With Memorial Day right around the corner, all the sale flyers clogging my mail and in-boxes, everyone -me included- talking about holiday menus and summer fun, I thought this post might be in need of some dusting off. I originally penned this in November 2009 as an homage to my fellow sailors, those I’ve lost and as a reminder that Veteran’s day -like Memorial Day- is not about the sales or the three-day weekends. It isn’t about nabbing a great deal on a new sofa. We live in The Land of The Free… because of the brave. Enjoy your three-day weekend, grill up something tasty, hit a water park and break out those sandals.. BUT also remember to stop by a memorial, buy a poppy from the vets who set up in front of the big box store. Ask them about their story, let them tell it, listen and thank them. Remember that Memorial Day is about honoring the memory of those who gave all.
 

(I know this is a LONG one but who could shorten a tribute to American Heroes? NOT ME!)
 

Today is Veteran’s day and I always thought it was a bit awkward to say “Happy Veteran’s Day”. Not because I’m not happy to have served my country. I think it has something to do with knowing some of the hardships that come along with that service. I was a 19 year old kid when I left the familiar surroundings of my small town and boarded a plane for Navy basic training in Orlando, Florida. It was just after Thanksgiving 1990 and I couldn’t believe how cold it was in Florida, I thought this was supposed to be the sunshine state! I was scared out of my mind, lost and really regretting being the first person in my family to have joined the Navy.A few weeks into training our Company Commanders came into our compartment and removed all the drill weapons. They then announced that the Operation Desert Storm was underway. We were allowed one call home. With the sound of Bing Crosby singing “I’ll be home for Christmas” playing over the PA I called my parents. That was the first time it really hit me what it meant to be a member of the armed services.

Yep that’s me on the right all snuggled up to Fifle the mouse from An American tale. I’d go on to cry every time I heard the theme song “Somewhere out there” while serving a continent away from my family and friends. Okay I STILL cry when I hear it.  To my right is the best buddy any sailor could ask for Michelle Graf! 

I went on to become a Navy Airman and made it to 
my first duty station in Rota, Spain. Rota was a stop on the way to both Iraq and Somalia when I was there. Ships came through with Soldiers, Sailors, Marines and Air Force Airmen. I count myself privileged to have served, partied, jaw jacked, worked my butt off and mourned with many of them.

Among them all I was honored to serve under Admiral Jeremy Michael “Mike” Boorda. Admiral Boorda is to this day someone I admire beyond words. He worked his way up from the lowest of enlisted rank, Seaman, to go on and become an Admiral and Chief of Naval Operations. I was honored to have had a one-on-one conversation with him. When he reportedly took his own life a hole was ripped in my heart and memory. He was honest and honorable, a person who stood up for what he believed, championed the underdog and no matter what others may think they know, he was a true hero.

Also gone but never forgotten is Army Ranger, Sergeant James Casey Joyce who was among 18  service men lost in the ambush at Mogadishu, Somalia. In lieu of putting up the video of an American hero’s body being drug through the Somali soil, made infamous during Operation Restore Hope, I’ve chosen to share a quote from his father Retired Army Colonel Larry E. Joyce:

“For me, October 3 is a day of irony that will forever be burned in my memory. On that day in 1906 my father was born in dusty Segoville, Texas. And, on the same day in 1993, my son was killed on a dusty street in Mogadishu, Somalia. On this October 3, I’ll call my dad and wish him well on his 88th birthday. And at a ceremony at Arlington National Cemetery, I’ll observe the first anniversary of my family’s most tragic loss…. Today, they will remember the 44 members of the Armed Forces who died in Somalia during Operation Restore Hope” -Oct 3, 1994

Still they serve, with pride, with honor and with a dedication few can understand. From my own small Southern California town, 19 year old Marnie Corps LCPL Marcus Cherry, gave his life in Iraq. While looking into this young man’s life I found the website Iraq War Heroes.

On this site friends, family, fellow soldiers and even strangers leave comments about the lost. I was moved by this particular message left by SGT. Brian Telinda Jr

