There's This Thing Called Ignite

Most people I know have watched at least a few Ted Talks, wherever they would have been recorded. They are usually 18 to 25 minutes in length, and can cover any number of topics. The ones I've seen are really powerful and often moving.

There's also a format called Ignite which is much shorter, but less forgiving. Ignite talks are only 5 minutes long; each speaker provides 20 slides which automatically advance every 15 seconds, whether or not the speaker is ready for the next graphic. So while shorter, they require more planning, less extemporaneous speaking, and really, really good graphics.

The event takes place in a theatre in Minneapolis to a live audience of 600 people and is live streamed to hundreds online. Tickets go fast -- the first wave of tickets sold out in less than a minute. Audience members are encouraged to tweet throughout -- the Twitter handle of every speaker is given at the beginning of their talk, and social media is a big component of the event.

I've gone to a few IgniteMpls talks and have enjoyed the variety of topics and the bravery of those who have given them. I've also seen how forgiving the audience is. A few haven't gone off as planned, and the audience has been nothing but encouraging and supportive, which is pretty impressive considering how nasty people can get on Twitter.

After attending my first, I thought I could see myself up there. But what topic? Well, if the theme of the event is "pick your passion," then I know exactly what I'd talk about: inline skating.

It's my passion, it's something most people don't even know exists, and there are tons of different ways to go with it as a subject.

I had submitted that topic for IgniteMpls last fall and it wasn't accepted. However, I re-submitted it for the spring event and it was accepted.

Gulp.

I spent the next few weeks working on the outline, writing, re-writing, getting graphics help, revising graphics, and practicing practicing practicing.

The night of the big event arrived. I had invited my friends to attend, and they turned out in full force -- 10 in all. I was so grateful and appreciative of their support. Wayne and I had special VIP seating for speakers, while everyone else found seats elsewhere.

Eeek!

It was such a trip to see my photo on the speaker placard in the lobby. Sure, I've spoken at industry conferences before, but never to a crowd this big, or had my talk recorded, produced and put on YouTube for all to see and judge for years to come.

It was supposed to be funny, would they find it funny? My friends promised to laugh if no one else did, so there was that.

I was third from last in the line up, which meant that while I enjoyed the talks before mine, I was also nervously awaiting my turn. I most feared that the talk before mine would be incredibly emotional and that I would need time to compose myself before taking the stage. Luckily the one before mine was funny and sweet, so I took to the stage with confidence.

People laughed when they were supposed to laugh, which was a great sign. I had great feedback via Twitter, which was also cool.

When I was done I sat down in my seat and got a text from our babysitter who had let the girls stay up and watch it online. "Way to go!" it said, "They loved it!" Whew, I'm glad I edited the "f" word out of my talk.

Friends make trying new things less scary.

The next day I got an email from the organizer thanking me for speaking, that my talk was fun and engaging and I would be welcome to submit a talk again anytime. Maybe he wrote that to everyone, but I'll take the invitation as a compliment.

Hmmm....next topic?

A 5k In Every State!

Wayne and I flew to Nashville Tennessee for two very special reasons: Jim and Amy Patterson.

Okay, so there was that thing about Wayne running a marathon in every state, and he hadn't hit Tennessee yet, but it was a convenient reason to visit with some dear friends of ours.

The Patterson's used to live down the street from us in Minneapolis. After three glorious years of Minnesota living, they decided to move back to Buffalo, NY. Something about extended family and roots, whatever. They've been back in Buffalo for 7 years now.

Amy shared with me how different the community was for healthy living. Here in the Twin Cities we take things like sidewalks and bike trails for granted; back in Buffalo there weren't any. They don't know many people who walk or bike frequently, and the main entertainment is watching sports, eating wings and drinking beer.

During the past 7 years Amy had been gaining weight, and she finally got sick and tired of being sick and tired. Or, as she put it:

My motto going into this was "I'm done."
I was done being overweight, actually obese. 
Done with the lack of energy
Done being lazy. 
Done eating unhealthy. 
Done feeling like sh*t. 
Done with taking medicine,
Just done.

In September of last year she joined the Transformation Center by Body and Fitness, began making healthier food choices and working out five times a week. She went through a six-week course and dropped 23 pounds. She loved the results so much she signed up for another six-week course and in total dropped 43 pounds.

Before and after - go Amy!

Unbelievable.

Before this program, she'd tried to do the couch-to-5k program a few times, and every time lost the motivation halfway through and didn't end up doing a 5k. This time, she was committed and signed up for a 5k when her husband signed up for a half marathon in Nashville.

And I decided I wanted to be there as her supporter and witness.

So Wayne signed up for the full marathon, I signed up for the 5k, we booked our flights, Patterson's booked hotels and away we went.

That was one of the best weekend getaways we've ever had. We had a great time exploring the city of Nashville with our good friends, reconnecting and telling stories that made us all roar with laughter.

And then, of course, the run.

We stopped to take a photo at the start line, and I was just so proud of Amy for being there. So many people don't even try, and here she was, after all her hard work, at the start line of her first 5k.

She was nervous that she wouldn't make her goal, which was to not have to walk any part of the run. And except for a couple of moments when we were forced to due to a wall of walkers in front of us (seriously people, what do you think this is, the Mall of America?) she made her goal. We both finished with a time of 39:59. The Patterson's friend Sean, who had originally signed up for the half marathon but hurt his back and couldn't run that distance, joined us as well and the three of us stayed together the entire race.

It was an absolute blast.

We waited for Jim to finish the half, and then for Wayne to finish the full, which he did with a time of 3:29:40, just under his goal of 3:30.  That was marathon #14 and state #11 for him, overachiever that he is. We went back to the hotel, cleaned up, napped, and went out for a celebratory dinner.

We were all back in our rooms, asleep by 10. Exciting travelers, us runners.

We spent the next day in downtown Nashville, enjoying the live music in every venue (starting at 10 a.m. even on a Sunday!) and touring the Ryman Theatre, the original theatre that hosted the Grand Old Opry before they outgrew it in 1974. There's some good ole history for you, with amazing acoustics and beautiful woodwork. It even made a non-country music fan appreciate the history of the place.

