of guilt he has over doing nothing and appreciate the time for what it's worth. Yesterday, a little Wii Sports with his boys did the trick. We watched a bad movie.

Some of us never left our pajamas. We ate yummy home-cooked dinner and for a few hours our family was perfect and together and all was right with the world.

Why They Had Me At Clear Eyes: Explaining the FNL obsession

noreply@blogger.com (Cristie Ritz King, M. Ed) — Fri, 22 Jul 2011 10:03:00 +0000

They broke his neck. The star quarterback. The guy they spent an hour building up. The character the whole show seemed centered around or at least the team and the coach in the show did.

Jason Street. Q.B.1. The kid with the golden arm and bright future.

The writers broke his neck.

I remember sitting there watching that first episode of Friday Night Lights and thinking, there has to be some sort of Disney-like ending coming. They can't possibly break their lead character in episode one. Then, after a torturous montage set to haunting music (a soon to be trademark of the show) the coach walks into the kid's room and reaches for his hand (during a beautiful speech playing over). The camera pans close and I thought,
oh here we go, now he's going to grab the coaches hand to provide hope to us all.
Guess what?
He didn't.

Coach grabbed the quarterback's fingers and QB1 never moved.
Great, I thought, another show that will break my heart every week like these stupid hospital and crime dramas where someone's always gotta die. For some reason, I tuned in anyway the next week and the rest is television obsessed history.

It would be easy to say that I loved Friday Night Lights because of the impeccable writing. Because it was some of the best in the history of television. Save for the shark-jumping debacle of Landry and Tyra not only dating but then hiding a murder (I tend to block that portion out.) nearly every single scene of every single episode of this show was masterfully written, acted and shot. It would be easy to say that's why I loved it. But that isn't the only reason.

That quarterback's broken neck is the key.

Jason Street was the symbol for all that was right with that show. Crap happens, but life ain't all bad.

After all, it is a depressed Texas town, it wouldn't be realistic if bad things didn't happen. Of course, kids' parents are absent or drunk or beat them up in school parking lots. Of course, someone gets pregnant and the town acts shocked. Of course, kids don't make it for whatever reason, drugs or jail or both. Of course, the rich white kids get all the breaks and the nice equipment and the hotter cheerleaders. Of course, minority kids have it tougher and largely no one cares. If they left any of this stuff out of the show they couldn't call it real.

This was not a football show.

What it was was a story about life. And often, in life, if you can look past all the junk there may just be hope and people who make you believe. Jason Street never walked again. In fact he spent a lot of his on camera time pretty darn miserable. But after a strange trip to Mexico (I try to block that out too) the kid starts to realize he can have a life even if it's not as a D-1 football star so he goes out and gets himself one with a little help from a loyal best friend.

The kid whose dad is a drug dealer? His dad is still a drug dealer but he learns to identify himself outside of that and his mom works every day to stay straight for him. The girl who everyone wrote off? She goes to college almost in spite of herself. The screw up guy? Well, he screws up plenty. But I was right about him, there is a core of good running through that might prevail after all. And the nerd? He stays a nerd but he rocks out in his nerddom with the best band name ever. He'll be a rich, middle-aged guy who still wears his Texas State Championship ring in Silicon Valley's finest karaoke bars.

And the couple at the center of it all? Perfection. They argue. They fight. They laugh. They cry. (Well, she does. He never does.) They challenge each other and themselves and they work throughout it all. It isn't pretty sometimes, but it's always real.

That's what I loved about this show. Everyone in it could be someone you know. The bad guys aren't simply bad and the good guys might even be little heroes; perfectly imperfect heroes just like the people around you every day. Sometimes they crush you with their shortcomings and sometimes they surprise the heck out of you with the greatness they are capable of.

No matter what, they never let you down. You just have to look at them with the right kind of eyes.

Friday Night Lights was fiction. Obviously, I don't know anyone who even comes close to a Texas high school football player or Rally Girl. But I do know a lot of people who have a little Tyra, or Jason, or Coach or even Tim in them and if I focus on the right stuff and not the crap, then they are all heroes too-perfectly, imperfect heroes.

In the last episode everyone moves on. Everyone leaves their old life behind and some even leave Dillon behind.
After a week of mourning my t.v. friends, I think it's time for me to move on too and focus on the heroes in my own life with Clear Eyes. You know what they say about that, right?

Dreams

noreply@blogger.com (Cristie Ritz King, M. Ed) — Thu, 21 Jul 2011 13:21:00 +0000

Sometimes I wish I knew how to interpret dreams. Last night (or more likely just before I woke up this morning) I was dreaming that I was running through the streets of NYC carrying my bed pillows and wearing pajamas. I ran into The Husband who was on his way to work but had three sleepy children in tow. The children were all making friends with some strange man on the street who was paying attention to them. He was even holding The Baby in his arms.

