Day 6 of my captivity.

This town is slowly trying to change me. We moved in last Friday to be greeted by friendly neighbors. They introduced their children. Warmly welcomed me. And then invited me to a block party on Memorial Day weekend.

I saw through it.

The next day, another neighbor introduced himself. He, again, mentioned the block party, this time adding it was BYOM (bring your own meat). But I needed to test the waters.

“As long as I have wine, I’ll be good,” I added cheerfully.

He didn’t flinch. He proceeded to tell me of all the neighborhood women that like to bond over wine.

And slowly, I’m forgetting that this place has stripped me of my connectivity to the outside world.

The next door neighbor told me it took him 4 months to get Comcast to install his internet. I nervously laughed when he told me that.

The next day, another neighbor introduced herself and brought me cookies, among other things.

I’m still waiting to see the cameras come out and someone tell me this is a bad episode of “Intervention.”

But hey can’t take away my phone. My cell signal is weak. My 3G is sketchy. But my resolve is strong. I shall persevere.

And hopefully be back online next week.

In case you were wondering, this post was written entirely in the WordPress app on my iPhone. Next time, I promise pictures.

I waffled about writing a post for today. I just moved (yes, it FINALLY happened). I’m sick. And I have no internet. But I decided I wanted get out and see the community and see if there really was a Starbucks with internet close by. And I was in luck!

Today’s Writing Prompt: How has the internet changed your life – professionally and/or personally?

Here we go…

—

I was reading someone’s Facebook page just a bit ago and something she said struck. Nothing has changed and yet everything has changed.

She meant it in a more serious way but I really thought about it. So much has finally changed in my life. We’re now living in a new state, in a new house. Everything is different and yet it’s not. I have the same furniture and dishes. And I guess I’ll remember all of that once I unpack the 927 boxes I have.

But I decided to take a spin out into our new little suburban town to see if I could find some free wifi. Although my husband promised we would have it the day we moved it, Comcast (which seems to have quite the reputation) didn’t follow through on their word. So we have no internet. Let that sink in. NO INTERNET.

It’s not like we’re on vacation or something. The internet is my lifeline. It’s my social community. It’s my profession. It’s how I stay connected to the world and to people. And, yes, I have a “real life” in which I do that too.

So I set out for that free wifi. I had heard that was a small STarbucks in the Safeway grocery store and so I thought I’d check it out. But I felt weird carrying my laptop into the grocery store. So I drove around and found a freestanding Starbucks. I think it must be new. Super friendly people. So I sat down in a comfy chair with my iced green tea latte and logged on. I feel at home. I feel connected. Everything has changed and yet here you all are.

I’m so excited and I can’t wait to get living my new life.

—

This was my 5 minute Stream of Consciousness Sunday post. It’s five minutes of your time and a brain dump. Want to try it? Here are the rules…

• Set a timer and write for 5 minutes.
• Write an intro to the post if you want but don’t edit the post. No proofreading or spellchecking. This is writing in the raw.
• Publish it somewhere. Anywhere. The back door to your blog if you want. But make it accessible.
• Add the Stream of Consciousness Sunday badge to your post.
• Link up your post below.
• Visit your fellow bloggers and show some love.

Now…

1. Grab the button

(it’s over in the sidebar)

2. Write your post.

3. Link up here.

This week is Puppy Mill Action Week at the Humane Society of the United States. I wrote this post as part of my role at Charitable Influence and as a big believer in the work of the HSUS.

I didn’t set out to save a puppy mill dog. In fact, had I known all of the issues that come with a puppy mill dog, I might have hesitated when it came time to adopt Emma.

I knew that puppy mills were unregulated because I worked in North Carolina lobbying to pass legislature to regulate them (it failed). I knew that conditions for the puppies could be horrendous and the animals themselves often had genetic predispositions for a myriad of health issues. I swore never to buy a puppy from a puppy mill.

What I never really thought about, however, was the dog that produced all of these puppies. The breeder dogs.

It was in April 2009 that I ran into PetSmart for one quick thing. There happened to be an adoption fair going on and as usual, I casually strolled by to see all the cats and dogs and give them a quick pet as politely said, No thank you. I’ve got a full house.

But I saw two toy poodles. Two tiny dogs. Small dogs are typically hard to come by from rescue and adoption groups because they are pretty easily adopted. But after having Lhasa Apsos, I had developed a penchant for small dogs and I was drawn in.