Amy's already asking when our next one will be. We'd like to make this an annual event. Who knows? Maybe eventually she and I will finish a 5k in every state. She's got two down and I've got four. Just a few more to go!

That Embarrassing Mom

I am that embarrassing mom. You know the one.

The one who lets her 2-year-old have a screaming tantrum in the middle of Michael's because I won't buy her a $2 cheap toy that I know will break 10 minutes after we leave the store. The mom who stands two aisles away from said temper tantrum, watching her child from a distance and making sure she's safe, while store clerks wonder who that child belongs to.

I am the one who lets her 5-year-old dress herself for kindergarten in striped tights, polka dot dress and cowgirl boots. all in colors that have absolutely nothing to do with each other, because said 5-year-old is so proud that she dressed herself.

Marissa, age 5.

I'm that mom who sings loudly when her children ask her not to. "O What a Beautiful Morning" and "The Sounds of Music" are good choices for morning drop off, when the embarrassment factor in front of peers is high.

I'm that mom who will follow her child to her locker to get a hug after dropping her off at school, when said child scooted out of the car too quickly to be with her friends.

Lindsey, age 9

I'm the one who will insist on a hug when asked to retrieve forgotten homework and bring it to my child at school. Yes, in public. Perferrably while in the classroom in front of her peers.

Oh I'm not done.

I'm going to be that mom who will make my child change her clothes if she attempts to leave the house in something too revealing. At the same time, I will let her dye her hair all kinds of crazy colors, or cut it in some odd style, so she has something to be embarrassed about when she's in her 30's.

I will be that mom who yells at my kids' friends who are driving too fast down the street, who points out all the bad, unsafe drivers on the road as an example as to how NOT to drive.

I'll be that mom who won't let my child do something even if all her friends are if I don't think she's ready for it.

I will be that mom who will insist on a curfew, take away privileges, not allow my child to go places if I don't know who else where be there or if parents will be present.

That being said, I will be that mom who will show up at a party at any hour my child calls, ready to pick her up and take her home safely. I'll be the mom who won't hesitate to calls her daughters'  friends and tell them off if their parents won't.

I will be that mom who cries at recitals. At graduation. At weddings.

Yep that one. You know her. She was probably your mom, too.

Office Antics, Part I

This is my view from my workspace.

It's basically one big open room with storage and 3 desks in a row. We actually get lots of traffic down our hall, as other tenants of the building walk all the way to the end to the men's room. They take a left just in front of our open door to go do their business.

It's pretty cool to be working in such an open and entrepreneurial environment. There are many days where I am the only one in the office while the other two staff members are offsite, meeting donors or other people who want to help this mission. In many cases I'm doing Excel or database work, and honestly, there is nothing more enjoyable to me than noodling with data while listening to music. I know, I am a complete and utter geek.

Since I work alone so often, I am in the habit of playing music (perhaps loudly). And my kids know what happens when I play my favorite music:

I sing along.

I am seemingly alone. After all, no one is in this big, empty room, I hear footsteps coming down the hall every now and then of various people walking to the bathroom, that's it.

I've learned to recognize the president's steps as he walks down the hall. It isn't his gait as much as the fact that he's had bronchitis for the past few weeks and I can hear the poor guy coughing on his way down the hall.

The other day I heard him coming, so I stopped singing and turned down my music.

He walks in to the office and says, "I got a call from one of the tenants in the building, asking if I could come in to the office today so the singing could stop."

Now I'm sure he didn't actually get a call, but clearly he could hear me from way down the hall.

Um, yeah, I guess that is an open door right in front of me, and I am directly facing it and a long hallway, which probably acts as a megaphone of sorts. Plus there's lots of traffic down our hall, so I bet lots of people have been subjected to my singing the last few weeks.

Awesome.

I now have a handful of tenants of this building who all agree: singing will never be a career move for me. Whew!

So yes, even in an office of three, I can manage to make a fool of myself. Look for my next post -- I know of many others who join me in showing their human side at work as well, in a variety of ways.

All published with permission. Kind of.

Heh heh.

The Mystery Monster Bin

Since I'm currently working 20 hours a week while job hunting, I've got some time on my hands to tackle some of those pesky home projects that irritate and annoy me, but are never high enough on my priority list to take on.

Like the closets.

We have a closet under our basement stairs that is overflowing with...well, crap. It's where we store our suitcases (frequently accessed), wrapping paper and other gifting accouterments (also frequently accessed), paint supplies (never accessed) and scrapbooking supplies (why did I spend all that money on that stuff again?).

And, of course, the mystery box.

The mystery box is a huge green plastic bin that is so monstrous that in order to get it out of the closet, you have to empty the closet. Which, of course, never happens.

Until this past week.

I dragged every last little plastic container, suitcase, scrapbook supply and paint brush out to get to the monster box, only to find a trip down memory lane when I opened it.

Back when my girls were super little and their drawers overflowing with clothes because they were growing so quickly, I had stored away summer clothes for both of the girls, thinking that perhaps one or the other would fit into them yet the following summer. Then the next summer I wondered where all the clothes had gone, but couldn't find the clothes in any of the normal storage places (obviously forgetting about the monster bin). I had to buy Marissa new clothes anyway because she was practically wearing the same size as Lindsey anyways, and I promptly forgot about the missing clothes.

It seemed like only a couple of years ago that I was wondering where those clothes went, but by the size 3T and 4T clothing in the bin, it was clearly longer ago than a few years.

Snippets of summer lifted out of the box, a piece at a time, of warm summer days, ice cream cones and painting projects.

I was going to take some pictures of the clothes, but it's not the clothes that are important, it's what my kids did in them that make them memorable.

Marissa watering the tree.

Lindsey squishing I don't know what. 

Marissa playing with water. (Always with the water, that one.)

Lindsey posing in front of gifts for her cousin Nicole's bridal shower.

Lindsey reading and and Marissa playing footsie...with her own feet.

Every single outfit in every one of these photos was in that box, in such adorable littleness that I hadn't even folded them, they were so tiny.

I took them all out and smiled at them. Marissa was home the day I was looking through them, and she remembered certain favorite dresses, skirts and tops. We enjoyed the memories for a while, then we let them go.

