Some day this will be really, really funny

Last week Wayne and I had an appointment to meet with our banker to sign some papers. Nothing big, just some standard stuff to take care of.

The banker could meet us at any branch, we just had to name the place and time. Wayne decided it would be best to meet her in downtown St. Paul, closest to my work, because *shocking* I have a tendency to be late to things, and he figured the closer it was to my work the higher the likelihood that I would be on time.

We had a 1 pm appointment in a building 10 minutes away from where I work. Easy peezy.

Wayne drove from Plymouth to St. Paul and was at the bank by 12:20. He called me to tell me he was there and remind me that the street in front of the bank was torn up and I'd have to find an alternate route. He even recommended a parking ramp I could park in. I figured I'd better get going, just in case it took me longer than the 10 minutes that I expected, so I could not annoy my husband who hates my chronic lateness. So I left at 12:25. Plenty of time.

Famous last words.

I drove to the general vicinity of the building. Traffic was horrible, of course, because of all the construction. I happened to see an open street parking spot and took it, knowing that I was only a block or two from the building. I plunked a few quarters in to the meter, knowing I would be back before it ran out.

And then I walked. And walked. And walked six blocks in the COMPLETELY WRONG DIRECTION.

I called Wayne. I asked which building. "The one with 'Wells Fargo' really big on the top," he said.

That's great and all if I were miles away and viewing the St. Paul cityscape from a hill. But I'm on the street, and I can't look up 20 stories into the air.

After walking for a very long time, I finally realized my mistake and that I had gone in the wrong direction from the car. So I walk past the car again (no ticket, meter still good), and walk in the other direction.

This time I find the right building but can't get into it. Apparently I'm supposed to be a business tenant of the building to enter the elevator, and I have to exit the building, go back down the street and to the other entrance to get to where I need to go.

I finally make it, then am guided by cell phone to the correct floor.

Time of arrival? 1:10 pm.

This is the best part.

The only two things I had to do were:

1. Show up on time.
2. Have my ID with me proving I'm me.

I open my wallet to pull out my driver's license, only to see a blank spot where it used to be.

I had put it into the pocket of my jacket when I'd gone out for a walk the evening before, where it still was. I was confident it was still there, in the pocket of the jacket, which was hanging in my office. At my place of business. "Ten minutes" from where I was now located.

Thankfully the banker agreed that if I emailed her a scanned copy of my ID once I returned to the office we could still move forward. Whew!

Actually, this is the best part.

I returned to my car to find a ticket on the windshield. I check the meter, it had run out (surprise!). I look at the ticket. It is NOT for an expired meter.

It is for not parking parallel to the curb.

Sure enough, I had parked partly askance, in my hurry to get to the appointment on time. Which, of course, I wasn't.

Cost? $38.

Wine, anyone?

The Gift

We were given a gift this past weekend. Some day we will look back and say, "Remember that St. Patrick's Day weekend when it was in the 70's all weekend? Crazy!"

So what do you do on a weekend like that? You relish it. You savor every moment. And you document it, so you don't forget.

We made homemade sundaes.

We raced.

Marissa broke in the swing.

While Lindsey tested to see if it still swung as high.



The trees are confused.

The girls played on the front yard.

And snuggled their Build-A-Bear bears.



Dax caught bubbles.

I'm the One in the Green T-Shirt

St. Patrick's Day kicked off with a run for both Wayne and I. He ran the Get Lucky 21k (or half-marathon) in St. Paul, while I ran my first-ever 7k.

What an experience!

I ran with my friend Emily and a group of her friends, six of us in total. They were all very nice and committed to finishing together. My knee didn't start hurting until the 5k mark, which was a victory in my book. I had to run-walk the last 2k, but someone else was doing that as well so we all stuck together.

Wayne completed his half-marathon in record time. Seriously. He finished in 1 hr 30 minutes, or a 6:47 pace. This would re-qualify him for the NYC marathon, if he ever wanted to do that one again.