“LCPL. MARCUS CHERRY, MAN ITS BEEN SO LONG AND I STILL TRY TO GO BACK INTO TIME AND PULL YOU BACK, BUT YOU WERE SUCH A HARD CHARGER MAN! I STILL HAVE OUR CARD WE MADE FOR OUR RACK IN AR- RAMADI AND I STILL CANT GET THAT INCREDIBLE SMILE OUT OF MY HEAD MAN. I KNOW I WAS SENIOR TO YOU BUT I LOVED YOU LIKE MY BLOOD AND I’VE FOUND MY SELF THINKING ABOUT THE 6TH A LOT MAN,I JUST WISH YOU WOULD HAVE WAITED FOR ME. I WILL NEVER FORGET HOW GREAT OF A KID YOU WERE AND WISH WE COULD OF GOT MORE TIME WITH EACH OTHER TO HANG, TO LAUGH, TO SERVE THE CORPS. STILLL TO THIS DAY WHEN I TOLD YOU THAT YOU WERE THE BEST MARINE I’VE EVER MET NO ONE COMES CLOSE!!!! NOT ANYWHERE NEAR!!! TO YOUR MOM I NEVER HAD THE HONOR OF MEETING WITH YOU BUT I JUST WANTED TO SAY THANK YOU FOR GIVING LIFE TO SUCH A WONDERFUL INDIVIDUAL, MARCUS IS THE BEST KID I’VE EVER MET! I MISS YOU SO MUCH BRO AND GOING BACK TO RAMADI, SO IN A WAY WE WILL BE TOGETHER AGAIN CLEANING UP THE STREETS AND I WILL SEE YOU AGAIN SOMEDAY BROTHER! LOVE ALWAYS MAN, SGT. TELINDA 2/4 (2001-2004)”

Each of these men, and hundreds of women who have been lost, had a mom. A mom like me, or you or your mom. A mother who will never again get to watch her child sleep, or tell them to pick their filthy socks up off the family room floor! Some may have left behind a husband or a wife, maybe even babies of their own. On this day we celebrate the sacrifice of those who have and are currently serving, there are loved ones sitting by the phone waiting for a call from them. There are children who will go to sleep tonight missing their moms or dads. In hospitals and recovery centers all over the country there are wounded heroes trying to learn to walk again after having lost a limb. There are 13 families still feeling the raw emotion of having lost a loved one to the bullets of a fellow soldier. Each and every one of us who enjoys the privilege of perusing our own happiness owes a debt of gratitude to our Veterans.

Some of my favorite work for Veterans and their families is done by these organizations:

The Wounded Warrior Project
The American Widow Project
The USO
Homeless Veterans
The Navy Marnie Corps Relief Society

There has been a ton of squawking discussion following Time Magazine’s “Are You Mom Enough” article. Well played Time, well played. Really, it is sort of a genius when you divorce yourself of emotions and look at it for what it is. I mean who wouldn’t be prompted to chatter about an image like this?

Apparently they felt a photo of the "God of Cricket" might not prompt a buying frenzy

I’ll admit, even after having breast-fed four kids, I found the picture a bit shocking and that pisses me off at me. Why? Well, because it shouldn’t. Whom am I to judge how that mom chooses to parent her child? Obviously she is doing something right, that kid is growing like a weed (three, really? Talk about wonder milk!).

Here is the thing, we let the media whip us moms up like a nest of premenstrual hornets. How many of us have time in our day to worry about the “Mommy Wars” until some douche of a media outlet decides to jump all over the issue and the rest of the lemmings follow in step by plastering every “news” outlet with women attacking the choices made by other women?

I’m just as guilty as the next mom. I hear some talking head -often times not even a mom them self- prattling on about how being a “working” mom is harder than being a mom who doesn’t work, and I find myself screaming at the TV.  The red fury takes over and I give them the power to use my motherhood as a means to marginalize my role in society, politics, the work place and even my home.

All. Moms. Work. End of story.

So why do we continue to allow ourselves to be reduced to judgment slinging? Why do we hand over the keys to the car and let someone else drive us to Crazy Town? Shouldn’t we collectively stand up, let them hear us roar, and demand that we each -individually- be allowed to determine what is “mom enough” for ourselves? And once we’ve taken back the reins there, could we then be so bold as to demand that when it involves the collective we ask the right questions? Questions like those posed in this article by MomsRising.org.

You are mom enough. You have the power to define that for yourself, for your family and to demand respect of your right to choose what that means to you.

Did you know 1 in every 5 children around the world does not have access to the vaccines most all of us in the western world do? Were you aware that a child dies every 20 seconds in developing countries from diseases preventable through vaccines?

I didn’t.

This past weekend I joined an amazing group of mom writers from around the DC Beltway to lend our voices the UN Foundation’s Shot@Life campaign. This week is Worldwide Immunization Week, a week that may seem unnecessary to most of us who have the ease of being able to schedule an appointment and simply “get it done”. For so many other mothers out there like, a mom from Mozambique, giving their children a shot at life through vaccinations can require walking for miles and miles.

Devi walked 15 miles to give her child a shot... a shot at life.

Yet, she will happily do this. You see, she has already lost two children to vaccine preventable illness and is determined to give this child a shot at life that the other two never had.