When I got there The Husband was angry that I was late (where the heck was I?!?) and he had to bring the kids on his commute because I wasn't home when he left. Also, my kids wanted nothing to do with me. They were content with the man paying attention to them on the street.
What. The. Heck?

Why was I sleeping somewhere in Manhattan? Did I live in Manhattan? Did the kids loving on the stranger have anything to do with my guilt over The Baby playing with some other mom in the baby pool while I chatted on the side yesterday? Is The Husband secretly resentful of his commute? Am I? Does this have anything to do with the fact that every night I plan to run in the morning before The Husband leaves and every morning I sleep through The Husband leaving no run in sight? Is the dirty laundry piling up all around my house finally seeping into my brain?

Maybe I need more sleep. Maybe I need less sleep. Maybe I need more time with my husband. Or kids.

Maybe none of it means anything more than me wishing I could spend the night in NYC.

I guess I'll never know.
I better check and make sure my pillows are upstairs and not left on 5th Avenue.

Wordless-Ear Worm FNL of course

noreply@blogger.com (Cristie Ritz King, M. Ed) — Wed, 20 Jul 2011 12:03:00 +0000

It's not a picture today. I'm in mourning over my television friends from Friday Night Lights. I know, it's completely irrational and I should be embarrassed by it but I'm afraid I'm not. The result is that I've had this song in my head for about three weeks and I can't get rid of it no matter what I do! It's from Season One and they brought it back for a terrible scene in the last season. Only obsessed music geeks like me probably got all giddy when they heard the first few notes in Season Five. To me-this song IS Friday Night Lights. So, I'm sharing with you in the hopes that misery loves company. Enjoy.;)

Sleeeepy

noreply@blogger.com (Cristie Ritz King, M. Ed) — Tue, 19 Jul 2011 11:51:00 +0000

I think I'm allergic to my house. I've been so tired recently. I don't mean just regular mom tired. I'm talking not only do I wish I could nap all the time, but my actual brain synapses seem to be firing slow. I feel like I'm trudging through mud mentally. It's hard to make decisions. It's hard to comprehend the written word and (as you can tell from the spotty posts) it's hard to write.
I'd say it's just the madness of summer, and maybe it is, but when I sleep outside of my house, it seems not to be there. This weekend I spent a night at my in-laws and two weeks ago I was at my sister's for four days. Both times, I didn't feel the sluggishness that I do here and trust me when I say the sleeping arrangements in both places do not lend themselves to rest. And yet, I felt more rested. Before you ask, yes, the children were there.
It's not our cat. We've had him forever and I've never experienced this before. It's not carbon monoxide (trust me, I thought of it.) because we have monitors and no one else here is feeling bad. It's not depression because the tired isn't the same and I don't actually feel sad or really "tired". I just feel slow and dull. Who knows what it is exactly but I'm blaming this house because I've never had it before now.
The worst part is that going to a doctor in these situations always leads to one thing: nothing. They give you a sympathetic half-smile and some line about "if I had a nickel for every tired mother" and then send you on your way.
So I'll muddle through, enjoy the fact that I can mostly just lay around on the sand and try not to pray for fall. I might even sneak in a nap.

The Motherhood of My Dreams

noreply@blogger.com (Cristie Ritz King, M. Ed) — Thu, 14 Jul 2011 13:14:00 +0000

Yesterday I brought a car full of kids home from the beach. I had my three and two others, all around the same ages and all students at the same school. The car was loud-as is to be expected. In our short fifteen minute trip we dissected the topics of adoption and living after a parent dies. I would say it was a heavy car ride, but in the middle of these two conversations, there was loud group singing of a Katy Perry song.

I was included in the conversation a few times when I was asked an opinion, but mostly I just listened as these incredibly well-spoken young ladies and the gentleman (the other male mostly stared out the window) had mature conversations all with the openness and purity that comes with being young.

As I realized my fortune at knowing these people, I realized THIS is what I have been waiting for. When I had dreams of parenting my visions included hoards of kids spilling in my doors and dropping back packs to gather around the kitchen table for snacks, laughs and conversation. I dreamed of my own mom and how she was the sounding board for so many of our friends. I dreamed of our kitchen growing up that was always full of kids-young and old-who seemed at home no matter whether they were related or not.

That is the motherhood I dreamed of. I have suffered (Yes, suffered. Anyone who tells you different is hoping to be a martyr or lying through their teeth.) through diaper changes, and colic and three sets of terrible twos. (I'd say terrible threes if you want to know the truth but that's a post for another day.) I have answered countless "whys" and read way too many board books out loud. Don't get me wrong, I love my kids and I do cherish the memories of their early days.