I sorted through them all into two piles -- one for consignment and one to donate. I was able to consign 39 pieces of clothing, pretty impressive considering how they reject anything with stains or rips. Those must've been the clothes that only Lindsey wore, because if they had ever made their way to Marissa they would definitely be in the donate pile.

What the consignment shop didn't accept went back into the monster bin, and the entire thing went to Goodwill. There were four garbage bags of kids clothing still in the bin when it went to Goodwill, just to give you an idea of how big this bin was.

It felt so good to get rid of that huge bin, to purge ourselves of the stuff we don't need.  We will never lose the memories, even though the clothes themselves are gone.

Feminists Do WHAT, You Say?

Our wedding day, Sept. 1995. We paid extra for that vignette effect on this print. 

The other evening, while my eldest and I were waiting in a Starbucks when the youngest daughter was at tutoring, I overheard an interesting conversation.

A couple were discussing their marriage with another individual. At first I thought the person they were talking with was perhaps a wedding planner, but it soon became clear that he would be officiating the ceremony.

They worked out how they were going to seat people (no ushers, no assigned seats), how they would like the processional to go, and what the order of the ceremony would be. I tried not to listen, but it's difficult when you're only one seat away from the lively discussion.

At one point the person officiating asked, "Now how would you like to be introduced at the end of the ceremony?"

The couple seemed confused by his question, so he gave examples.

"Do you want to be introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Johnson? Or Becky and Ray Johnson?"

"Oh! That's what you mean. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson is perfect, that's what we want," the bride said confidently.

And then the person officiating went on to say how some people -- women in particular -- did not like to be introduced as "Mr. and Mrs."

"Some feminists don't like it," he went on, "Some ultra feminists don't even take their husband's last names."

The bride and groom made the expected "tsk tsk" noises and agreed how terrible that is for women to not change their last names upon marriage.

Ahem.

I had a hard time restraining myself from going over there and educating these people.

For one thing, the definition of a feminist is "someone who believes that men and women should have equal rights." I would take that to mean that both genders enjoy the right to vote, the right to work, the right to be paid equally for said work, to not be denied housing on the basis of gender...I could go on. Oh wait, I think I already did.

So what exactly is an ultra feminist? Someone who believes that women should have more rights than men, like the right to not change their name when they get married? Well, I guess that would be just an equal right, because men don't have to change their names when they get married. So they're equal in that regard.

This visual effect was even more unique and expensive. 

This fall Wayne and I will celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary. Twenty years. Women choosing to keep their given names upon marriage is not a new concept. Had I chosen to change my last name, I would have to be married for another four years before I would have a married name longer than I had my given name.

My kids don't wonder if I'm their mother. Sure, when they were younger they had questions, and, being girls, they could relate when I talked to them about it.

"Imagine," I said, "that one day you met your prince, the love of your life. You decide to get married. And this prince's name is Joe Smith. So do you decide to become Lindsey Smith? Or do you decide to be Lindsey Horsman? There's no right or wrong, but you have the choice."

They also go to a school where classmates have hyphenated last names that combine both the mother and father's last names, or two parents of the same gender with different last names, or stepparents and half brothers and sisters from other unions.

By the way, I am not alone in my choice. I have met many women in my life who did not change their names, several on my street alone, for no other reason than they wanted to exercise that right.

Guess that makes us a bunch of ultra feminists. I think there are worse things to be.

Segue

Another bizarre dream.

I dreamt that I was a passenger in a school bus. The driver was going way too fast, and was driving around a cloverleaf, a ramp that was elevated in the air. The sign said 20 mph but the driver was clearly going faster than this. At one point two wheels of the bus lifted up, and everyone lurched over to the right, lurching nearly over the edge of the curving, inclining road. The bus slammed back down again, and everyone on the bus screamed. Someone yelled "You're going too fast! Slow down!" But that only seemed to make the driver go faster.

Finally, it happened. On the next curve, the left wheels of the bus left the roadway and the bus went over the railing. We were falling, falling, falling.

It was dead silent.

No one screamed. No one spoke a word. All I could hear was the rush of the air going by, not even the roar of the engine. In my dream I closed my eyes and I felt peace. I knew that everything would be all right. We would deal with whatever happened when we landed on the ground; we would be fine. And if we weren't fine, then that was meant to be, too.

I awoke and took a deep breath. Everything is going to turn out.

I am job hunting again.

You would think I had the perfect set-up: working out of my house. No commute. No make up. I could play my own music for anyone to hear. Yoga pants every day! I enjoyed working with my team (many of whom worked out of their homes also) and my boss. I was able to get my kids to school in the morning and was home when they got off the bus in the afternoon. I traveled a little bit, just enough to break up the time in the office, but not so much that it cut into family time.

Yet I was unhappy with the job itself. I thought, "Am I looking a gift horse in the mouth? I am well-paid with the perfect set up, ideal work/life balance; why am I not fulfilled?"

I expected to be challenged by my new role, but not in the ways I was challenged. I don't need to go into details, except to say that I began to doubt my abilities. After a while I finally realized it wasn't me or my skillset, it was just not the right fit.

In late January, the company restructured and many of my co-workers' positions were eliminated. I saw my opportunity and took it.

I quit.

In the week after, as I transitioned knowledge and know-how and notes to those who had just transferred it to me six months ago, I knew this was the right decision. I felt my shoulders begin to ease, my head to clear.

I had the satisfaction of putting hundreds of emails that I never fully understood straight into the trash, instead of gingerly and carefully sorting through them to file, in case that information would be needed at some point in the future.

For me there would be no "some point in the future" at this place. I was done.

I loved working with my clients; their missions moved me greatly, and, as I've found elsewhere, they are some of the most amazing people you'll ever meet. But my family and own career satisfaction comes first -- no one will put it first if I don't. I am so incredibly blessed that I had the option of leaving, of taking the time that I need to find something else that is more fulfilling.

I've said this my whole career and I will say it again: Love what you do and you will never work a day in your life.

Time for me to find something I love doing.

And now...what's next.

