Merry Xmas and Happy Holidays!

Happy holidays.  Yep.  Holidays.  When I say this, I mean that from a bit before Thanksgiving until the New Year, I hope you are happy. It's really that simple.  I am not saying that my beliefs negate yours.  No one can take Christ out of your Christmas.  It's your holiday.  Just like even if you don't want to admit it's your birthday, it is still the day you were born.  You love Christmas.  You love Christ.  I get it. I do too. However, I don't understand how saying the all-inclusive "Happy Holidays " can be offensive? Going out on a giant limb here, but the Jesus whose birth I celebrate would be more likely to say "Happy Holidays" to his Jewish friends, or even, Him-forbid, say "Happy Hannukah". I'm just saying.  This is a season where we encourage peace and love, right?  Then why is there still some sort of strange battle here? Isn't it beyond time for us to start respecting each others differences and realize that someone else's belief that in something/someone else doesn't take the value out of our own beliefs?

FYI:I learned this from a Baptist pastor in small town Arkansas, but wikipedia agrees:

"Xmas" is a common abbreviation of the word "Christmas". It is sometimes pronounced /ˈɛksməs/, but it, and variants such as "Xtemass", originated as handwriting abbreviations for the typical pronunciation /ˈkrɪsməs/. The "-mas" part is from the Latin-derived Old English word for "Mass",^[1] while the "X" comes from the Greek letter Chi, which is the first letter of the Greek word Χριστός, translated as "Christ".^[2]

There is a common misconception that the word Xmas is a secular attempt to remove the religious tradition from Christmas^[3] by taking the "Christ" out of "Christmas".

 So, if I write Merry Xmas, I am not taking Christ out of Christmas.  Basically, I am just too lazy and find that writing those five extra letters too strenuous. 

Peace on earth. Good will to men.  All men. I wish it for all of you.

Happy Kwanukkahmas!

I Like Myself

A few weeks ago, My sweet little Peanut said something astounding to me that stopped me in my tracks.

"I LIKE MYSELF!"

I gave her a huge hug.  I was so proud.  Yes, of course, you do. You are an awesome kid.  I have contemplated this moment over and over again, not to pat myself on the back, but to think if I had ever believed much less exclaimed that statement in my life.  And with such exuberant confidence!  Just a few days later, I went back home very briefly for a funeral of a family friend. This trip took me back to see people I seriously had not laid eyes on in about 20 years or more.  I was nervous.  It felt different than going back to my 20 high school reunion.  There's time to prepare and transform yourself for the reunion.  Lose that 5 extra pounds, whiten your teeth, freshen highlights, etc.  This trip was unexpected.  I'd be going back to my church where I'd spent a lot of my time. I thought back to who I was back then and the people I might see.  I had negative feelings toward what might happen.  Then a nugget of wisdom from an unexpected source said to me, "It's not the people who are this issue.  You don't like who YOU were back then. That's the issue."  BINGO!!!!!  Back then, I was full of judgement. I was square.  I had no sense of cool whatsoever.  I wore bows in my hair.  Big ones.  That I made myself as a hobby.  And drop waist dresses, with sailor collars. Did I mention this was Texas?  You can imagine the size of my hair. I felt so disconnected from that girl.

Well, I arrived to the funeral and I saw so many familiar faces.  So many wonderful memories came flooding back to me.  I had numerous people in my life who loved, supported and cheered me on.  They guided me.  I left that day grateful and feeling very blessed.  And I realized how hard my adult self had been on my youth self.  I had forgotten about the goodness in my heart and the stubbornness that set me apart from others.  I had forgotten about my courage to follow a dream that no one else around me pursued.   I have let go of so much judgement and replaced it with compassion and understanding.  I learned about "But for the grace of God, there go I." I have become a grateful member of humanity and stopped seeing "them" and  "us" and now see "we".  And I can tell you it's because of who I was back then that I can honestly say now without question...

I LIKE MYSELF!!

THE GIFT OF FEAR

fear.  a strong and powerful word, often with negative connotations.  I think there's a positive side to fear. I believe fear connected with instinct is a helpful resource for all of us. About 15 years ago, I was a twenty-something who had just moved to NYC by myself.  I found a pretty cheap, very small studio apartment on the Upper West Side.  During my moments of unemployment, I was a loyal watcher of Oprah.  One day her guest was an author named Gavin DeBecker.  He'd written this book called "The Gift of Fear".  I was intrigued.  He spoke about how women especially have been trained to ignore their intuitions.  You know, you are walking down a dark street.  You begin to feel like you are being followed.  Yep. Indeed, a strange guy is right behind you.  He offers to help you carry you heavy groceries.  You say, no thanks.  He doesn't listen.  No really, let me help you.  Oh, okay, you don't want to be rude. Fast forward to him forcing his way into your apartment, holding you at knife point, etc.  All because you suppressed those intuitions/fears that were actually a gift to you to keep you safe.  Be rude.  It could save your life.  Well, I rushed out to buy this book.  I figured it would come in handy in "the big city." I have so often referred back to what this book has taught me.  Listen to yourself.

fear. a stifling response that may keep you from taking risks. I have struggled with fear more these past few months than I have in a very long time.  I have let my fear of heartache, fear of failure, and fear of indirection inform too many of my recent decisions.  Finally, I said "Enough!" First, I accepted a job for which I was not completely qualified, but I was willing to be cheap labor in exchange.  I have found that I am capable of learning many new tasks and skills. I am good at much of what I do, even when I lack experience. I communicate well.  I realized how greatly I have limited myself.  Short changed myself. I am beginning to see a whole new world (cue music from Alladin) for myself.  I am considering choices I never thought attainable.  Next, I began to welcome the heartache.  I let it wash over me, let it teach me, let it strangely comfort me.  It felt good.  Necessary.  Now I can move forward a little at a time.  I no longer want fear to be the reason I make a decision to not do something.

fear. it's your friend and your foe.  Let it teach you, guide you.  And if it tries to keep you from reaching for what you want, give it a swift kick in the ass.

Please visit my fierce friend's blog. Check this out!!!  She truly is not just another Jen. She is a courageous woman, wife and mother who challenges me to think broader and dream bigger.  Recently, she invited me to contribute to her word of the month club.  You just read my first attempt.

Racing in the rain

I like to read.  However, it has been since January that I have been sucked into a book that I just couldn’t put down.  I enjoy getting books from the library.  It makes me feel a little “old school”.  Upon a few recommendations, I recently checked out ”The Art of Racing in the Rain”.  I was told it was a great read for dog lovers. While I love dogs, my relationship with my own canine has been tenuous these past few years.  He tests my patience, i.e. he gets into to the trash at any chance.  He howls a lot.  He stands and just stares at Peanut and barks very loudly when it’s just to the two of them in the room. I’ll be honest.  He frequently annoys me and I have called him “a pest” on numerous occasions.  Back to the book.  SUCKED IN.  A dog is the narrator of the book.  This is a voice I needed to hear.  Not only did this pooch remind me that my own sweet puppy is just that…a dog.  He has instincts that are simply a part of his nature (food…must have it at all times). I have put unrealistic human-like expectations on him regarding his behavior.  I was reminded that he is so full of love and devotion.  I just stopped paying attention to that part of him.  Our relationship has been transformed.  I am his friend again.  He never stopped being mine. Husband likes to tease  remind me that a dog did not actually write the book. 