Amongst the talented women at this event, great conversations, delectable Gelato and desserts provided by Dolci Gelati I learned that as little as $20 can vaccinate a child FOR LIFE! The amount of money I spend in two weeks on coffee can safe a life. That boggles the mind.

I came home late that night, kissed my little ones as they slept and thought about other mothers around the globe. Were they kissing their kids goodnight as they slept safe and warm? Or, where they struggling to hold back the tears as the rocked the frail bodies of their children infected with preventable disease?

The next morning the brood awoke me with their typical post-event interrogations…

“Mom, where did you go last night?!

“Mommy, why didn’t you take us with you?!!”

“What did you bring back for us?!!!”

I pulled out the super cool water bottle and tasty treats from Dolci Gelati, thinking that would appease them. (for a while)

Oddly enough, they wanted me to read them the materials from Shot@Life. I explained to them that those shots they fuss so much over, actually save lives. Told them that millions of kids in the world don’t get the chance to get these healthy -if not so fun- shots and that as little as seventeen cents can make a difference.

Seventeen cents buys one Polio vaccine.

These amazing creatures that I’m raising (and somehow haven’t screwed up completely…yet) took it upon themselves ACT! They offered up their life savings in the form of their piggy banks. WOW! Are these the same children who have no qualms about pitching a royal fit in the middle of Target if I don’t stop at the dollar bins and indulge their every whim, refusing to pay me back from their funds? Because you know, it’s my JOB to buy them things.

I promptly bawled like a baby.

They spent a good portion of the day counting out groups of coins amounting to seventeen cents each. Every time they would complete a pile they’d holler, “YEAH! We saved a life!”… (que continued blubbering) 

17 Cents. Priceless

By the end of they day they had compiled enough to purchase Polio vaccines for 223 children. We will be taking a trip to the coin exchange this week, cashing in those precious cents and I’ll be matching their efforts. Lives will be saved, lives will be changed and 223 children will have a shot at life. A shot at those milestones we want for our kids. Like them learning to share, to care for others, to know that the have the power to change the world.

Every child deserves these milestones, this shot at life. Won’t you join me in supporting Shot@Life by helping to spread the word about World Vaccination Week, donating, hosting your own event or even getting your own kids involved? Let’s give as many kids as we can a shot at life!

Every year spring drifts in on waves of sunlight and pollen laden breezes. Maybe it’s the pollen that gets me (very M. Knight Shyamalan) but each spring I become infected with the DIY bug. Some people -rational ones- may opt for contractors. I, being far from rational, choose to tackle home improvement projects with my own two hands. Often managing to also use up my very last nerve.

I’ve built raised beds for our garden, up-cycled chandeliers, trolled many a flea market for treasures to be used throughout the old abode. This year, lured as I often am by sparkly things, I chose to take on a glass tile backsplash kitchen makeover… What was I thinking?

Let me back up a bit and show you how sad the situation in the Cucina was…

Walking through Lowe’s (second only to shoes stores on my list of retail muses) I found THIS…

Ooooh... sparklies!

Two hours they said. Easy to do they said. No special skills needed they said. Don’t listen to them, the husband said. Do I ever listen to that man? sigh, no

It started out like a dream. I bought three boxes of the DIY Network Glass Tile Backsplash kit, which included all I would need.

In theory.

The tiles are attached to an adhesive backing. You simply measure out the space you’ll be tiling, insert spacers where needed and stick that puppy up there like a bumper sticker. Easy peasy. That part went swimmingly.

Next you squeeze out grout onto the provided trowel and spread on a layer, much like frosting a cake. THIS I’ve done! Spreading frosting the consistency of ten year old stale taffy, THAT I haven’t done. All of the included grout packets were more like bricks. After two trips back to Lowe’s*, digging through all the remaining kits on the shelf to find workable grout and ending up with a tub of premix from the flooring department, things went “on” a little more smoothly.

Now the box boasts that this can be done in two hours. Notsomuch. Even without Grout Gate, in the small space that I did, I’d budget at least 8 hours. The grout doesn’t wipe off as “clean” as they claim either, but you do get a pretty good upper body workout getting that crap off, so it’s not for naught.

The big payoff? This…

Hello drama!

Success? Well it looks better than that darn sheet metal did! When you gift the wall a “facelift” you can’t forget the switch plates. Trust me, I did and well it was not pretty. Fear not, a can of RustOleum Hammered Metal spray paint and you go from “old and gross” to super chic with just a spray (and a drop cloth, don’t forget that, again I know this from experience).

BOOM!