My password for my last week of work. Seemed appropriate.

I'm not sure. What I do know is that the nonprofit that I've been volunteering for for three years is excited to have me work on a short-term part-time basis to help them get their donation processing set up and documented, so that when they hire an admin assistant the process will be easy to follow. I'm thrilled to help them out, too, and am loving my time with them.

I know that my heart lies in the nonprofit world, in changing people's lives, helping others, making a difference.

I know that I am fascinated by and passionate about social media and the way that channel has changed the way people connect to others, how it has created political change in countries previously oppressed and has brought together people in ways once unimaginable. It has changed the way nonprofits engage with their donors and how retailers think about customer service. Amazing. What will it do next? What will I do next?

I have the luxury of taking the time to find out.

Don't Take Sh*t for Granted

I love books by Anne Rice, the New Orleans author most well-known for "Interview With a Vampire." One of my favorite books of hers is "The Tale of the Body Thief," when the vampire Lestat is tricked into trading his preternatural body with a mortal, who then decides not to trade bodies back.

In the first hours after Lestat becomes mortal, he is seized by a sensation that he doesn't understand. He suddenly feels a pain in his abdomen, something he hasn't felt in hundreds of years of vampiric living.

He finally realizes what the pressure is that he is feeling: he has to poop.

He makes it to the toilet in time, and feels the relief of voiding his body of the nutrients it didn't need.

What a bizarre little element of life for Anne to write about, how we as living beings eat and poop. It's part of living that truly, most of us take for granted. That is, until we can't. And then it becomes the central focus of our lives.

My dad has been battling colon cancer since he was first diagnosed with it in 2007. During a routine colonoscopy when he was 62, they found a significant sized tumor that required colon resection. He was declared cancer free and did not need chemotherapy or radiation.

The cancer recurred along the suture line in 2011. Doctors told him that this kind of recurrence rarely ever happens. He had radiation, chemotherapy, and another colon resection which left him with a very short colon.

Life since 2011 has not been pleasant for my dad. His shortened colon means that when he first feels like he may need to go, his colon is already full and has often has voided without his controlling it.  He gets up in the middle of the night several times to deal with this problem, not just a quick tinkle like many of us do. It means that indulging in particularly fatty or rich foods makes it impossible for him to leave the house for 24 hours or more.

He used to love to take road trips, and would often drive north to Minnesota and east to Michigan from there to visit family. He hasn't been able to make many of those trips, and when he does, they take infinitely longer due to the number of stops along the way.

His quality of life hasn't been the same since 2011. Then, this summer he was told that the cancer has recurred once again.

Chemotherapy was ordered -- no more radiation as he has had a lifetime worth of radiation already. The hope was to shrink the tumor and then do a colostomy, which would remove his colon altogether and he would void into a bag instead.

This was real hope for him.

He would finally have control of his body. More importantly, it would no longer control him. He had to go to Little Rock, about 3 hours from his home, for the surgery, because the surgery would be tricky due to the amount of scar tissue in the area from his prior surgeries.

He had surgery on January 15th. We are hoping that he will be discharged from the hospital tomorrow, February 9th, nearly a month after his surgery. This was much longer than the 5-7 days of post-surgical care that the doctors told him he should expect.

A few days after surgery he had a bowel obstruction, resulting in him throwing up even the smallest amounts of water that he could drink. They finally got the obstruction to flush out, after nearly 48 hours of the most incredible pain he says he has ever experienced. (Up to that point, that is.)

He developed an abscess. He had crazy amounts of discharge coming from the surgical site and other unnamed orifices, so much so that he became severely dehydrated.

Once the abscess resolved, they discovered he had a fistula, which is when two organs that aren't supposed to be connected together get connected. Part of his intestines had healed incorrectly.

The only way to treat this fistula is for him to stop using his gastrointestinal system, so that it can heal itself. That means no food by mouth. For weeks. He is getting nutrients intravenously and will do so for several weeks more after he leaves the hospital.

He'll be going home with an IV for nutrients, bags for the still unhealed stoma, and strict instructions to not eat or drink anything until he gets the doctor's okay. Once the fistula heals, he will finally -- finally! -- be able to eat and drink, though cautiously.

I believe those instructions are my dad's version of hell, the man who enjoys the gustatory pleasure of eating.

I will be flying down to Arkansas this coming weekend to visit. My sister and I had planned this trip together, thinking that he would have been home healing for several weeks by this time. Instead, Kristi flew down on a one-way ticket nearly two weeks ago to help with his care, and will be accompanying him back to his house from the hospital and ensuring that they have everything set up for his continued care.

He is surrounded by the most loving, amazing, supportive family members in my stepfamily and sister. He has friends and other relatives who call and write, wishing him a speedy recovery and good health.

All of the love and prayers help.

What would also help is for every person reading this to be screened, to get a colonoscopy so that others do not have to go through this.

Don't take shit for granted.

The Fun Of Flying Kites

In the winter, the natural parks in the Twin Cities quadruple in size. The lakes freeze over and become a winter play land for all the residents.

Today was the Lake Harriet Kite Festival, an event I've often learned out about too late, after we already had other plans, or when the weather was so bitterly cold that we didn't brave it to attend.

This year, it was a balmy 29 degrees, cloudy with a brisk wind. Perfect kite-flying weather in Minnesota.

Marissa and I dropped Lindsey off at a sleepover, made a little stop at a Caribou for some treats, then headed to the lake. We pulled snow pants and snow bibs over our clothes, tightened up the laces on our winter boots, pulled our scarves up and our hats down and headed out.

Even at 29 degrees, it feels much, much cooler when you're standing on an ice-covered lake.

Marissa has never stood on a frozen lake before. She was nervous about whether or not the ice would hold her, but when she saw the hundreds of people on the ice, she stepped right on.

It took her a while to get comfortable, but eventually she and I were down on a bare expanse of ice, peering through the darkness and trying to see to the water. We admired the geometry of the cracks and speculated as to how deep they went. She grew more confident the longer we were there. She went from not wanting to go to this event to not wanting to leave.