There are also a few life lessons reiterated throughout this novel.  The dog owner is a race car driver.  I am not a sports enthusiast at all.  Most especially, I am not into car racing. I don’t get it.  However, this character had some great ways of thinking.  Ways that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.  He believes that “you manifest that which lies ahead of you” and “your car goes where your eyes go”.  The latter really spoke to me.  If you stare at the wall you are speeding by at an uber-fast pace, you will head for the wall.  I have stared at too many walls in my life.  I began to contemplate what lies ahead to me.  What do I want to be in my future?  I can choose to create that in my life.  I was surprised that I truly deeply didn’t really know what I wanted for myself in the future. That's beginning to change.  By ceasing to look at the walls, I can little by little see and feel more clearly where I'd like my car to be heading.  What about you?

The Last Day

Today is the final day of my 30's.  I wonder if I should wear black to mourn this passing.  My life is not at all what I envisioned it would be on this day.  My 30's were really good to me.  Full.  Adventurous.  Dreams realized, fulfilled, and even crushed.  Travel. Good sessions of therapy.  So many laughs and tears with friends and cast mates.  Heartache.  Losing people I truly adored.  I grew up in my 30's.  Turning 40, I thought I'd still be in NYC, being one of those amazing women who juggle motherhood and an acting career. Or we'd have stayed in Nashville and I'd be writing hits for Reba and having dinner with Faith and Tim.  But alas, I live in Oklahoma City, a landlocked state that my home state of Texas  makes fun of (not that I ever cared about stuff like that).  I haven't been on a stage or sung outside of my shower in over a year.  The news sucks here. I never feel like I know what's going on in the world unless I watch CNN.  I work a 9 to 5 job that has me in front of a computer for most of those hours. My dress size is creeping closer and closer to a size that I am less than thrilled about. Yet, these are not the reasons, my life isn't what I imagined.  My life is better than I'd imagined.  What I take with me from my 30's, what I really only grasped this year, is that my circumstances do not determine my happiness. In the past, if this had been my life, I would've been depressed, sinking into the abyss of self-pity that I wallowed in for too many years. Waah, f-ing , waaah!!!  Yep!!  I mean that.  I have so much to be grateful for. I have a new job for a non-profit arts organization that is teaching me so much. I get to spend more time with my parents. I have a kid that keeps my laughing, but also makes me really think about my choices. I love watching her grow. I feel the love from my network of friends across the country almost daily.  Husband makes me feel like I am still 25, wink, wink.  So, I say, "Ta ta!" to my 30's.  Thank you. I raise a glass to you and welcome the wisdom, risks, new adventures and dreams realized, fulfilled, maybe even crushed that this next decade will bring.

Revisiting Resolutions

I realize it's past the middle of the year, but forgive me. I was in paradise (aka Whitefish, Montana) for the past month doing almost nothing.  Now that I have returned home, I see the sun faded list of New Year's Resolutions that I keep on my kitchen window sill.  It sits just above the sink. Thus, when I find my demented version of solitude while washing dishes, I am gently reminded of those goals I made.  I was kind to myself this year and did not put weight loss on my list.  Though, who's kidding whom?  That has been on my mental, not so gentle, list since I gave birth almost five years ago. Now, as I reflect on my progress and growth, I feel good about how my level of awareness has increased.
Here's the list:
1) Five minute meditation daily.  Ommm. I really needed this at the beginning of the year and accomplished it most days back then.  It definitely made a difference.  Now, I don't feel as frazzled as I was feeling back then, but will prioritize to make time for it again.  Today, I did it at the playground while Husband played with Peanut in this wretched heat. On a shaded bench,  I closed my eyes and relished in the melodies of the cicadas for five minutes.  A little bit of heaven.
2) Breathe more deeply.  An acupuncturist told me I needed to do this upon our first meeting.  He also told me I was too hard on myself.  I had barely told him anything about myself.  I find that by meditating more, I also breathe more deeply.  However, I catch myself still too often being a shallow breather.  Raising awareness!!
3) Practice patience.  Funny how these all help each other.  I can see a lot of growth with this one.  Though, parenting a clever and sometimes sassy 4 year old tests me quite often.  If it's really tough, I breathe deeply and give myself a 5 minute time out to meditate.  : )
4) More water, less wheat.  Back in January/February, I became a gluten-free, sugar-free vegan.  For 21 days.  Astonishingly, I killed no one during this time.  My awareness about how much wheat I eat was definitely raised. I also realized it makes me feel thick, like there's an extra layer of blubber? between my skin and my muscles. It can so easily creep in to my diet.  Toast here.  Sandwich there.  Pasta for dinner.  Too much, too often.  This one, I must revisit.  The more H2O thing is much easier now that I have a fridge with a water filter thing-a-ma-jiggy on the door.
5) Much less sugar.  Actually, this one is capitalized with exclamation points.  Here's the thing. I am a mindless eater of sugar.  I get a sweet tooth, open the cabinet to find the candy stash that Peanut got from school, and before I know it I have devoured more candy than I care to admit and few stale marshmallows for good measure.  What's that about?  Confessional time:  I'll even scarf down the final contents of a bag of whatever crap it is, just so it won't be in my house tomorrow.  Once I started freeing myself of this mindlessness, I lost the cravings.  But they come back quick. I have never been a drug user, but there is definitely some kind of addiction to sugar going on here.  Must get back on track.

It feels good not to beat myself up for slacking off here and there.  See. Those five minutes are making a difference.  So much that I even practice patience with myself. We are on this journey together, friends.

Beautiful Sadness

Life is funny.  I am not talking about a hilarious funny, though thank god quite often it's that too. I mean wonderfully peculiar.  I have been in the beauty of Montana for the past month.  "Beauty" doesn't even begin to do it justice.  I am talking about the kind of beauty that heals the soul.  When I arrived a month ago, I had no idea my soul would need so much healing.  I also had no idea I was pregnant.  After about a week here, and my cycle did not begin, the boobs were getting ridiculous and I woke up in the middle of the night craving a bowl of Cheerios. I knew something was up. Husband and I were surprised and cautiously optimistic.   We've been down this road before.  This past year I was told that I have reduced ovarian function and my only hope for a baby would be adoption.  So, I allowed myself to sleep as much as I could.  Husband worked on the show he was directing while Peanut and I enjoyed the great outdoors of Montana and the great indoors of a fabulous gym here with an awesome pool.  I arranged play dates, easy outings, ate a lot of snacks to alleviate the morning sickness, and drank water like a fish.  We had a sonogram and learned that at about 7 weeks along there was no longer a heartbeat.  We've also been down this road before.  Sadness.  Deep sadness and disappointment.  Heartache.  All still too familiar to me.  However, as I drove myself up the mountain where we were staying, I realized that if one was going to be doing some suffering, suffering in beauty was the best place to be.  The towering trees. The still snow-covered mountains of Glacier National Park in the distance.  The bluest sky ever seen.  The deer that stare at me, taking me in, and then literally floating through the woods. The birds singing songs of hope to me as I went for a walk with my dog.   These things reminded me of the wonder of life.  All life.  What a miracle it all is.   This was the gift of beautiful sadness.