There was a white poodle and an apricot poodle, a color I had never heard of. Compared to the white poodle, Emma was quiet and subdued. I took that to mean calm, which was what I was looking for in a new dog.

How Emma looked at our first meeting in the pet store

I picked her up and held her on my lap. She lay her head on my arm while I gently pet her. The staff told me that she had recently had all of her teeth removed because they were rotted and that she had a cataract in one eye.

A half-blind, toothless dog? Sounded perfect to me.

When I went to inquire about Emma, I was told that she came from the Wilmington area and had been a breeder dog for a puppy mill. Little did I know that these breeder dogs are usually treated much worse than the puppies. They don’t directly earn the breeders any money. They are simply puppy-making machines.

A breeder dog, like Emma, is usually expected to produce multiple litters in their short lives. I say “short” because most dogs are often destroyed once their reproduction capacity has been maxed out. Sometimes, these dogs are sold cheaply to another breeder to try and squeeze one more litter out of them.

I suspect something like this happened to Emma. She wasn’t supposed to be a rescue dog but somehow this group got a hold of her and placed her up for adoption.

The whole adoption process was a little shady too. I decided that I wanted to adopt Emma and had to repeatedly call the organization before I could even get a call back. When I did, I was told the woman fostering her was on vacation and we’d have to wait to hear what she had to say. There was concern about adopting Emma into a house with a small child (my son was 2 years old at the time).

I told them he was very good with our animals as we had taught him from day one to love and respect pets. And if Emma didn’t like him? She certainly couldn’t bite him.

Finally, they agreed that I could adopt Emma. I went prepared to write my check for the $250 adoption fee but instead I was told to hold off on payment. I wasn’t given paperwork and didn’t pay the fee. I picked up Emma and took her home, never to hear from the rescue organization again.

Emma has shown all the signs of years of neglect at a puppy mill. She wasn’t housetrained, even though I was assured she was. She is scared of people, especially large men. Whenever anyone raises their voice, even playfully, she runs and hides.

Emma in the first few days after I brought her home

I’ve had to teach her how to go for a walk, although she still zigzags and likes to mark about every 5 feet. I’ve had to teach her how to play. I always thought dogs had a natural instinct to fetch a ball or stick. Nope. That comes with normal socialization, which she apparently never had. I’ve even taught her how to beg. She loves table scraps.

She likes to be by my side all the time. When the weather is tolerable, she takes rides with me in the car while I run errands. When I’m working, she sleeps in a soft bed under my desk. I have vowed never to kennel her because I know the likely trauma it would bring her. Instead, I let family and friends watch her when necessary.

When I was recently in California, I was talking to a friend about pet psychics. We traded stories about our rescue pets and we noticed a similarity in our dogs. Like my friend’s dog, when I first brought Emma home, I set her down outside so she could get a sense of her new home. She took off running. And running and running.

I chased her down the street and practically did a running tackle to capture her. This happened a few more times and I imagined that she must want to escape from us. I wanted her to know that we were there to help.

So when my friend and I traded stories, she mentioned what the pet psychic had said about this behavior.

“Your dog ran because she never knew she could.”

Emma loves to be outside!

A sense of freedom is something that puppy mill breeder dogs often never know. Even now, when I want Emma to embrace her lack of confines, I have to realize that freedom, to someone who’s never known it, can be overwhelming. I finally started crating Emma at night after too many accidents. I was worried about putting her in a cage but I keep it comfortable and she now knows it’s her safety.

My pretty girl today

I got Emma when she was 6. Now, she’s 9 and she has improved dramatically but she’s probably the best she’s ever going to be. She’ll never be a “normal” dog and I’m okay with that. I just wish no other dog ever had to go through this.

If Emma’s story has moved you to take action, here’s what you can do. The Humane Society of the United States has information on what you can do to stop puppy mills, as well as questions you need to ask before you buy a puppy to ensure you aren’t supporting puppy mills. At the very least, start small and take the pledge to do your part to stop puppy mills. Colbie Caillat did it and she’s pretty awesome.

If you’ve been blogging for any length of time and if you’ve earned income, you’ve probably started making some appropriate declarations on your income tax return. They may be a little painful but legally, it’s what we have to do. If we’re making any sort of money blogging, we have to claim it as income and pay taxes accordingly.