The hit of the day was a huge black fish kite with rainbow scales. I think it was about 12-15 feet in length. It took a lot of wind to keep it aloft, which meant that it often dragged just above the crowd and crashed to the ice, to the great excitement of the kids who would rush to it to touch it. It swept along the crowd and surprised many by lifting up along the back of their jackets. They would turn to see who or what had touched them, only to see a great expanse of a black tail swooping upwards.

This fish -- what a great exercise in community-building! Its owner was an elderly gentleman who was limping slightly due to a fall he had taken earlier on the ice. "I'm not gonna be able to move tomorrow," he told me, "But I gotta stay out here, the kids just love this kite,"

So he would untangle and pull on the strings after a particularly embattled crash, while one of the adults (usually a parent) would hold the fish's mouth open until its body filled with wind. Then it would ever so slowly lift to the sky, sometimes to swoop and come back down again, other times to take to the air and look like it was swimming.

I thought we'd spend a half an hour there, we ended up spending nearly three.  What a wonderful afternoon.

Never Too Old for Toys

Some weeks ago Lindsey began working on her Christmas list.

She wrote down -- with gusto -- fuzzy socks. Pajamas. Lip balm. Manicure set.

"I don't really want the same things for Christmas I used to want," she observed.

She is 11 going on 12, after all, and this year there truly is no doubt in her mind that her parents are Santa. There were no pretenses of asking me to mail her list to Santa this year, she simply handed it to me with a "here you go."

And because she doesn't believe her little sister, for the most part, doesn't believe. There have been a few times over the past few weeks when I've had to stop one or both of the girls from going into a closet that had gifts stashed in them. "Why can't we go in there?" Marissa would ask, "Presents," Lindsey would reply.

Yet Christmas morning, the magic was still there.

Not-so-little bodies filled with excitement as we prepared for bed on Christmas Eve, squeals and giggles as they imagined what was in the presents under the tree, and what other gifts would magically appear before morning.

We played musical beds in the middle of the night due to excitement which made sleep hard to come by. We awoke early, made kids go back to sleep, and finally got up around 7:30.

We had the special treat of having Kristi join us this year, decked out in fuzzy red pajamas with matching Santa hat. She helped me "play Santa" the night before, wrapping the last of the gifts and even wrapping a forgotten one...at 5:30 a.m. (All communicated via text from two floors away.) She really IS a Secret Santa!

Coffee cake, coffee, presents, and glee.

Lindsey wanted to get something for everyone in the family. She spent her own money and bought Caribou gift cards for her parents (always appreciated), a candle for Kristi and a stuffed toy, movie and "squishy toy" for Marissa.

Over the past few weeks when Marissa saw Lindsey wrapping presents for her, she wanted to get something for Lindsey, too. So she wrapped a piece of pottery she had made over the summer and a book that had been laying around the house. Lindsey expressed great delight and gratitutude as Marissa jumped up and down with excitement. Marissa had purchased a gift for her too, but I think the unwrapping of the "here's what's laying around the house" present was more fun.

Lindsey got a pair of boots from her Aunt Kristi, who cleverly wrapped just one, then hid the other boot in a sweater that had been wrapped separately. Wayne got a "gift" of a plaid shirt and plaid pants (non-matching) from his family to make up for the gifts of clothing he got last year. He got real gifts too, don't feel too sorry for him.

Plaid, anyone?

All the gifts were unwrapped by 8:30. One hour is all it took to unwrap every single item under the tree.

And for as much as Lindsey hadn't put toys on her list, she put enough toys that she spent the rest of the day playing with Magnatiles and her new Disney Sleeping Beauty figurines, while Marissa entertained the family with her new karaoke CDs from the Hoyt cousins and microphone stand.

No one fought. No one asked Marissa to be quiet. Everyone said "please" and "thank you" and were polite to each other.

Now that's the true magic of Christmas.

Six Pounds of Sugar

I found these in the garbage this morning.

Lindsey had been saving the full-sized candy bars from Halloween for after our sugar challenge was done and planned to have them the day we were done.

Except she realized that if she ate them she would get all crazy first, then get sluggish and want to take a nap. And since it's the beginning of Christmas vacation she doesn't actually want to take a nap, she'd rather enjoy her time off than nap.  Her solution was to throw the candy bars away today so she wouldn't be tempted.

A couple of years ago I would've been the kind of person who would've fished them out of the trash (Hey I'm not above this, they were JUST thrown in, there was nothing burying them yet!). Except now the idea of eating them myself is quite intolerable.

What an educational two weeks it's been.

I learned that sugar is in EVERYTHING. Just start reading ingredient lists. It's hard to avoid.

I learned that drinking coffee without sugar is just fine. Not my favorite, and I really, really loved my sugar in my coffee, but I can live without to avoid the sugar roller coaster for the day.

Eating a sugar-free diet is nearly a gluten-free diet, because sugar and flour go together in most foods. Our family ordered pizza once during this two weeks, and Lindsey and I ordered a gluten-free pizza because that was the only way we could avoid sugar. I've seen friends of mine eat those unleavened cardboard-looking things in the past, and they always looked so unappetizing. But when you've adjusted your diet and aren't accustomed to how sweet and filling regular pizza crust is, it's actually quite delicious.

I've discovered that I actually have will power. When I tell myself I absolutely cannot have ANY, then I don't.  I get in trouble when I tell myself, "Just one bite," because I don't stop at one bite.

And I've been shocked and surprised to find that I lost 6 pounds during these two weeks. Six. Pounds.  That's crazy talk, because I've been thinking about those 5 pounds I want to lose, and I dropped six like that. [snapping fingers]

Lindsey learned that she likes wheat bread better than white, but she's excited to go back to white flour pasta. And dessert, but only every once in a while, because her energy was definitely more even.

For me, here's what's sticking:

• Sugar free coffee
• Wheat bread, not multigrain (which ironically has more sugar)
• Sweet potatoes instead of white potatoes
• Non-sugary afternoon snacks
• Sugar-free peanut butter
• Wheat pasta (when I eat it with sauce I can't tell the difference)

I won't avoid white potatoes/white rice altogether like I've been doing, but substitute wheat and brown rice here and there.