But this, the car-fulls of chatty children, this is what I hoped for all those years ago in the delivery room. Make no mistake, I understand my place is on the periphery. I am not their friend so my job is to listen and observe, not take a place. I've had my chance at the kitchen table already. Now, I just get to watch, learn and love from afar.

What a gift this kind of motherhood is. I'm so glad I made it here.

Reason 1,697,321 to love summer

noreply@blogger.com (Cristie Ritz King, M. Ed) — Wed, 13 Jul 2011 17:49:00 +0000

Because THIS is lunch.

Rolling with It

noreply@blogger.com (Cristie Ritz King, M. Ed) — Tue, 12 Jul 2011 10:51:00 +0000

Yesterday we had plans to work on our Mommy School activities and then head to the beach. We told friends on Sunday that we'd see them there. I had lunch planned. I got up early to make breakfast and gather the necessary materials to carry out the plan.
Then a funny thing happened: my boys played together, really well.
Don't get me wrong, they always play together but they almost never play without at least a little screaming and fighting and calls for "Moooooooom". This summer has been particularly tough as The Baby tries (often in vain) to assert his small human rights and The Middle One wonders what happened to his compliant little plaything.
Yesterday? Well, yesterday we had a little magic happen. From early morning, they had every single Lego on the floor of their rooms and they built and shared and created and played. All. Day. Long.
The Girl kept asking when we were going to carry out our plan and I kept answering her with a tilt of my ear toward the stairs where we could both hear the joy coming from upstairs. Then I'd say, "I'm just going to ride that out for as long as it lasts."
Much to her chagrin, six o' clock rolled around and we were still home. I thought for sure that is when all things would break down but no, they bonded straight through until bedtime.
I got a lot accomplished, including watching a bit of the Harry Potter marathon with The Girl.
It was a glorious day. I will never plan for it again. I know better.
If I'm gifted with it again though, I will not hesitate to abandon the plan for it. Even if The Girl is "sooo bored". She'll understand some day.
If she's lucky.

Fiction. Really?

noreply@blogger.com (Cristie Ritz King, M. Ed) — Fri, 08 Jul 2011 06:16:00 +0000

It couldn’t be him.

She’d pictured this moment a million times, a lifetime ago.

Literally.

Before she was married, before she was a widow, she imagined seeing him when she was looking so amazing that she would stop him in his tracks.

She’d played it all out in her mind: she’d be at her best, traveling somewhere exotic for work, dressed to the nines. She would be tall and thin and walk with a confidence that would make him remember and maybe even regret. That was what she wanted, to make him sorry he’d ever let her go. She wanted him to see what he could have had, if only.

Yet, here she was, tired and nearly broken. She was a lifetime removed from that confident woman who once plotted revenge. Now, she was a middle aged, widowed mother of two sitting directly across a hotel bar from him. Now she had her chance. And now she didn’t want it.

He was still gorgeous, in a silver fox kind of way. She spotted him immediately as he grinned at the cute bar tender. That swagger hadn’t faded an ounce. How was it that years make men better while they slowly chip away at all the polish of women? She focused intently on the drink in front of her and prayed to God he would move along before he noticed her.

She felt him behind her before he spoke.

“I’d ask your name, but I’m sure I’d know those legs anywhere.”

Good to see his looks weren’t the only thing time hadn’t touched. He was still full of cheese ball one-liners.

“Well, Alex Miller, you still think you know just what to say to a girl, don’t you?”

“And Charlie Rose, you still don’t fall for any of it do you?”

No one was allowed to call her Charlie. It was a man’s name and as a reformed tomboy she was sensitive to anything that might draw attention to her masculine side. No one was allowed to call her Charlie.

Except Him.

She had always let him get away with more than most.

“So Charlie, why is it that I’m running into you miles away from where you broke my heart all those years ago?”

“I’m here for work actually and the rest, my friend, is ancient history.”

“Is it? Man, still feels fresh to me.”

Damn, why could he still say exactly what she secretly loved to hear but do it in a way that sounded completely dishonest?

“Cut the crap Alex, I’m too old for it.”

“You’ve always been too old for your own good Charlie.”

Alex sat down at the empty stool next to Charlie and began filling her in on the last 20 years of his life. He never asked a single question. Onlookers might think him rude but she knew better. He was just biding his time, wearing her defenses down with his charming stories so that when he was ready to stare directly into her soul and ask about her she’d be comfortable enough to have no choice but to answer him fully.

He wanted to know about her. He always did. In spite of his life-long desire to remain detached, he had cared about her deeply from day one. He never fully understood it, why this woman had such power over him. He didn’t understand it and she never fully recognized it. But then again, wasn’t that always the problem with them? Neither one ever seemed to know exactly where they stood.