I’m okay with that. I’m over that. I filed my taxes and it wasn’t too bad.

But did you notice that they ask for your occupation? What did do you put? I’m not sure if “blogger” is an appropriate occupation because, by definition, it’s not a paid position. So instead, I put “freelance writer” and felt pretty good about it. I write, I consult, I do a little bit of everything.

When I recently applied for a mortgage for my new house, the story was a little different.

I had to provide my tax returns for the past 3 years along with any W-2 or 1099 forms I had received. I was excited to call myself “self-employed.” And then our loan officer asked me to provide a profit and loss statement.

Huh?

Is this whole blogging business supposed to be predictable? God, I wish it was.

So I basically created a year-to-date spreadsheet with my income and expenses so far. Not too shabby.

But how about the other years? What about last year? Or the year before?

I started my blog in September 2009. I have not been making nor claiming income in all that time. In fact, 2011 was the first year that I felt confident enough to call myself self-employed (never mind the fact that the actual income was laughable).

However, when you are applying for a mortgage, they want to know everything, including what you had for breakfast. So I had to submit all of the appropriate paperwork indicating that I was laid off in July 2009 (you bastards) and started collecting unemployment in August 2009. President Obama was very good to me and I collected unemployment for quite some time.

Life is changing now and I am starting my own business and freelancing where I can. So I feel like I’m starting over. But again, mortgage companies don’t care about your feelings. They care about your income.

As I was talking to our loan officer to confirm the dates of my employment, we talked about my freelancing and what I did prior to that. I confirmed that I was unemployed and was collecting unemployment. And he said…

“So I’ll just put down that you were a ‘Homemaker.’”

I froze.

No, no, no. That’s not right. I was blogging and doing some pro bono consulting trying to get my experience in line. I did some odd posts here and there and made some money. I mean, I wasn’t just sitting around eating bon-bons and watching soap operas.

Because when I heard the word ‘Homemaker’ that’s what I thought.

Photo Credit: clotho98 via Compfight

I didn’t say any of that, though. Instead, I said, “Does that help us or hurt us?” to which he responded, “Neither.” And then I said, “I used to be a high wage earner.”

I don’t think he had a reply to that. I don’t think I needed one because I know I said it more for my benefit than his.

I am more than just a Homemaker. I work. I just don’t get paid. I am smart. I run my household and raise my son and take care of two pets. I’m not just a Homemaker.

He certainly didn’t say that. But it was clearly an indication of issues I was having with my own identity.

I know it’s been in the news lately about how being a mom is one of the hardest jobs out there. But let’s be honest. It’s not a job. You don’t have a boss who holds you accountable. You don’t get paid. You don’t get benefits. And you certainly don’t get vacation time or sick days.

You hold yourself accountable and hope that when your yearly performance review comes around, you’ll be proud of what you’ve accomplished.

My mom spent many years as a homemaker and I think she struggled with some of the same identity issues. I never made a specific choice to stay at home and I’ve never spent any of my time at home without working towards something.

But this is my issue and one that really struck me. I am not a homemaker. I am a work-from-home woman who happens to be a wife and mother. But to all you proud homemakers out there? There is nothing just to the job you do. It’s a hard one and one to be proud of even if we don’t always recognize that.

My family has been unintentionally fractured over the past year and it has caused us to redefine what “together” really means for us.

It actually started about 18 months ago when my husband decided it was time to start looking for a new job. He was ready to step out of his leadership role at a small, local company and move to a global company that would give him the opportunity to expand his horizons. I fully supported his decisions even though I knew that might mean a relocation.

We have lived away from both of our extended families for almost two decades. As a young, carefree married couple, it was no bother. Family can sometimes be a drag, weighing you down with obligations. But as we got older and decided to grow our family from the two of us to the three of us, our feelings about family started to change.

In the five years since my son was born, we’ve missed having grandparents here at the holidays. We’ve missed out on family birthday dinners. We’ve missed having our son get to know his cousins and aunts and uncles. So relocation, especially if it meant moving closer to family, was definitely something worth considering.

We started out with a plan to move to Connecticut, close to my brother-in-law. I got excited about finally living the fantasy New England lifestyle I’ve always dreamed about!

But that fell through.

Another opportunity arose with the same company in…

TEXAS!

That got a resounding NO from me. Not only do we not have any family in Texas, it’s too darn hot. Period.