Lessons from Peanut

One day shortly after I learned that I was pregnant with Peanut, I was driving down a Tennessee highway behind a horse trailer, and I realized that I would probably be there when this child I was carrying would learn what a horse was.  A simple thought, yet it was a huge moment for me. Obviously, I have seen Peanut discover many other things beyond horses, and it has been a treat.  Too often in my parenthooding (new word), I have focused on what I am teaching her and what lessons she is learning.  I try to strike up conversations in the car about choosing friends, being kind, sharing with other less fortunate, etc.  Let's face it.  I have a wealth of vast wisdom that she needs to glean from me every available second, right?  Hmmm.
This weekend, we went antiquing.  Peanut loves it.  If there was money to be made as an obscure doll-finder, she'd be our million dollar kid. I love that about her.  I stood in this giant antique hall and heard myself say for the 50th time, "Come on.  We are moving along now.  You have to stay with us."  Yada, yada, yada.  I hate those phrases coming out of my mouth so much.  So I stopped.  And I let her teach me.  She showed me the beauty of slowing down so you don't miss something that could be quite special.  Peanut Life Lesson #1.  She taught me that just because something was originally made to be some sort of thing-a-ma-jig for a car battery, doesn't mean it can't be a perfect pretend thermometer for a sick dolly. Many things have many uses if we open our minds and play.  Peanut Life Lesson #2. She demonstrated the wonder of discovery.  Seeing giant Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls were a big thing and merited an in depth conversation with them, no matter who might be watching or listening.  No need to filter oneself or be self-conscious. Peanut Life Lesson #3. On the way home she was singing along to a Broadway Kids album like she was making her debut on the Great White Way. Whatever you love to do, do it with complete abandon. Peanut Life Lesson #4.  So I will be paying more attention to this adorable little teacher because she has a lot to teach me and I have a lot to learn. Peanut Life Lesson #5.

Rants and Raves

I can't hold this in.  Something really bothered me today and I am going to share.  Here's the rant: I was shopping with Peanut today at Kohl's, a nice all-American kind of store.  Nothing cutting edge about Kohl's, really.  I like it more now that Vera Wang is on board, but they still are not the go to place for me if I want to be hip or cool looking.  Imagine my shock today when looking for new pj's in the girls section size 4-6x to find an entire RACK (pun intended) of bras for girls ... size 4-6x.  Speechless, for a second, then  confusion sets in.  Who in the world is buying a bra for a girl this age/size? Somebody must be or I am sure Candie's wouldn't be making them.  FYI, the website says for girls size 7-16.  The store had a sign on the rack "4-6x". Now I am a mom that probably painted my daughter's nails earlier than some and even lets her wear lip gloss, when she wants "make-up".  But make up and nails are fun!!! Bras are uncomfortable, restrictive and honestly not that necessary if you are an A cup and/or  haven't graduated from kindergarten yet. If I could, I would go without one all the time, but a little weight gain and 13 months of breast feeding will no longer allow that. In my opinion, the only time a bra is fun is when someone else is taking it off of you. Is there anyone out there who can explain this to me?  (The pre-k bra thing.  I've got the fun thing about bras covered.) I was wondering if Kohl's also provides a salesperson dressed like a Bratz doll to give Peanut a proper bra fitting. Should I expect to find Dora print thongs next?

Oh look, something positive!  A rave:  I am a new fan of cream eyeshadow.  Maybelline has a great color trio that I love.  Looks great with my hazel eyes.  Takes maybe 5 seconds to put on.  Fingers do fine by me. Slap on some eyeliner, usually powder  with help of a brush(10 seconds, or 2 minutes if I am digging for said brush), and mascara (20 seconds, 30 if I curl them). In less than a minute, I look like a million bucks.  Well, at least 50 bucks!

Another rant:

Dear big name peanut butter makers,

    If you are going to jump into the all natural peanut butter arena, don't add sugar to it and call it natural.  Last time I checked, natural means to come from nature. Peanuts in natural form don't have sugar in them. Just stick to the partially hydrogenated crap you make, if you aren't gonna do it right.  And people, you must read your labels if you really want to make informed healthy choices. 

Rave: Hulu and all other networks and sites that let me watch my fave TV shows online.  Our TV is busted and it happened at the worst time.  I was sick, just took Peanut to school and came home to make my comfy palette on the couch and watch/sleep to trashy TV for the better part of the day.  

This is what I saw. Giant gasp!!!!!!!

That was 4 weeks ago. Now, we bought this TV at least 10 years ago  at "Nobody Beats The Wiz".  It was the floor sample.  The remote had been hot glued to the side of it. I was not stunned that the TV gave out on us.  I didn't get to see any paternity tests or hear a redneck crowd yell, "Jerry! Jerry!"  that day. However, thanks to  Hulu and many other network websites, I can still watch my shows.  So, we have put off replacing the outdated, oversized television until we find a great deal on a flat screen.  Plus with hulu you get to see the funnier clips of SNL without enduring the slow, not funny sketches.  I am all caught up on The Good Wife, Parenthood, Brothers and Sisters, Grey's Anatomy, The Voice and even my mindless, guilty pleasure since high school, The Young and the Restless. Cue music to "Nadia's Theme".

                 

Messages

Lately, I have been thinking about messages.  What kind of messages do I listen to?  What kind of messages do I send?  What kind of messages does my daughter hear?  Our world?

A few months ago, I read a book called "Cinderella Ate My Daughter".  This really got me to thinking about messages we are sending young girls.  I have a bittersweet relationship with all things princess and Barbie.  I mean, I played with Barbies for hours on end as a little girl.  I had the airplane that folded up kind of like a suitcase.  Loved it!  I had the big Barbie head that you could do her hair.  I honestly believe this was the beginning of my obsession with hair. My little Peanut has loved Disney Princesses since her first viewing of "Cinderella". Harmless, right? I think she was 2.  She cried when it was over, not understanding that we could watch it again.  Oh, how sweet, I thought.  This reconnects me to my chidhood.  I was in "Beauty and the Beast" and she loves Belle. Yada, yada, yada.  However, the flip side of this is am I teaching my daughter that the prince is the only one who can save us?  Fulfillment can only be found in romantic love? Should girls aspire to be the image of Barbie to feel confident? Peggy Orentstein raises these questions plus many others about the way too early sexualization of little girls and what it means to be feminine.  I don't always agree with her.  I believe there should be a balance and this book raised my awareness about the messages I let Peanut hear.