What’s a makeover without a little accessorizing? For that I used a $5 HomeGoods clearance section find. A wire dish rack turns into a cookbook and kitchen gadget storage showcase.

In the end, all the headache paid off with a new look for the old Cucina and it only took a whole weekend and most of my sanity.

Now on to those yicky white counter tops!

*This post is in no way sponsored by Lowe’s Home Improvement Stores. That said, the customer service at our local Lowe’s was top notch. I freaking love those guys!

I recall a time, not so long ago, where I’d smirk openly at parents who claimed to suffer from a “syndrome” called, Empty Nest.

Seriously? Were these people just trying to garner some sort of cheap sympathy, like a guy afflicted with the nefarious -and apparently near terminal- man-cold? I couldn’t imagine bemoaning an empty room laid out before me like a blank canvas. A room rife with possibility. It could become my own studio, library, or shrine to all things U2.

I would never be distraught over one less load of dirty socks. Who would miss that?!

Turns out, I would.

Nobody bothers to tell you that it is not the emptiness of the nest that brings on the syndrome, but the life that it was once filled with. That room doesn’t hold possibilities, it houses memories.

The time he insisted it be painted black, but you talked him into Navy (which in the end was just as bad). Sitting as quiet as you could outside the door so that you didn’t break the spell as you listened to him compose a new song. Holding him as he fought valiantly to hold back the tears of his first broken heart. Watching him cradle his baby sister in his arms, the two of them connecting in a language forever known only to them. Standing near the window, evening sun streaming through the curtains lighting up his clean-shaven face as you pinned a single crimson rose to the white lapel of his prom tuxedo, your breath caught in your throat. Who was this man standing before you. Hadn’t he just been learning to walk yesterday?

Those curls, I can still feel them.

Those memories live in the space between the four walls of this room, joined by millions more drifting like wraiths amongst the dust moats. Memories of the surreality of holding in your hands six pounds of life that fought so hard for its birth. Watching him charm his way into the heart of every babysitter. When you looked into those huge blue eyes, knowing for the first time in your life, that you were capable of wondrous things.

Even the memories that took your patience, not your breath, away now haunt this room.

“Turn down the TV, it’s after midnight, everyone else is asleep dammit!” 

The silence left behind is heart wrenching. You know that the days of lecturing him about coming home too late or piling his dirty clothes on top of his clean stuff are gone. Yet, you’d give anything to do that… just one more time. Anything to get back just a little time. Time with his head in your lap, your hands in his curls, him giggling in his sleep.

You see, we misunderstood when they told us parenting was a hard job.

We let ourselves believe that the hard part was the work, the struggle to make it through each day with some semblance of sanity left in the tank. When all is said and done, it is not the endless hours of cleaning, worry, annoyance, pride, joy, doubt, fear, laughter or tears that make it so difficult.  It’s the kissing your baby on his cheek as he opens his eyes in this world for the first time. Blinking. Then craning your neck to reach high enough to kiss that same cheek just before he boards a plane to leave your home for the last time. That is what makes this job hard.

My heart is heavy. Hopes, high. Nest, empty.

Soar on my son, but always, always find your way back under my wing.

How fast time goes by. (photo courtesy of Amie Adams Photography)

Seriously, why?

My thirteen year old daughter is smitten with Adam Levine. All her text messages (and let’s face it, this is the only form of communication the child uses aside from foot stomping and eye rolling) end in; <3 Adam Levine 4 ever <3.

I have to confess, I sort of get it.

Okay, I totally get it. He does have the moves like Jagger after all.

That said, I felt it my parental duty to point out that there is -or was- such a thing as Maroon 5, before there was; “Adam Levine with Maroon 5″.  A band with sublime piano weaved into a groove laid down by some smooth guitar and backed by drums that coalesce into a musical portrait that plays perfect compliment to Mr. Levine’s silky voice. Sure he is hot, but so is the band. 

Remember when it was Maroon Five?

Nonsensical blog post title meant only to draw your attention to this post which contains the  following samplings of awesome found on Pintrest (before all the spaming asshats took it over)

Exploding o' the fowl awesomeness

It was a drive by fruiting

Baby I've done it, with dip!

I fear I may be nearing the point of requiring a javavention

Do you pin? Better yet, do you pin stuff that doesn’t make we want to gouge my eyes out?  (one more LOL Cat or absurdly fit chick wearing a fruit roll up and I’m going batcrap crazy) let me know what your Pin-persona is and I’d be happy to follow ya into the time sucking abyss.

Have you ever been in a public place and faced with some sort of happening that causes your brain to scream for action whilst your mouth becomes inexplicably paralyzed? Judging by the fact that there is an entire TV show dedicated to this conundrum, it is likely you’ve been here too.