And finally, an opportunity came up for the Washington, DC area – where I grew up. My side of the family is scattered throughout Maryland and Virginia so we’d be close to my family!! But, oh… we’d be close to my family. (If you have one of those families, you’ll know exactly what I mean here.)

Yes, plenty of waves of emotion. But in the end, my husband accepted the job, the house went on the market, and we prepared to move from North Carolina to Maryland.

Except we didn’t.

The economy and real estate market had other plans and I stayed home week after week hoping to sell the house while my husband literally commuted to the Baltimore area. It was fine at first. I had evenings to blog and drink wine, guilt-free. He got to sleep in my sister’s attic. We knew it would all work out eventually.

Around the holidays, we took a break from listing our house. No one should ever have to keep their house that clean and we needed a break. We needed a break from the stress of trying to sell a house and the stress of being apart. We figured we’d try to sell again in the Spring, all the while, my husband still commuted back and forth.

It started to take its toll on my son. It made me sad when my husband was home and would simply run out to the store. My son would just assume he had gone on another business trip. He got used to the unpredictability of his schedule and he got used to his absence.

Spring finally emerged. We made some changes, finally relisted our house, and it sold within a week.

We’re finally coming to the end of our separation and we’re so close we can taste it. Even though our world is chaotic as we are going through the transition, we know the chaos will soon end.

Today, in the midst of all the packing and boxes, my mother asks me if I’m full of mixed emotions. No, I tell her. Those emotions have long since passed. What I am focused on now is one word: together.

When my son started preschool in the fall, they asked him to bring in a family photo. We had to go back several months to find one picture of all of us together because it has been so rare that we were.

When my birthday rolled around, my husband was out of town so I took my son with a friend and her son out for my birthday dinner.

When my son’s birthday came around, my husband was out of town again. So we filmed him opening his presents so dad could feel like he was there.

We sold the house and we’re packing to move so we can all be together. That’s the emotion I’m focused on.

My husband is still commuting so much of the packing burden has fallen on me. But I’m okay with it because there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. At the end of the week, we’ll all be under the same roof, most likely in the same bed, enjoying just one thing: being together.

This post is my entry into a contest to win a full sponsorship to Type-A Parent Conference from Brica. Brica asked entrants to write a post on their motto, “Making Together Better”. The topic couldn’t be more timely or personal! Connect with Brica through their website, Facebook page, and Twitter account!

I really wonder if people in Jill Smokler’s inner circle call her Jill or if they call her Scary Mommy. It’s got to be the catchiest blog name ever that emerged at a time when “mommy blogs” {cringe} were all the rage.

(Wait – are they still all the rage? Let me know because I can totally spew out more mommy stories.)

I met Jill, aka Scary Mommy, when I was still in a state of blog oblivion. I attended a Bloggy Boot Camp in Baltimore, her hometown. I only knew she was a big deal because my friend Sue went gaga over her and wanted me to take a picture of them together.

I remember feeling a bit awkward that Sue wanted the picture and I was simply the picture taker. I never said, “OMG, me too!!!” I like to think Jill thought I was just playing it cool, like when you meet a celebrity but act nonchalant and pretend like they are just regular people.

(Incidentally, my recent run-in with OPRAH proves that I generally am not very good at playing it cool. Just ask Leila from @dontspkwhinese because I nearly ripped her arm off in excitement.)

But back to Scary Mommy, er, Jill.

A while back, she started something on her blog called “Scary Mommy Confessions.” In a nutshell, it’s a completely anonymous confessional where you’ll find presumably other mommies confessing things ranging anywhere from letting their babies sit in a poopy diaper too long to how they sometimes wear their own diapers and poop in them.

Oh yes. There is some weird shizz on there. Even weirder is the ability for anonymous readers to add a Like, Hug, or an OMG, Me Too! to the confession. Yeah, those weird confessors? Apparently there are quite a few of them out there.

The Confessional is definitely a rabbit hole that can have you spending hours pouring through wondering who these people are. I know because I’ve done it. I even showed my husband and he said, “You know, this would make a fantastic book.”

I’m pretty sure Jill knew that all along.

Shortly before her Confessions of a Scary Mommy book hit the market, she contacted me and asked if I wanted an advanced copy of the book. I actually received what’s called a galley. It’s an almost-ready-for-bookstores copy. It doesn’t have the official binding but it is signed by Jill. I’m hanging on to it because I’m pretty sure it will fetch a pretty penny on eBay someday.