This post is in response to a prompt for the Red Dress Club, a writers network that I recently joined. We were to "write outside our comfort zone" which made me immediately think fiction. I write what I know-always. So this time, I decided to use a little imagination and see where it took me. Please, be kind.;)

New Moves

noreply@blogger.com (Cristie Ritz King, M. Ed) — Wed, 06 Jul 2011 12:15:00 +0000

Since opening The Right Hand Mom site, I've struggled a little with what to do and how to manage my time well. My vision was to use that site primarily as a resource site. I wanted to provide the information I was so desperately seeking but could rarely find when I was a new mom. I thought I'd keep Traveling Circus for family updates and as a place where I could use my voice for writing.

Here's the problem: it's hard for me to keep my voice out of my writing wherever I go. So, Right Hand Mom has become a blog full of personal stories as well as resources I collect and Traveling Circus is...well, I don't know.

I just joined a writing community that will stretch me in ways I'm not sure I'm ready to be stretched. I'm terrified of it as a matter of fact. This blog has always been a place where I find new directions and often face fears, so here is where I intend to write for that community. For now.

After that I'm not sure. This has been a work in progress since day one. I'm so glad I get to continue to figure out where to go with it. I just hope you'll stick around for the ride because whatever I do, it is the readers on both blogs that I do it for.

Happy Day Before Independence Day

noreply@blogger.com (Cristie Ritz King, M. Ed) — Tue, 05 Jul 2011 10:09:00 +0000

We're off to Maryland today so I haven't sorted through July 4th pictures and memories just yet. I'll update more when we're back on our home turf. (M.D. I've noted that you wish to be featured in the Holiday wrap up post. Never fear, I'm on it!)

I will say this: I dig having our town's festivities on the 3rd of July because it makes for a very stress-free fourth. We hung around and acted out our best Lazy Sunday routines on Monday the 4th while the rest of the country scrambled around from beach to bar-b-que. My kids may someday wonder why everyone is frantic on the 4th and we're finished the night of the 3rd, but until they start fighting the tradition, we're sticking with our day early celebrations.

Hope your 4th was great-no matter what day you chose to celebrate it!

Wordless Wednesday-Kinder Graduation

noreply@blogger.com (Cristie Ritz King, M. Ed) — Wed, 29 Jun 2011 11:55:00 +0000

Diploma

Award presented: The Charter King:"One who exemplifies the character ideals we teach at Charter."Proud Mama!

Sweet anticipation as the teacher announces...

There will be dancing!

Breaking it Down.

Proud Big

His Beloved Teachers

Baby still had one day of school left so just four of us

The sweetest part? The next day's playdate with the preschool BFF. You're never too old for preschool BFs.

Score Keeping

noreply@blogger.com (Cristie Ritz King, M. Ed) — Mon, 27 Jun 2011 14:57:00 +0000

The Husband and I went to a wedding this weekend. The bride and groom were similar in age to us when we got married thirteen years ago today. (The parents were eerily close to our age now which is a terrible post for another day!)

I have a special place in my heart for brides and grooms who are in their early twenties. I get them.
Some of the people in their lives think they're too young. Their friends think it's cute, in a rom com sort of way. These same peers love all the parties and fancy dresses and free booze, but most of them think these two are just a little crazy. Who chooses to grow up so early? Their parents are largely shell-shocked. I mean, after all weren't they just changing the bride's diapers or feeding the groom a bottle?

The bride and groom meanwhile are thrilled. They may be surprised themselves that their lives turned out this way this soon, but when push comes to shove, neither can imagine moving on with their lives without the other.

The odds may be stacked against a bride and groom so young, but I'm here to say it can work.

The priest at this weekend's wedding said (complete with Irish brogue which was lovely) that love meant sacrificing yourself for another.

That might just be the secret.

Here we sit thirteen years later and while we may be battered and bruised, we are still thriving and laughing and enjoying our married life. I think it's because early on The Husband said he didn't want to keep score and he wished I wouldn't either.

"We're on the same Home Team now. Whatever I do for you and whatever you do for me makes us stronger together." (Sometimes that kid's not so dumb.)

It's hard. I think I'm a score-keeper by nature.

But I listened then and I tried and still now we work to do what's best for us-even if it doesn't feel good to us as individuals at the time.

You know what? It works. If you keep score you're always thinking of yourself, even if you're doing something for your mate. If you just do something for your mate for the sake of them, it's impossible to keep score.

Maybe because we started young and we had less years where we were looking out for only ourselves, it was easier to look out for us. It's easier when you start early to put the team first. It's not easy, but it's easier.

That's not to say we don't have our "it's not fair" moments. We do. That's not to say we don't put ourselves first sometimes. We do.
But when we call each other out on it, it's easier to drop our defenses and remember we're on the same team.

And we start all over again.

To the bride and groom from this weekend I say cheers to you and cheers to getting married in your early twenties. It just means now you get more years with the power of Home Team behind you.