Mothering surely brings responsibility to what messages I personally send to Peanut.  She watches every move I make and is like a sponge.  No worries, I started the "therapy fund" the day after she was born. The other day she brought me an ad from a "Southern Living" mag  and asked so sweetly, "Mom, why don't you ever look like that?".  The add was for a department store.  The add was for jewelry and the model was shot from her bare shoulders up.  Her hair was pulled back in some sort of simple up-do.  She was wearing simple make-up with a brighter shade of lipstick.  Her neck was draped with bold and bright necklaces.  My response, after a little chuckle, was, "Wow, she looks nice, right?".  Hmmmmm.  What was Peanut getting at?  Does she think I need to accessorize more?  I probably do.  More lipstick?  It's possible.  Or is it that this woman looks, confident, at ease with herself and ready to take on the world?  I could surely stand to have  more of that in my life.  It was a funny moment when Peanut asked this perfectly innocent question of me.  But I really began to think about what she is learning from me.

I won't get all political here,  but I indeed thought of the messages sent as the world digested the news of the death of an evil man last week.  I can't even bring myself to mention his name in this blog. I just kept asking myself what kind of citizen of the human race am I and what messages  do I proclaim to the world?

Finally, I wonder what messages I send to myself.  Yesterday, I took the extra few minutes to make myself a yummy spinach salad with strawberries, pecans, avocado and balsamic vinaigrette.  A simple task.  But usually, I throw whatever leftovers we might have in my bag and run for the door, exclaiming, "Come on! We are late!". As I was taking the timing to chop the fruit, I asked myself why I don't do this more often. What am I telling myself when I don't take the time to make a healthy and enjoyable meal for myself?  Honestly, our leftovers are pretty healthy.  Or paint my toes? Or linger in bed a little longer to read a book? The point is, why don't I take the time to nurture myself?  These are messages I not only sending to myself, but Peanut and Husband as well. To quote Dr Phil, " You give people permission for how they can treat you." Let's all do a collective rolling of the eyes that I am quoting him.  However, I do believe it and I believe it begins with how they see us treat ourselves.

To Do List: Things to do for yourself

#1  Give your underwear an overhaul. I was getting ready for bed the other night, when I noticed and chuckled at the size of my bra as I was removing it.  This is the most comfortable bra I have ever owned and it's not because it was super expensive.  I am not even sure where or when it was purchased.  I think it feels so good to wear because I was fitted by a pro. The cup size sounds shockingly big to me because I am not someone they called "Jugs" in college. However, this is the size recommended to me.  Okay I'll just spit it out.  It's a 34D. Yes, a D cup!  "Take that!" I say to the girls in the 7th grade who put a contraption in my locker that was basically a Thighmaster for bigger boobs.  It was a cheap plastic pink thing shaped like two ovals with a strong spring in the middle that one would squeeze, I assume : / while chanting, "I must. I must. I must increase my bust." Whew!  That felt good to get off my chest. Back to the To Do List.  Women, go see a professional bra fitter.  You won't regret it and will probably be shocked at how many years you have been wearing the wrong size.  I was wearing a 32 or 34B.  Ouch. We all know that our bodies change as we age and breasts are no exception.  Gravity is just not kind to that area, so go get a little help. We can still look perky at any age and say good-bye to the extra rolls our bras give us by digging into our skin. Men, since you don't wear bras, please for heaven's sake, throw out the holey underwear.  I recently heard a quote where you can tell the state of the economy by looking in a man's underwear and sock drawer. So true, right? Well, if things are tight, waistbands included, then keep an eye out for a sale at Target and buy yourselves a different kind of six pack.

#2 Turn off the noise.  I was sitting in front of the TV after putting Peanut to bed and nothing was on. Husband was gone. I don't have DVR, so I couldn't just watch something I like to watch that I had taped.  Usually, my routine would be to watch a show and do the dishes and picking up during commercials.  But this particular night, I just turned it off.  I did the dishes in silence. Ahhh, silence. I had forgotten you. Normally, I might have otherwise chosen to listen to some tunes. I listened instead to the sound of the wind(I am in Oklahoma.  There's lots of it!) and the tip tap of my dogs toes on our wood floor.  I remained in silence for the rest of the night. And I actually was much more productive. I moved on to some hand-washables, a more strenuous cleaning of my stovetop, and sat down to read a book.  It soothed my soul more than a repeat of Oprah or a the "kuh-kuh" sound of Law and Order: SVU ever could.  I felt a bit decadent. Try it.

#3 See a therapist.  No, seriously.  This is the God's honest truth. I can think of no better way to spend your money than to see a professional who can reveal and help you change those patterns you might be doing over and over and over again.  It's just pretty simple in my book.  You won't regret this one for sure.  Seriously. The best gift you can give to yourself.

Three Little Words

The title of this post could be misleading.  While I believe that hearing the words "I Love You" and hearing them often is crucial, that' s not where I am heading today.  Some nights "Red Wine Now" could be the three most important words I say.  But I am not talking about soothing my stressful soul with an alcoholic libation either.  Here's the story...( of a lovely lady, just kidding)...
It's a Friday evening.  It's hot. 90 degrees. Our AC isn't working.  Husband has been working more hours than any person should. He is choreographing the musical at the university where he teaches, on top of his already crazy heavy load as a professor.  So his time at home has been limited.  Like only home for dinner for maybe 2 hours and then it's back to school. He couldn't be a more attentive father and husband. I adore this man.  One of the reasons I adore him is because he is so great at playing with our daughter.  She has a vast imagination and he happily pretends to be Gaston, Lefou, Ursula and King Triton all in one story.  Back to the Friday.  Did I say it was hot?  They were outside playing, in the middle of a very tense moment for Ariel, I assume.  I am preparing dinner, as much in the  microwave as possible so I don't raise the temp of our already sun baked kitchen. I asked Peanut if she would please feed the dog.  "No, I am playing with my dad." Ok.  I get it.  Choosing battles.  She has had a few meltdowns over missing him. To husband. "Could you please feed the dog?"  I get a little grumbling about spending time with Peanut, but he does in fact, feed the dog.  I stew for a moment. I have stewing down to an art some days. I begin to recall the plate from breakfast that gets left on the table as he rushes out the door .  I count every pair of shoes in the middle of the floor, just from where I am standing.  Okay, I admit, a couple are mine. Then I stop myself and resolve to speak up at dinner to say three very important and powerful little words.
Here goes : I need help.
I didn't raise my voice, shed a tear, or get all defensive and list all the many times I wasn't helped. I just made the statement.  They listened and said, "OK."  The rest of our dinner that followed was lovely.