But the book itself…

I expected it to be a book of confessions. An anthology of braindumps from her readers. And I will admit that when I received the book, I immediately flipped through and read the beginning of each chapter that highlights many of the confessions. (I’m relieved to say none of my anonymous confessions made it into the book.)

But the book is filled with a lot more substance. It’s a chronological recount of Jill’s journey to motherhood peppered with all the humor, sarcasm, and salty language that we have all come to love from her. She weaves a story around the confessions letting us know she gets us. She relates (except for those weird confessions). And she’s honest about motherhood. So honest, in fact, I remember reading it thinking, Jill – where were you when I first became a mom? You… complete me.

While I was never a fashionista with an unexpected push into motherhood, I was a career women that suddenly found herself saying, OMG, what happened to my life? In a good way. Mostly.

For me, I loved the book because I learned more about Jill, felt a kindred sisterhood with her, and was ultimately entertained. I’m still scratching my head at some of those confessions though.

Note: She also has great taste in names. She has a 4 year old son named Evan. My Evan is 5 years old so I like to think I’m the trendsetter on that one.

Now, go out and buy her book. It’s in stores and probably electronic places too. Because she’s one of us and she’s really not that scary after all.

So many things on my mind tonight. When I sit down to write my post for next Sunday, I will officially be living in Maryland. I still don’t see how it’s all going to get done especially with me fielding some sort of upper respiratory ailment and lower back pain. But it will get done and it would be really boring to spend 5 minutes complaining about all that.

Instead, I decided to share a little sunshine in me day. Just when I thought I’ve had all I can take with yard sales and craigslist and people in my house and my life, I remembered how much I do like people after all.

Today’s (Optional) Writing Prompt: Are you a people person? Do you feel energized or drained around people? What are some of your favorite types of encounters or tell me a story of one!

Here we go…

—

Some days I can’t stand people. I really just can’t stand them. They annoy me. They disgust me. They irritate me. But they also entertain me and sometimes they bring me joy.

I know it sounds weird and it sounds like I’m not a people person. I think I am – they just have to be the right kind of people. People that seem to be increasing harder to find.

Today, I talked to a man named Tollie and he told me a story that filled my mind with pictures and imagination and I really enjoyed just listening to him.

Of all things, I “met” Tollie over the phone while I listed yet MORE items for sale. This time, I used the words “MOVING! Must sell ASAP!” and apparently those words light a fire under people. I’ve been fielding emails and phone calls all day. I”m just happy to see this stuff going to a good home.

Tollie emailed me about the Cat Genie I’m selling. If you have cats, you should google it. It’s a pretty neat system but its time has come and gone for us. We’re ready to clear out.

So today, Tollie called and said he’d like to buy it but he’d have to drive down from a remote part of Virginia to get it. He didn’t mind and actually sent me the money via PayPal. But this good old country boy just delighted me when I made a simple comment to him.

“I used to know someone named Tollie.”

He was flabbergasted. It’s an unusal name, short for nothing, and he had never met another Tollie except his father and grandfather.

Turns out Tollie’s dad was one of eighteen children that grew up in the southwestern part of Virginia. They were all given simple names with no middle names. My reasoning was that they’d run out of names too quickly! His dad was one of the few siblings still alive at the ripe age of 85 while almost all his siblings had died before the age of 51. They were from a coal-mining town and apparently the coal dust had done them all in.

His dad was smart enough to move away so he wouldn’t have to work in the mines and extended his life by a few good decades. His grandfather wasn’t a coal miner either. He’d spent his entire life running his own moonshine operation. Oh yes. These are some country folk.

Turns out he did quite well even though, according to Tollie, he himself never touched the stuff except for one shot every night before bed. Tollie’s grandfather lived to be over 100 years old. I’m thinking maybe he knew the secret of life.

A little sale, a quick phone conversation, and suddenly I remember that I really like people. Especially people with really interesting stories.

—

This was my 5 minute Stream of Consciousness Sunday post. It’s five minutes of your time and a brain dump. Want to try it? Here are the rules…

• Set a timer and write for 5 minutes.
• Write an intro to the post if you want but don’t edit the post. No proofreading or spellchecking. This is writing in the raw.
• Publish it somewhere. Anywhere. The back door to your blog if you want. But make it accessible.
• Add the Stream of Consciousness Sunday badge to your post.
• Link up your post below.
• Visit your fellow bloggers and show some love.