It's been a great two weeks, and truly is the start of a new journey in healthy eating for me. Now to get the rest of the family on board...

Honey. Awww, Sugar Sugar.

Wow, I have rarely gotten so many responses so quickly on a blog post. Sugar is clearly on people's minds. I heard from lots of people who have done a sugar-free trial, eat low-sugar diets or otherwise watch their sugar intake. Lots of notes of encouragement and "good luck!"

We're a week in. How are things?

So far, awesome. This has not been as hard as I thought it would be.

Well, I have a confession. There is one item, okay, two, that we didn't cut out of this diet. Well, two and a half, depending on how you interpret the third.

One is bananas. On a sugar free diet you are supposed to stay away from bananas and pineapples, the fruits with the highest glycemic index (HGI) of all fruits. I put a banana in my protein shake at lunch, and haven't changed that plan. (Seriously, it's a banana. In a protein shake. I think we're fine.)

The other food we're still eating is corn, also a HGI food. We aren't eating corn as a side dish, but we bought blue corn chips to go with salsa, and if a food has corn starch or corn product in it we aren't staying away from it. Corn taco shells? Yes. Corn on the cob? No. That's our interpretation. She's a kid, she needs to eat something she likes, so that's what we decided.

Some resources said absolutely no alcohol, others said alcohol in moderation. I am doing the "in moderation" thing. They recommended red wine;  I am all over that.

There are my confessions. Not bad, I'd say.

One thing that I miss terribly -- sugar in my coffee. That has honestly probably been the biggest adjustment that I've had to make. But what a way to start your day, with a jolt of sugar to get your sugar roller coaster started. I have noticed my energy is more even without it.

Sugar for coffee has been relegated to the cupboard.

Also, there is one little snack that Lindsey and I are both missing; it was a nasty habit, but oh so good. Here's how you make it.

The Evil Duo

What You'll Need: A jar of peanut butter and a bag of chocolate chips.

1. Pour a small amount of the chocolate chips on the countertop. 
2. Get some peanut butter on a knife, then dab the peanut butter on the pile of chocolate chips until some chips stick to the peanut butter. 
3. Eat the peanut butter/chocolatey goodness off the knife. 
4. Repeat. 

(By the way, you don't ever want to come to our house and let me feed you a peanut butter sandwich after the number of times a knife that has been licked has been put back into the peanut butter jar. Just saying.)

This had become our after-school/work snack. And worse, we could never get the proportion of chocolate chips to peanut butter exactly right, where you don't have leftover chips or peanut butter, so you are always getting just one more little dab of peanut butter for the 3 chips that are left. Except now you've got too much peanut butter so you spread a few more chips out there...oh now there's not enough peanut butter for that...

You get the picture. Even worse, it's wicked easy to "make," so it's incredibly accessible.

By the way, we replaced our peanut butter, too. Found several options that have a really short ingredient list: peanuts. No sugar, no high fructose corn syrup, no nothing but peanuts. You have to stir them and they are not sweet, but tasty all the same.

Move over, Skippy "natural," you've been replaced.

Now when she gets off the bus she's snacking on some gluten-free crackers (no white flour) or some cheese and sausage. One day she came home from school and had absolutely no energy, as she hadn't eaten enough at school. She ate some veggies and a piece of toast and pretty soon she pepped up.

I am loving eating sweet potatoes instead of white -- they are more flavorful, in my opinion. And if you're looking for a "sweet" recipe to try, this is one way I prepared them.

1. Skin and thinly slice sweet potatoes (however many you need)
2. Place in a ziplock bag and toss with olive oil, sea salt and pepper.
3. Put them on a roasting pan or jelly roll pan, bake at 350 degrees until tender but not brown, about 15 minutes.

Delish!

We'll see how week two goes, I may extend this challenge, and there may be some foods that I keep permanently out of my diet.

Lindsey and I both agree, though -- we are having coffee cake Christmas morning.

Sugar Free and Care Free

About a week ago Lindsey told me she'd like to go on a sugar free diet, and asked me to join her.

What 11-year-old asks this? One who overheard me quoting an article (with infographic) about how much sugar Americans eat, around 130 pounds per year. In the Forbes article they stated that The American Heart Association recommends no more than 9.5 teaspoons per day. The average American adult eats 22 teaspoons per day; more disconcerting is that the average American child eats 32 teaspoons per day!  Think about the affect of those 32 teaspoons on little bodies and brains that are a fraction of the size of adults, and you start to understand where our country is heading healthwise, and why ADHD diagnoses are on the rise.

I digress.

As long as Lindsey was not asking out of some misguided idea that she needs to lose weight, I was all for it.

So....what does it mean, to not eat sugar? I mean, sure, I've got a sweet tooth, but a sugar-free diet has to mean more than just skipping dessert, right?

Boy did I get an education.

I learned that you can be as strict or as liberal on a sugar-free diet as you wish. It is naturally occurring in fruits and some vegetables, some dairy and in all leavened breads in some shape or form. The resources I read said to cut out white foods because the point is to cut out foods with a high glycemic index, so no white potatoes, no pasta (unless it's wheat pasta), no white breads, etc.

Oh boy. This is my pasta-loving, white bread sandwich-eating kid. Hmmm....

We made a list of the foods we couldn't eat and those we could, and headed out to the grocery store, where the practical application of our education began.

It took us two hours to get $100 worth of groceries because we spent so much time reading labels. First Lindsey began by looking for sugar in the list of nutrients, but then we realized that naturally occurring sugars are listed there, too. So we started looking for sugar and its relatives in the ingredients list.

Sugar is in EVERYTHING. Holy cow.

All yogurts contained sugar. Ironically the ones that were marketed to kids contained more sugar than the regular yogurts. Now I understand where that 32 teaspoons per day comes in.

We read bread labels until we found a whole wheat one that had an acceptable amount of sugar in it.

We read cracker labels until we found a few with no sugar. (They are quite yummy, too.)

We bought whole wheat pasta and bread.

The cereal aisle proved to be the most daunting. We knew the obvious ones -- we could spot them from a mile away.

19g of sugar per serving. Excludes the milk.