This was a huge lesson for me.  There are so many things in life I can't control. I can't even control on what level Husband and Peanut will actually help, which has been superb, by the way.  However, I can control how I react.  I can control how I proceed when faced with something that could very easily piss tick me off.  (That's for my mom,  She hates the "p" word). I can either simply and undramatically state what  I need or I can brood over it for the next 5 hours and verbally attack Husband when he comes through the door late after a grueling rehearsal.  That's so not fun or pretty and really puts a damper on any possibility of either of us getting lucky later. Plus,  I am teaching Peanut by example how to ask for what you need without manipulation and I am including her in the tasks of being a family. It felt so good not to be the martyr.
I began to think about this lesson further beyond being a mom and/or wife.  How many times in my life have I needed to say these words to a friend, to a family member, a boss?  I need help.  My life is overwhelming. I need validation, etc. Just state it simply with no defenses. Not mull it over in my mind a million times and play a strong hand of guilt or slip so comfortably into my victim costume.  Let me confess that costume is worn out.
It's time to don our Wonder Woman costumes, do our best Lynda Carter spin and enlist the help of our fellow super heros.

Why I Loved Grey's Anatomy, The Musical

I realize I am a week late in this post, but Momma's been busy. I was a few days behind in watching Glee's Grey's Anatomy, but felt compelled to respond to some of the uproar. It is no surprise that I love most all things musical.  It's in my blood.  Here are the top three reasons I was thrilled they did it.
Number one reason, Sara Ramirez.  For those of you who don't know, she plays Callie Torres.  I have known of Sara since 1998. Husband worked with her back then in a regional theater production of Gershwin's Fascinating Rhythm.  He would later make his Broadway debut in this production with her. When I first heard her sing I was mesmerized. My heart literally ached a little when I heard her voice.  Not only that, she was such a great actress.  Funny, poignant, and smart.  So a few days before the episode, Husband shared with me her new EP that he had just purchased on itunes.  No shock that I loved it, but most especially her cover of "The Story".  What a superb song.  So when Sara/Callie sang it at the end of the episode I was beside myself, in a good way.  Finally the rest of the world would get to experience this amazingly talented woman.  Buy it on itunes.  You won't be disappointed.
I heard that when she was in Spamalot on Broadway, for which she won the TONY for Best Actress, that the ABC execs came to her and said she could pick any show she wanted to be in and she chose Grey's.  I don't know if that's even true, but I like to hear stories like that.  A ridiculously talented theater girl gets appreciated by big TV guys.  Thank God she didn't choose a short-lived sitcom that I cannot even remember the name of now.
The second reason I loved this episode is because if I were bleeding on the hood of a car and having an outer body experience, this is how it would be for me.  When I was dancing 7 days a week as a kid/young adult, I used to dream in pirouettes.  Like I'd be doing insane numbers of pirouettes in the style of Baryshnikov in White Knights.  (Still one of my fave movie scenes.)  My older adult life has been more about music, singing it, writing it, listening to it.  Sometimes I can express myself so much better in a song.  So I could totally relate to her hallucinations.
Thirdly, while I am a Glee watcher, I'd much rather watch this kind of story line over teens, and adults for that matter, with out of control hormones week after week.  I am all for promoting and supporting the love of music and dance. Plus, I like anything that pulls for the underdog.  But I  even more appreciate the use of the musical format for more adult and thoughtful storytelling.
I will say this....I did wonder if Patrick Dempsey and others said, "Hell no!  I will not sing."  Or did they have to audition for their solos like back in high school glee club?  That made me giggle a bit to think of Sandra Oh singing "I Enjoy being A Girl" and Shonda Rhimes abruptly stopping her mid-song with a dismissive "Thank You". I also felt like some the actors were clearly not used to acting while singing.  But I enjoyed it nonetheless. I loved that they took a risk and tried something new. Something we all should do now and then.

No More Excuses!!!

It amazes me how easy it is for me to talk myself out of what I want.  I'm not talking about a new pair of wedges ( I have a deep love for them) and a new dress, or even a cup of Starbucks. 

 I am talking about my 

DREAMS 

here.  

Yes, 

DREAMS!!! 

 As soon as I figure out what I want, my thoughts go straight to how it won't work, or won't happen, or how difficult it would be.  It's a horrible habit. I wonder how many others out there are like me in this way.  When I was younger, I wouldn't bat an eye at anything I'd want.  I'd hop on a plane to go to an audition.  I'd drive to unknown places to for a long shot chance at my dream.  But as I got older, I started focusing more on possible obstacles instead of possible victories.  I hate that.  I miss the younger me who'd just take a running leap into the vast unknown and embrace it while I am flying.  Nike's campaign of JUST DO IT speaks to me, because I find so many excuses not to.  

Just Do It.  

Don't calculate.  Don't make a positive and negative list. 

 Just Do It.  

My Dear, talented writer/actress/super-mom, Friend  suggested this book called "Begin With Yes".  It's a simple book that offers suggestions to get energy moving in your favor by taking action every day. Now, I have believed and studied the law of attraction for a few years now.  But there is something about that title that really speaks to me.  Like "Just Do It".   It has been lovingly brought to my attention by Husband that I usually begin with, "Ehhhhh.  I don't know.   It probably won't work because of x, y and z!".  What a horrible title that would make for a book.  Well, that could have been my biography.  

So these past few weeks I have caught myself with a mouthful of excuses.  I am glad to say that I am acquiring a distaste for them.  I am grateful that I have loving and supportive people in my life like Husband and Dear Friend who will guide me, advise me, and call me on my sh*t stuff.  Though, it is true, Husband has been kindly putting up helping me with this part of myself for years and I didn't really change until Dear Friend stepped in.  Instead I gave Husband excuses for why I was making excuses.  Yeah, I was that bad! 

Last week, I decided to attend an audition in Dallas.  Recently, I have not had positive experiences in this area of my dreams.  As was my modus operandi, I thought of all the ways I couldn't do the gig, be away from family, be near family, and juggle motherhood and career.  Then I stopped myself mid-negative rant and decided to begin with yes.  I went to the audition.  It proved to be a lovely, lovely, lovely experience that renewed my faith in theater folk and myself.  I don't think I will get a call from them this time.  But I do want to pursue future employment with them.  Most of all, I shall continue to begin with yes.  Dr. Wayne Dyer, an author ("Excuses Begone" and many other amazing books) and teacher I deeply respect says, "When you correct your mind, everything else falls into place." I will continue to correct where my thoughts are going and let the rest fall into place.

Live in the Present

 

Last summer, I was in a fabulous production of "Hair" at Alpine Theatre Project in Whitefish, MT (aka Heaven on Earth). For an opening night gift, Husband and Peanut gave me a bracelet that read "Live in the  present".  I loved it.  So appropriate for that show.  Somehow this cherished gift got misplaced in our last move, perhaps along with its message.  While Husband and I were going through our taxes, we found the receipt and reminded me of it.  This is why I kind of enjoy doing taxes, because it is a walk down memory lane for me.  This also why it takes me forever, as I sit and reminisce over fond moments.  Back to the story.