Now…

1. Grab the button

(it’s over in the sidebar)

2. Write your post.

3. Link up here.

What’s a nice iPhone girl like me doing reviewing an Android phone?

I’m stretching myself. I thought it might be a good idea to branch out and test the waters with some other phones. If you’re an iPhone user, you know you still have those days where you want to throw that brick at a wall. My husband almost did exactly that when he defected to the other side a year of so ago and got an Android phone.

I was semi-familiar with the OS but generally treated his phone like a mutant alien. I wanted nothing to do with it. And then this opportunity came along.

I had a chance to test out the Samsung Infuse 4G phone with 30 days of full service from AT&T. All I had to do was a video review with my honest opinions about the phone. So I did exactly that.

I did my review where it made most sense to talk about mobile technology. In my car, on the go. I was actually just parked in my son’s preschool lot after I dropped him off. I’m sure the other mothers think I’m weird.

I started to talk about the phone but I just couldn’t help comparing it to my iPhone. So I didn’t. Here’s my honest opinion for anyone in the market for a new smartphone.

I know the video is a bit long but I checked with the big tech guys who do video reviews like this on YouTube and their videos are TEN minutes long. So there.

Disclosure: The Samsung Infuse 4G was provided to me along with 30 days of service through AT&T for the purpose of a video product review. All opinions are my own.

This Mother’s Day, I’m working with Clever Girls in support of Macy’s Heart of Haiti to shine a light on the “trade, not aid” program, which provides sustainable income to Haitian artisans struggling to rebuild their lives and support their families after the 2010 earthquake.

“Mother is a verb, not a noun.” ~ Proverb

I’m proud to be supporting the Heart of Haiti campaign once again. But I’m also excited to share a story that feels appropriate with Mother’s Day coming up.

Mothers and daughters – we have a complicated relationship, don’t we? I’ll never know how it feels to be on the mothering side of that relationship. I have a son. Just one child and he’s a boy. All boy. He loves his mommy and I’m often told that mothers and sons have a special bond. But mothers and daughters?

Growing up, my mother was the one that made me laugh, made me cry, carried out the discipline (always swift and immediate), and instilled in me the values that I carry with me today. But she also drove me nuts. We fought like cats and dogs. We yelled and screamed and I was pretty sure this would be the course our relationship would always take.

As we’ve both aged, we mellowed. Or maybe matured. Or maybe grown a little more alike. Scary, I know. We spend half of our lives not wanting to end up just like our mother and we spend the other half wondering how we ended up just like her. But our relationship really took a turn about four years ago.

It was January 2008, a year after my son was born. The first year for any mother isn’t easy but it seemed especially hard for me. I tend to take on stress, especially in situations I can’t control, and bottle it up until I reach a melting point. That point came in January (you can read the full journey here). After a few weeks after worsening insomnia, I felt on the brink of a breakdown. I called my mother not knowing what to do and she was on a plane that afternoon.

She came with no return ticket and stayed for a full month helping me with Evan, taking care of the house, and generally keeping me company as I battled through depression and insomnia. I never needed my mother so much in my adult life and regardless of our past, it meant a lot to know that she would drop everything to help me if I needed her to. And trust me, for a person like me, it’s very hard for me to admit I need someone.

But my mother’s support reached out beyond the walls of my house and it was evident to me the day a card arrived in the mail from a woman I didn’t know.

Because my mother used to live in Raleigh, she had some friends that she tried to get out and visit when I would allow her to leave my side. She especially loved visiting her friend Betty, an older woman who was a minister and ran a weekly Bible study of sorts. My mother attended one Friday and had shared some of the struggles I was going through. The women took on my burden and prayed for me, hoping that I would heal.

One woman, in particular, though, asked my mother for my address because she wanted to send me a little something.

As I was packing up my house this week preparing to move, I came across that card and was still touched that someone who didn’t know me would reach out to me is such a loving way.

She sent a beautiful card with a little book of devotionals and a message that still lives in my heart:

Dearest Fadra,

You don’t know me but I go to the little prayer house “Refuge” on Friday noons that Betty has services as. Your mother comes some time when she is in town. Maybe you can come one Friday. It is a very warm, loving, and friendly astomsphere, sharing the love of Jesus and eating food afterwards. Praying for you and your mother.