But the healthy ones? All had sugar. The only two we found that met our guidelines were Grape Nuts and Nabisco Shredded Wheat. Luckily Lindsey eats and likes both of those.

Most surprising was when we decided to make tacos one night and were looking through the ingredient list for taco seasoning. We usually buy Ortega taco seasoning, but just to make sure, I read the label.

Sugar.

I start picking out other brands. The only one we found that did not have sugar in it was Old El Paso.

While we were doing this picky sugar-free shopping, the store was packed with ingredients to make baked goods for the holidays. We even picked up chocolate chips because Wayne asked me to make a batch of cookies for him to take in to work the next day. (Which I did and totally did NOT snitch any of the batter OR eat a cookie!)

After reading so many labels to try to avoid sugar, the sight of a pallet of sugar was almost disgusting to us.

And so our journey began. Lindsey asked to do this for two weeks, because she doesn't want to miss out on coffee cake on Christmas morning. I couldn't agree more.

We're nearly a week in. Check back soon for an update on how we're doing after a week of sugar free eating.

Were We Swindled?

We've migrated to become an Apple family.

It started with the iPhones, then with the ease of syncing the phones to a Mac. Now it's two Air Mac books, two iPhones,  two iTouches and an iPad.

One of the big draws has been the lack of viruses and worry about suddenly having your PC compromised or infected. We were confident in this, until this past week.

One Sunday, Lindsey tried to log on to the Mac only to get the following message when she opened Safari:

"Your computer has been compromised. Please contact Apple Support immediately at 1-800-XXX-XXXX."

You could open other programs but could not access the Internet. So Wayne called the 800 number, was on hold for about 10 minutes, and then got through to a person who identified himself as an Apple support person.

Wayne gave the person the IP address for our machine and the person took control of it remotely. He noticed immediately that our firewall had been disabled, and after some searching on our hard drive determined that we'd been hacked and that someone had access to all of our logins and passwords.

Meaning our financial security was at risk.

He gave Wayne two options:

1. Take the Mac to an Apple store. They would need to send it away to get it scrubbed and put virus protection software onto the computer. It would cost about $149 and we would be without a computer for an estimated two weeks.
2. Allow their personnel to install this software remotely right at this instant. It would cost a little more, $199, but would be done immediately, security would be restored and we wouldn't have to go without our computer.

Of course, given those two options, Wayne opted for #2. The Apple support person transferred the call to a third party that would do this work for us.  The Mac spent the next several hours running scrubbing software, resetting security systems and being worked on by someone who I can only believe was in a time zone halfway across the world, because at one point during the chat the person said, "Good Morning," even though it was nearly 11 o'clock at night.

Three hours and $200 later, the Mac was ours again.

The next morning, I questioned the validity of this whole process.

Hmmm...so how hard would it be to install a program that makes a message pop up saying your PC has been compromised, and give a false 800 number for you to call? Then have the person on the phone give you the worst possible scenario and offer to charge you $200 to "fix the problem?"

And really, when is it every more expensive for someone to fix something remotely, and cheaper to send it away? Usually it's the opposite, as companies don't want to have to spend time and money on the logistics of shipping and tracking their products to get them fixed.

It reminds me of bullies who offer to "protect" weaklings from bullies. Meaning from themselves.

But no matter, we have the virus protection software, we're out $200, and our peace of mind has been restored.

Kind of.

Giving Up

A quick photo before all the clothing changes. (Note the stocking feet on Marissa.)

 Today was supposed to be a celebratory day.

This morning was the Girls on the Run 5k run. Marissa has been in the program all fall, all 10 weeks of it. While they train for a 5k, they also do great activities promoting good self-image, anti bullying, and other confidence boosting messages. That's rather ironic, considering what happened today.

On October 30th we had the practice 5k, which didn't go well. Actually, it didn't go. Unbeknownst to me Marissa had planned to walk the whole thing. Since we didn't get started until 5:00, I didn't have an hour to walk around the lake, as my husband was traveling and I had to pick up my eldest from Minneapolis Kids by 6 p.m. We ran for a little bit, then we walked, I cajoled her to run, she responded by refusing to move. In 20 minutes we had gone approximately a quarter of a mile. So we turned around and left. We walked back to the start, which was also the finish line, and could see and hear other girls finishing. In the time that it had taken us to walk a half a mile other girls and their running buddies had run 3.1 miles. Marissa was so embarrassed that we didn't do it that we intentionally walked a path around the finish so they couldn't see us ducking out.

The next session the coaches asked the girls how it felt to run the practice 5k. Girls talked about it being exciting, fun, challenging. Marissa's response was that it was embarrassing and disappointing because "my mom didn't want to walk it."

So it's my fault.

I felt awful. I felt horrendous. I felt like the worst mom in the world. I thought to myself, "I'll make it up to her for the 5k. If she wants to walk the whole thing, we'll walk it."

That race was today.

Of course it was all of 10 degrees this morning, and snowing. Rock star weather to have a bunch of 9-11 year olds run a race. But this is Minnesota, we're hearty people, and we know how to layer like nobody's business.

It began by Marissa refusing to get out of bed. "Why is this so early? I'm not even up this early for school." she complained. 

She got dressed. She didn't like what she was wearing. She changed her pants. She changed her shirt. She put on snow pants. Then decided not to. Then took off a layer of pants and put the snow pants back on. She put on running shoes. Then took off the running shoes and put her boots on.

We were 20 minutes late leaving the house, and we were already planning on not being there right when the activities were supposed to start. At this rate we were barely going to make it in time for the start, assuming we knew exactly where the start was and drove right there.

Which, of course, we didn't. I knew the race was at Como Lake in St. Paul, but had missed the message that due to the inclement weather they had moved the pre-race activities to Como Elementary School, just a hop skip and a jump from the lake.

But which side of the lake? I drove all the way around the lake at least once. We stopped and parked at the rec building on the lake, but it wasn't there. We got back in the car and drove around some more. In the meantime, Coach Kristi was texting asking where we were.

Well fuck if I know.

Once I found out it was at the elementary school I started driving towards it, but they had already left the school to walk down to the lake. We drove around the lake some more. Finally I saw some Girls on the Run volunteers, parked near there and figured we'd get to the start from there. They informed me that the start line was about a half a mile down the path and pointed us in the direction of the start.