I loved last summer.  I faced fears and things I thought I'd never do. Hiking mountains, kayaking and public nudity, to name a few.  Not at the same time.  But it was "Hair" and as a woman who had given birth and was knocking on 40's door,  being in my birthday suit  became no big deal.  People asked if it was freeing.  Kinda.  But I realized it's just a body and it has been good to me and it was not a sexual thing in any way.  It was celebrating all parts of me, from my legs, which I love thanks to years of dancing, to my gut and back fat. It was done so tastefully and so briefly that even a theater critic missed it as she looked down at her program for a moment. I spent most of last summer either outdoors in the most beautiful landscape I have ever seen, or on a stage, my home, my love.  I was challenged by my cast mates by hiking and getting reacquainted with my quads again, and by encouraging  myself to not filter and judge my instincts as an actor. Husband even directed me in the final production of the summer. He's brilliant. All were equally exhilarating.

I know it sounds like I am living in the past. Actually, thinking about last summer and looking down at those simple but powerful words on my bracelet, remind me of so much.  My future is less certain this summer.  I will not be acting on a stage as I had hoped.  However,  I will be back in Montana to play with Peanut while Husband directs and choreographs "She Loves Me."  I will be sure to hike and kayak, but will probably abstain from public nudity.  So as I cherish my past and look forward to future adventures, I live in the present and love the present.  For it is a gift.  Each breath, each thought, each laugh, each tear, each hug, each moment.  The present is what makes my past wonderful and my future exciting.

Ssssssselebrating My Uniquenessssssssssssssss

This may seem hard to believe, but I was almost 30 before I really realized I had a lisp, a sibilant S, any sort of speech issue.  Apparently, when I was a child it had been suggested to my parents to send me to a speech therapist, but they didn't want it to become something I was self-conscious about.  As a parent now, I completely understand and appreciate their decision to just let me be me.  I am sure back then, they had no idea I'd want to be an actress.  Fast forward to college, where my voice teacher mentioned it to me, but almost in passing, so I didn't think much of it and therefore didn't seek any assistance.   I was only reminded of it when stupid college boys would mimic me, like they were funny and clever.  But still, I guess I was dense or in complete denial, it never occurred to me that I REALLY had a lisp.

Moving on to 2001, I had message on my answering machine (Remember those?) from a former co-worker who was studying to be a speech therapist and wanted to know about my speech therapy history, ya know, backstory.  Y'all ( say that with the heaviest Southern accent possible), this threw me for a loop.  You mean, people can tell I have a lisp?  Seriously, this went through my mind.  By this time, I had been working steadily in NYC, on Broadway and National Tours and in classes and no one had ever referred to any speech issue.  I began to walk down a very dark tunnel of doubt, after this.  I did seek out a speech therapist, who was somewhat helpful. However, by now I am 30 and it's tough to to teach an old dog a new way to speak.  I was also on the hunt for a new agent at this time and I met with a particularly horrible man, with bad plugs I might add, who compared me to Winthrop, the lisping boy, in Music Man.  To my face. This sent me reeling even further.  I continued to study with the therapist for a while longer, but it wasn't cheap.  My money would've been better spent on a psychotherapist, which came a few years later. (Best gift I EVER gave myself!!!!)
Here I am today.  I am a grown woman turning 40 this year and fully aware and embracing this part of me.  How I speak truly is a part of who I am.  If I changed to sound like everyone else, I feel like I might be the Jennifer Grey of lispers. So I share this clever lisper with you(beware, it is slightly off color), because I love it and it reminds me to be proud of all partsssss of me.

Love and Generosity

11 years ago today, I married the love of my life.  Insert collective  "Awwww" or  pantomime gagging.  Either way you react, I love this day of the year.  Our anniversary reminds me of what a lucky lady I am.  I married a man who is kind, funny, handsome, uber-talented, helpful, supportive, encouraging, a great dad and he calls me on my sh*t.  Yet, this day reminds me of why I am lucky beyond just my great taste in a spouse.  You see, 11 years ago, Husband  and I were both in Broadway shows. I was in "Beauty and the Beast" and he was in "Saturday Night Fever."  We were busy planning a wedding back in Texas while living in NYC and like any wedding planning, I felt  a bit stressed.  One night a few weeks before the wedding, I got a phone call from Husband's cast mate and friend telling me that a few guys from the show want to surprise him and could I try to get him to show up at a particular restaurant after the show one night.  Sure.  Easy enough. I can't even remember what my excuse was, but I was also suppose to show up with him for a second to say hello. After my show, I meet him at the stage door and we walk a few blocks with my cast mate who says she's meeting her friends for a drink. Fast forward, Husband and I walk into John's Pizza and go upstairs to be greeted by both of our entire casts who cheered us on and hollered "Surprise!"  My cast mate and dear friend arrived right after.  She had thrown us off any suspicious scent. We felt so celebrated.  They showered us with gifts and a small box that we opened to find $500 worth of $5 bills taped together in a long roll.  If you have never been a part of the community of actors, stagehands, dressers, stage managers, any theater people, then you probably don't know that they are the most generous selfless group around.
So, March 4th always, always brings a smile to my face.  I remember how 2 days before my wedding I had a horrible stomach virus, but woke up feeling fantastic on the big day. I remember being surrounded by my family and close friends who flew and drove many miles and endured a hail storm to witness our day.  I remember my bridesmaids who rescheduled a spa day surprise around my inopportune sickness.  I remember how special our vows were, including both tears and laughter. But a huge memory that I hold very dear to me, is the ridiculous amount of love and generosity that our co-workers, who were also  our friends, bestowed upon us.  Each year,  we celebrate our love, but we also celebrate the love that has been continually given to us over the years.  That's how we have made it this far.

The Power of Good Hair

I am a bit hair obsessed.  You wouldn't know it if you just met me in the past 4 years, as my hair has spent most of it's time in a pony tail or under a ball cap, or both.  However, pre-Peanut, I treated myself to follicle pampering quite often.  And I was a risk taker.  In the past 15 years, my hair has been a bright red Caesar cut, strawberry blonde layered bob, strawberry blonde perm, long rocker blonde (which someone actually called a mullet to my face), blonde layers with pink highlights (Hugh Jackman's wife complemented me on that look), long straight auburn/brunette, short asymmetrical brunette (looked too much like my mom, nothing personal mom : / ), and finally long straight blonde with obvious natural blonde roots. I took risks because I trusted the people who's hands were transforming me.  For the past four years or so, I have received maybe 6 haircuts and many box colors. It's because I have become afraid to trust anyone again.  My hair/heart had been broken by a burly heterosexual hairstylist in NYC. When I would get out of his chair, I felt gorgeous, powerful and strong.  He left me, and the rest of his NYC clientele, to be with his kids in Omaha.  OMAHA?  Seriously.  This happened back in 2004, maybe even earlier.  I haven't been in love, with my hair, since. I have not felt the same way about my hairstylists since.  Not that they weren't talented people who did great work.  But just like the ex-boyfriend that you can't get over, I kept comparing everyone to him and couldn't move on.