In His Love,

Sharon

I don’t know Sharon and have never met her. I’m not even sure my mother knew her very well. But the kind words of a stranger reminded me of how a mother’s love is universal. When one of our daughters hurts, we all want to help her heal.

I hope you take the time next weekend to acknowledge the women in your life who have mothered you in ways you might not have realized.

As part of this campaign, I’ve received two beautifully handcrafted necklaces from the artisans in Haiti. This Mother’s Day, I plan to proudly wear mine as I give the other to my mother and remind her how much I appreciate her.

Thank you to Macy’s Heart of Haiti for sponsoring my participation in this “Share Your Heart” promotion. I was selected for this sponsorship by the Clever Girls Collective. All opinions expressed here are my own.

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What is Macy’s Heart of Haiti? Heart of Haiti is a “Trade, Not Aid” initiative launched by artist and social entrepreneur, Willa Shalit, The Clinton Bush Haiti Fund and Macy’s. Already, Heart of Haiti has led to employment of 750 artists in Haiti, providing financial benefits for an estimated 8,500 people in the country.

Each item is a one-of-a-kind design and handmade by a Haitian master artisan from raw materials such as recycled oil drums, wrought iron, papier-mâché and stone. The collection features more than 40 home decor items including quilts, metalwork, ceramics, jewelry and paintings and is made almost entirely from recycled and sustainable items such as old cement bags, cardboard, oil drums and local gommier wood.

Heart of Haiti products are available online at Macy’s.com.

This is crazy. I know it’s crazy. It’s crazy but I think I’m going to do it anyway.

I’m going to buy a new car.

Why is that crazy? I’ll tell you why.

1. I’m getting ready to buy a new house. In fact, just yesterday I wrote about how change is good/scary/exciting/emotional. That’s a lot of change. And a car too?

2. I drive an awesome-mobile. It’s a 2009 Ford Flex that I bought because my dad works at Ford and got me a sweet deal on this ride. It was expensive but with 0% financing, it was a GREAT deal.

So why am I considering trading in my car for something new?

Two words: GAS MILEAGE.

The Ford Flex actually gets decent gas mileage for its size. I’d say it’s about 18/26 mpg. That’s a heck of a lot better than a lot of cars out there that offer the same size and functionality. It’s got three rows of seating and every option imaginable, including a mini fridge in the back. Yes, I’m serious.

But the idea of becoming more efficient: with fuel, with money, with space is just so appealing. And so here’s what I plan to do.

Buy this car.

It’s a 2012 Prius v. It’s a hybrid. I know. Me – a Republican – buying a hybrid car. Am I becoming a liberal?

(that’s totally a joke)

But we ran the numbers and came up with this…

• With my trade-in, my car payment would be cheaper by $200 every month (even though it would extend the length I’m paying)
• With the reduced gas spending, I’d reduce fuel costs by $140 every month

So at a time when I should be thinking about conserving because we’re buying a mega-house in a much more expensive market, I’m gearing up to buy a new car.

I have to admit that I’m kicking myself for not test driving the Prius v when I went to visit Toyota in California. The line was long-ish and I didn’t think I would be seriously buying a new car anytime soon. But I did test drive a Prius and liked it. I didn’t LOVE it. But I liked it. I think I would just have to adjust. I know I would certainly adjust to the cost difference at the pump.

Me, admiring the gas mileage

While I didn’t test drive the Prius v, I needed to take a second look so we went past a local dealership yesterday. I have to admit that Michael Lee at Fred Anderson Toyota really knew his stuff. He knew I was only looking and he knew everything about the Prius right down to the difference in inches between the Prius and Prius v.

More importantly, I asked him what he drove. I mean, if you’re selling something to me, I need to know you believe in your brand. He informed me he drives a Toyota Yaris for commuting and his wife drives a Toyota Camry. I guess he eats his own dogfood (that an annoying marketing buzz term).

So there it is. If all goes as planned, you might see me hawking my Toyota hybrid in the very near future.

Disclosure: I was selected for participation in the TWIN community through a program with Clever Girls Collective. I did not receive any compensation for writing this post, or payment in exchange for participating. The opinions expressed herein are mine, and do not reflect the views of the Toyota.