We began walking to the start, me texting/talking to Coach/Aunt Kristi as we walked. We could see all the encouraging words and sayings printed in chalk on the race course. We got a ways down the path and then Marissa sat down on a bench.

What a 5k run is not supposed to look like.

"I don't want to do this," she said.

We talked about how she had trained for weeks, had spent lots of time with her teammates, how her friends were expecting to see her. We talked about finishing what she'd started, and that this was the BIG FINALE. 

She would have none of it. Finally I said that we'd wait there, when the runners started coming by we would find her friends, get in the pack and then pick up the race from there. Because of the weather they had already said that if you only wanted to do one loop around the lake instead of two you could. 

"Let's just walk the one loop," I said. She said nothing.

We could finally see the first runners coming our way. "Come on!" I said. "Let's go!"

"No, let's wait until they go by," she said. 

"What are you talking about? C'mon, let's join them," I said.

"I'm too embarrassed. No one else is wearing snow pants. Let's just go home."

Eventually that's what we did, both of us in tears. 

I am frustrated. I am angry. I am disappointed. And she is all of these things, too. We both talked in the car on the way home how disappointed we both were in the day. 

After a while she went up to her room, and a little later I found her sitting on her beanbag chair, crying. She said she was upset about missing the 5k, disappointing her teammates and disappointing herself. And she blames it all on my not knowing where to go for the start line. 

It's my fault. Again.

Right. 

She needs to take responsibility for not wanting to do the race. She had plenty of opportunity to still do the run/walk, even though we were late. Those were her decisions to not participate, not mine. We talked, she got mad, and she told me to leave as she curled up in a ball, sobbing.

"Now you know what it feels like to give up," I said. "It doesn't feel very good. I don't recommend doing it again." And I walked out and shut the door.

Maybe it was harsh. I don't think we are harsh enough at times. She needed to hear it, better to learn this lesson now.  Later on she came to me in my room as I attempted to nap away the bad feelings from this morning, curled up and snuggled up to me, tears still on her face. 

We're still sad and disappointed. Everything that Girls on the Run is not supposed to be.

Rock star day.

Fabulous Fall

Fall has come to an abrupt end today, but it's been an amazing one.

The trees turned color slowly, seemingly one species at a time, lengthening how many weeks we had to enjoy their colors. The wind stayed calm, so the leaves stayed on the trees until when they finally fell, they made that satisfying crunching sound when you stepped on them.

We have a majestic maple in our front yard that we planted years ago for its spectacular color, and it did not disappoint.

This year the girls were able to hold their tradition of "helping" with leaves one day so I could get lots of pictures of them. Raking leaves into a pile only to throw them about and leave them in random piles isn't exactly "helping." Last year they never got to do this because it rained the entire month of September. Who wants to play in wet soggy leaves that acts as camoflage for hidden dog poop? Yeah, no.

But this year it stayed dry all September and October, so we headed out.

I am now awaiting a collage that I made of the various pictures I took, which will adorn our wall upstairs. At least until I get the snow pictures taken.

Flower Girl Times Two

When Marissa was in 1st grade she had a nanny who would come in the morning,  spend time with her and take her to school. We were quite lucky to find her; I had met her through social media networks and she had babysat the kids a few times. When we were left with a gap in morning coverage before school started, we couldn't think of anyone who would be willing to nanny for just 1 1/2 hours five days a week.

Then we discovered that Katie was happy to do it.

Katie became a big part of Marissa's life, and even after the school year was over and she wasn't nannying anymore, we stayed in touch and she often would come and take the girls to the Holidazzle parade, or to Caribou for a treat or other outings. Katie eventually moved to England, fell in love, and came back to get married before moving overseas for good. (At least that's the plan.)

I was honored that she asked Marissa to be a flower girl in her wedding.

One of Marissa's friends from school was also asked to be a flower girl, so Marissa was super excited to have a friend to hang out with during the activities.

What a week it was.

Katie's fiancé's family and friends trickled in over the course of a week. They planned activities all week long so everyone could get to know each other, and of course Marissa was invited to every part of it. We pulled her out of school early on two days for the rehearsal and the wedding itself, which was a Friday evening affair.

This one gets me teary-eyed just looking at it.

Throughout the week, I learned what a loving and generous family Katie comes from. I learned about her selflessness in putting others first, and her love of children (not just our own kid). I also learned how much she enjoys social media, expressed by the Twitter bird on her wedding cake.

Marissa gloried in the affair, in being in the spotlight (as much as flower girls are), in being in a pretty dress with flowers in her hair.

Guests blew bubbles on the happy couple for their first dance.

Unfortunately Lindsey came down with a miserable cold the day of the wedding, so she and Wayne ended up staying home for the wedding itself while Marissa and I were off for the evening. I hardly saw the girl all night, she was having so much fun playing with Eleni, the other flower girl, and the ring bearers in the wedding party. They had so many kids in the wedding party that they actually had a kids table just for the kids in the wedding.

Now that's a kid's table.

I sat at a table with neighbors of Katie's parents and Nicole, the woman who had introduced me to Katie through social media, and her 17-year-old daughter.  Not shocking, we managed to have a blast. Nicole even got to keep the fabulous British hat of the mother of the bride, who insisted on finding someone in the United States to give it to so she didn't have to take the thing back with her on the plane.  Hats that size aren't normally her style, but she said she wouldn't be a "proper English mother of the bride" if she didn't wear one.

Me and "Astronaut Abby," Nicole's daughter, both wearing the hat of the mother of the bride.

It was large enough for two.

Kids Write the Darndest Things

For 4th grade, one of Marissa's weekly projects is a "Common Core" reading assignment. A passage comes home on Monday, and every night a different exercise around the reading has to be done.

This week her reading exercise is about informational text. The first day's assignment is to read a bar graph about the planets' distance from the sun and then answer some questions.

She dutifully answers the two Monday questions about the bar graph, and then ponders the last question:

"How does the graph help you understand the passage?"

She thinks about it and then writes her answer:

And there you have it.