I recently realized this had to change.  I finally made an appointment to cut and color my hair last week.  I had at least 5 inches of ashy, mousey blonde roots that were hideous.  The rest of my hair  was an almost platinum color that I received from a hair-color disaster this summer.  While playing Crissy in "Hair", I gladly colored my hair red at the director's request.  The next show, the director wanted me to be blonde again.  By the way, the second director was Husband.  Gentlemen do prefer blondes, in his case. The kind and hard working stylist did her best to strip all red without stripping hair from my scalp and the result, 12 hours later, was brassy platinum blonde.  So, here I am ready for a good hair experience.  I come home from my appointment and Husband says, "Whaddya think?"  I vacillate with my semi-positive response. He accuses  illuminates me that I never like my hair cuts and colors anymore.  WHAT?  I am that hard to please?  I thought about it for a minute.  Husband is right.  I haven't LOVED my hair since my burly Edward Scissorhands left to be a Nebraskan.  Time for a change in attitude. I called my recent stylist, who said I could come back in if I did not like it.  She was great!!! She made my color a little less brassy, even calling someone for advice.  Resourceful. I like that. Then she let me tell her what I really wanted with my cut, understood and did it. You see, when one only cuts their hair twice a year, once can lose touch with the proper vocabulary to even convey what they want.   She had done exactly what I asked the first visit, like all of the others before her.  It was me who couldn't get over my Cornhusker Stylist.  I finally let him and go and embraced a new possibility.  I walked out of that salon feeling like a million bucks.  That's the power of good hair.  It can change us.  I was long overdue. "Because I'm worth it!!!"

New Favorites

I am no Oprah, but I do have a few new favorite things that I want to share.  Sorry.  I will not be giving all readers keys to a new car or a cruise to Australia.  However, you could find something new that just might bring a little joy to your life.

New Favorite Album:  Waitress by Meaghan Farrell. I love her raw voice.  I want to be as cool as her.  We sang at the same benefit a few years ago and I said to myself that this girl needs to be heard.  Now you can buy her album on itunes.  I have been cooking to it for weeks now.
Check out her video here. I love "Lost in My Life"... she sings "sing away all the pain"- I can relate to that lyric. And "Waitress" is perfect for any of us who have waited tables. Smart, quirky and positive!!!!

New Favorite Recipe: Minestrone with Roasted Veggies and Whole Grain Pasta. I know it's not very sexy.   I am not usually a big minestrone fan.  But I loved this!!!!  I have been on a veggie roasting kick since the blizzard and I think that's the secret to this great tasting not too tomatoey soup.  Even better as left-overs!!

40 minutes prep/serves 8

3 medium zucchini, diced

2 large carrots, peeled and chopped

2 red bell peppers, seeded and chopped

2 Tbsp olive oil

   Salt and pepper

4 c low-sodium veg broth

1 28 oz can diced tomatoes, undrained

1 15 oz canred kidney beans, undrained

1 tsp dried oregano

2 c cooked small whole grain pasta shells

1. Preheat oven to 475 degrees

2. Place zucchini, carrots, and bell peppers in a large roasting pan. Toss with oil.  Season with salt and pepper to taste.  Roast veggies for 20 to 25 minutes, stirring occasionally, until lightly browned and tender.  Set aside.

3. In a large soup pot, combine broth with tomatoes with their juice and undrained beans.  Stir to combine.  Add oregano.

4.  Bring mixture to a boil.  Reduce heat to medium low.  Add roasted vegetables.  Simmer for 15 minutes, stirring occasionally.

5. Stir in cooked pasta and adjust seasonings. Serve immediately.

New Favorite Book:  This Is Not The Story You Think It Is... A Season of Unlikely Happiness 

                                   by Laura Munson

I couldn't put this book down.  She not only speaks my language about choosing happiness and not letting outstanding circumstances take away your joy, but she lives in the most beautiful place I have ever been that got under my skin ( in a good way) last summer.  I feel a kindred spirit with her.  I suggest following her blog too.  She is also a frequent writer for The Huffington Post.  If you only read one book this year, this should be it.  I put it on reserve at my library and read it for free.

Old Favorite Coffee:  Cafe Bustelo. The best cheap coffee ever.  I can even find it at Wal-Mart in OKC.

Share your favorite things.

Oh, Max!!

A while back, we had an incident in our home with our dog.  We have a rescued beagle, Max, age @ 12 years,  with many food issues and the "incident" was a biggie.  Peanut and I had just made some yummy curry chicken salad with the help of Trader Joe's. (Oh, how I miss you TJ's). We had eaten the delectable salad in a wrap, flour tortilla to be specific.  Max loves most foods, except for bananas and oranges.  These are the only safe foods for Peanut to snack on without our guidance, or she would probably draw back a bloody knub.  I feel as though I should say, for those of you who have not met him, that he really is a sweet dog.  He will snuggle with you and keep you warm. And he always seems to know when to give you love when your heart is a bit sad.  However, on this dreadful day, he decided to jump up and reach for the flour tortillas, which just so happened to be underneath the Pyrex bowl of curry chicken salad.  He was successful in acquiring the plastic bag of tortillas and realized he had gained a big bonus of a bowl of chicken salad.  The Pyrex bowl shattered on our tile floor and Max proceeded to ingest the entire contents, large chunks of Pyrex included.  I will stop here to say that I honestly believe this will be Peanut's first memory that she will share with her therapist, which I fully support, in years to come.  I am a mess, looking at Max's blood all over the floor as he continues to devour whatever he can.  At this point, I am begging Peanut to,  "Please go watch Dora!!!".    I call my husband in a panic who is working almost 200 hundred blocks away, which in Manhattan means  he is easily a half hour or more away.   Fast forward, 2 surgeries and $5,000 later.  Yes, that's five thousand.  He was a miracle dog.  After removing large shards of glass, the vets could not believe he survived.  

Well, here we are again. Today, I am feeling a bit under the weather,  but felt the need to organize the cupboard with the peanut butter jar.  If there's anything Max loves much more than curry chicken salad, it's peanut butter.  Bread is first, but peanut butter is a very close second.  I dropped the glass peanut butter jar on our tile floor and Max was right there to take advantage of the situation.    I yelled, " If you eat this glass, you are dying this time!!!"  I am not proud of this moment.  But I had hit my limit with this dog today.  I remember right after I gave birth to Peanut, a very honest friend referred to our dog saying, "Don'tcha love him just a little bit less?".  It's kinda true.  He did get much lower on the totem pole. However, today, I was reminded that I was not just speaking, okay, yelling at my dog.  I was yelling at Peanut's dog.  I broke her heart a little today.  Oh yeah, I should add, we interceded in time and no glass was ingested, that we are aware of.  But I could tell she was sad to the edge of tears. I apologized to her for saying that to Max, admitting that it was wrong and she so sweetly said, "Even when you yell at Max, I still love you."  Oh, do you hear the cracking of my heart?  I honestly want to give him away at least twice a week or more.  But then he snuggles up to me at night and I forgive him.  More importantly, Peanut snuggles up to him and loves on him and he just takes it so sweetly.  So disaster averted and lesson learned.  He's not just my dog anymore.  