Now, in general, I have never been one to remain mute in any setting, for any reason. Some may say I have been imbued with the, “gift of gab” or as my father so eloquently puts it, “verbal diarrhea”. I firmly believe that my opinions are gifts to be shared with generosity which rivals that of St. Nicholas himself. I like to think that I am a walking public service announcement, doing good for all and annoying the multitudes.  (back off, my delusions of grandeur are mine dammit) 

So, when I was faced with the following situation it puzzles me that I remained mute and I wander… What would you do?

Scene: Waiting room at the doctor’s office. Me in a chair three feet away from Mom, Grandmom and 2 Month Old.

Me: Quietly kicking ass at Angry Birds minding my own business.

2 Month Old: Working himself up into a full fit.

Mom: Rocking the baby carrier at hurricane force. (HELLO have you NOT heard of Shaken Baby Syndrome you neophyte?!)

GrandMom to Mom:  “Hon, I don’t think he is likin’ that so much. Maybe try holding him up.”

At this point the mom in me is relieved, Grandmom has come to the rescue. The child’s brain function is saved, at least for now.

Mom picks up 2 Month Old… By. His. Wrists. Child stops crying, presumably because his little brain has yet to process this new form of torture.

GrandMom: “Awe, looky. That there made him happy.”

Mom: “Oh yeah, he loves this. He really likes it when I flip him through his arms. He is my little monkey. Aren’t ya baby? You’re mommy’s little monkey boy, huh?”

GrandMom: “Silly monkey baby. Don’t do that too much though, you might dislocate his arms.”

Pause for me to pick pieces of brain matter off the ceiling as my head has just exploded.

I swear I was checking air vents and desk plants for hidden cameras. This HAD to be a setup.

What did I do?

Me. Mom of four. Walking public service announcement. Pontificate of prattle. Unapologetically opinionated. I did nothing.

Really, what could I do? What would you do?

Last year I started working at home part time. And by that I mean I added on a professional job to my full time work at home job of cleaning, cooking, and being my kids’ indentured servant. Since my girls had finally gotten a regular preschool and therapy schedule, I thought it would be a breeze. After all, I was already maintaining a successful local blog and a somewhat regular personal blog.

Boy was I wrong. 12 months in, the disaster of my home, the ten pounds I had gained, and my gray roots proved it. Something had to change. So in January, I stopped all personal blogging, finished up my current contracts, and concentrated on getting my house and life organized.

What a difference! Now that my house is in order and my schedule organized, I have a clear mind (and space!) to work in.

Define Your Hours: When you work from home, the temptation is to put things off to take care of the “emergencies” that crop up. That’s how I ended up working until two in the morning every night. Now my family, friends, and the girls’ school know that I am just not sitting at home eating bonbons, I am working from 9-12 and 1-4 and cannot be disturbed during those times.

Keep a Separate Work Space: My home has always had a lovely home office waiting for me. But for some reason I had decided it would be better filled with everything I didn’t know where to put. I am not going to lie, those things got moved to the guest room instead of disappearing. But now I have a defined space, with a door that shuts. This not only pleases my accountant (hello write off) and me (hello clear mind) but is a clear signal to my family that on Saturday morning I am doing paperwork, not finding their lost stuff.

Learn to Say No: Stand in front of a mirror and say this ten times out loud: “Unfortunately I am going to have to say no; I just don’t have the time in my schedule.” I’ve learned that if I don’t preface it with “I’m sorry” or “I wish I could” people don’t try to guilt me into it.

Outsource, Outsource, Outsource: A lot of the work I do is also done by agencies and firms in town. To compete with them I have stepped up my game. Sure I don’t have in house printing like they do, but I do have an amazing online print firm that allows me to upload my custom design. Now I have high quality booklets for an incredibly low price. And I can produce anything from notepads to catalogs for my customers.

Constantly Network: The temptation when you can work in sweatpants is to just stay behind the screen. And while I do do a lot of networking on Twitter and Linked In what has brought me the most business is getting out of the house and talking to people. Look into organizations like Social Media Club. Call your local news outlets and let them know you are a resource in your area of expertise. And never stop talking! I met one client in line at the grocery store.
I would love to hear what your tips are for keeping sane while working at home. Networking with my fellow work at home warriors is what keeps ME sane!

Kate Canterbury is a branding and marketing consultant. She maintains a home office but admits to Skyping from bed. You can read more about how she is doing it all (some of it well) on her personal blog The Guavalicious Life. She currently works as a brand expert for Print Ninja.