I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar!

Not long after I gave birth to Peanut, I found myself frustrated that I was so unprepared for just how hard motherhood was.  Now that 4 1/2 years have passed, I realize this sounds so naive.  But I was genuinely appalled that in the midst of conversations about soft pink blankets, birthing plans, breast feeding, and nipple cream no one mentioned crazy hormones that make you think you have lost your mind, sleep deprivation that impairs so many, many things, and just a general sense of madness that I might/would feel. Not friends, family, or doctors. Not even the numerous books I read.  I guess they assumed I knew it already, or they had already forgotten what it was like, right along with the horrific birthing pain.
About  a year and a half ago, I has a miscarriage... another topic no one discusses. We were devastated. I had dear friends that I had known forever share their same experience with me, after the fact. I had no idea. I get it.  It is a touchy, very personal and painful subject. I got the sense, though, that there was an air of shame surrounding such a loss, from so many. I continued to ask myself, "Why doesn't anyone talk about it?"
Well, here I am again.  Only now I am showing signs of perimenopause.  My hormones have been absolutely ridiculous and have lead to irrational thinking, self-loathing, fatigue and a fluctuating libido.  It feels a bit like post-pregnant life.  But it has taken me by surprise.  You see I am 39 years old, but I still feel 28.  And I was still trying to get pregnant. I am less appalled because I am on the younger end of these symptoms and many of my friends may not yet be there at all.  I also come from a very conservative, discreet family that doesn't talk about such subjects often.  But I have been in many female dressing rooms and not heard much on the subject, except maybe an occasional hot flash complaint. I have made a Dr.'s appointment to check things out and get more info.  To me, knowledge is most definitely power when it comes to my health.
The challenge is to get us talking now. (Cue Helen Reddy music) We are a sisterhood.  We are also a family of brothers and sisters who will inevitably have some woman in our lives going through any one of these feminine phases sooner or later.  I want to take away any shame and encourage frank discussions about being a woman, and understanding the women in our lives, especially ourselves.

Using My Periscope

I want to share with you a recent interview a friend of mine did with Jane Pauley.  His name is Tripp Hanson and he has inspired me for the entire 10 plus years of our friendship.  We met when he was a very accomplished triple threat in the Broadway community. At the time, we both lived in a NJ suburb of NYC.  We'd watch each others dogs, share many bottles of wine, and quite often discuss our life journey. During the course of our friendship, he began to study acupuncture and eventually would work on both me, for allergies and infertility, and Husband, for various injuries incurred by being a Broadway dancer.  As I have been searching a path for my next phase of post-Broadway life, I have almost daily thought of Tripp and his courage to leap.

In his interview, Tripp speaks of "putting up your periscope to see what grabs you."  I loved that.  What a perfect way to describe that openness to seek out what intrigues you.  I hope you'll take a few minutes to watch this.  He's adorable and Jane is obviously and understandably smitten with him.  May you also be inspired and encouraged to put up your periscope.

Date Night Is Not Just For Nerds

I used to think that the nerdiest phrase in the English language was "Date Night".  I'd imagine a frumpy-ish woman, in her fresh pressed front-pleated khakis, cardigan sweater, and sensible hairstyle, going to dinner with her comb-over husband.  I never understood why people felt this bizarre need to name such an event.  Why can't they just "go out"?
Then I had a child.
When Peanut was an infant, I still held this judgement toward a planned night out between a husband and wife.  Well, I didn't judge the night, just the title.  I held the belief that we didn't need to be so rigid.  We could still be spontaneous.  But as Peanut got older and time to connect with Husband got smaller,  I found that I was actually jealous of said "date nights".  That's because we were never just going out and being spur of the moment.  I also realized that none of the ladies I knew who were going on "date night" even owned a pair of khakis.  : )
Date night is give its own title because it is actually a huge deal to a couple with children.  It's also a huge dent to the pocketbook.  Much bigger than any dent a date made pre-child.  Childcare cost at least doubles the expense of the night, especially in NYC when travel time is, at the very minimum, one hour of the outing.  And to be honest, it's a huge deal because we get to have an uninterrupted conversation, eat yummy gourmet food, drink heavily, and maybe even make out in the cab ride home.  I don't know about you, but all of those things just don't tend to happen in my house in one night. That's not a complaint or a strike against Husband, because I love all the other nights of my life with him and Peanut.  But finding the time and funding to "date" is not as easy as I used to think.  Husband and I try to take advantage of visiting grandparents without being too abusive so that we might whisk away for some alone time.  We also try to have post-putting-Peanut-to bed date nights in home, as well.  Yet, dates are still too few and far between in this economy and life schedule.
I now hold this once square name in high regard.  I love "date night".  So what, if it is not spontaneous.  Sometimes, planning time to be together, says so much more.
Here's to a Happy Valentine's Day, no matter where or how it was celebrated!!!

I Miss Exit Applause

Back in my Broadway The-a-tuh days, I was lucky to be in the very talented and generous company of Beauty and the Beast.  I played Silly Girl #1.  There were three "Sillies" and we were the desperate yet comedic tramps who swooned for Gaston's attention.  Our part wasn't huge.  We didn't even get our own bow at the curtain call. Boo! But it was really fun.  The three of us  had to work closely and feel and feed off each other to create anything remotely funny. We were a bit like the Three Stooges with great cleavage.  Lots of bumps, faints, trips, etc.  Every now and then, as we would exit from our scene, we could here some gratitude from the audience in the the beautiful form of exit applause.  Exit applause, in my opinion, is quite different from entrance applause, or end of the show applause.  Entrance applause often is bestowed upon celebrities or well-known theatre royalty, as a way of saying, "Yay!  We are glad to see you."  But it is not always given because  the actor is an outstanding talent, though there are many who are.  End of the show applause is polite.  Even at the worst show I have ever seen, which shall remain nameless, I still applauded, because I am nice.  Exit applause says, "Man, that was so good I want you to know right now, even if it slows down the next entrance."  At least that's what it said to me.

To be honest, I miss it.  I have a small circle of people that I see each day. My husband, my daughter, my boss, and various customers in the boutique where I work part-time.  They are all great and supportive people, don't get me wrong.  I am lucky to have them.  My life right now just doesn't have many exit applause worthy moments.  And I will admit, I am needier for this validation than others.

So for now, I will relish in my memories of multiple hands clapping together for  me and my other two Sillies,  and manifest more exit applause worthy moments in my new life.