He headed to Minneapolis after his race and we attempted to meet up at Kieran's Pub, but the line to get in was literally to the end of the block. (Kieran's had been the presenting sponsor of the race and each runner's race bib was a ticket for a free beer.) We ended up meeting at O'Donovan's down the street, which was filled with runners, but not over-packed like Kieran's.

Wayne, Emily and I had a few brews, a plate of fish and chips and listened to some live music.

All before noon.

To top it off, the weather was unbelievable. We hit a record high of 80 degrees. On March 17. In Minnesota.

Last year runners were wearing jackets, hats and gloves, and this year it was a sea of t-shirts, shorts and, of course, green tutus.

Crowd shot of the 2011 Get Lucky 7k.

I've never seen so much green, since people didn't have to cover up their green shirts with jackets.

Emily and I laughed when we heard people around us on phones, trying to meet up with their people. "I'm the one in the green t-shirt," they'd say.

Yeah, you and 7,000 other people!

We decided that next year we're all going to wear pink, to stand out in the crowd.

And the Academy Award Goes to...

The week after the Academy Awards Lindsey's grade held an award ceremony of their own.

The students all had to pick a paragraph to read in front of the entire class. The class would then vote on who read their paragraph with the most expression, the best pronunciation, the least number of stops and so on. Staring only at your paper and speaking in a monotone voice was clearly not recommended.

The other piece of this was that you got to dress for the occasion as if you were going to the Academy Awards, and there would be a best dressed category as well. Pull out your fanciest dress, your suit you wore to Aunt Evie's wedding, you're going to a show!

Guess who was incredibly excited about this? My girl, of course.

Guess who wasn't? Most of the boys. (Heresay, but still, I suspect Lindsey's right.)

Lindsey spent a week planning out what she was going to wear. And she got permission from me to wear the flower girl dress from Travis and Elizabeth's wedding nearly 3 summers ago. It's just aging in a closet, why not? And while the dress is now a tee-length on her, sadly it still zips up around her ribcage, even over a shirt. The girl needs to eat.

She picked out her hair accessories the weekend before, had me paint her nails the night before, and the morning of the big event she asked me to curl her hair.

Curly girl all ready for the show!

Lindsey has about 40 minutes of curling worth of hair.

I wish I could've been there to see it, but I had been absent from work for various other volunteer efforts and concerts of late, I just couldn't justify it. So I had to wait to hear how it went until the end of the day.

Lindsey practically glowed when I picked her up. She had won best dressed! She talked about how everyone "ooo'ed" and "aahh'ed" when they saw her, and some of her girlfriends held up the train of her dress as she walked.

She had such a great time!

You like me! You really, really like me!

I'm Honored...Not Really...

One day this past week a catalog for Melly's plopped in our mailbox. And I can say "plop" -- the thing was probably 2 feet high by a foot wide. I had to have Lindsey hold it so you could get an idea of the scale of this thing.

What a huge catalog!

From a creative perspective, I can say that they did a great job of getting my attention. It's big, colorful and beautiful. But from a direct marketing perspective, they were way off.

There is a Melly's store in the Galleria, an upscale shopping center down France Ave. I am practically within walking distance of the store which I have absolutely no plans of visiting anytime soon.

$288 for a shirt. $468 for a dress. A strapless, summer garden dress that I have no place to go wearing it. $598 for shoes. Shoes, people. Those things that I scuff on the sidewalk the first time I wear them. If I ever spent that kind of money on a pair of shoes I would put them behind glass and make everyone who walked into my house gaze at them like a piece of fricking art.

Lindsey's "Really?!" look. Get used to it, she'll perfect it by her teen years.

I can only imagine that the company was talked into doing a "zip saturation" mailing, where you mail to all households in certain zip codes around your locations, assuming that everyone who lives in those zip codes has the demographics you're looking for in potential buyers.

I'm going to take a stab at Melly's target customer, based on what I remember of the catalog world.

90% women.
Average household income $250,000+
Age range 35-55.
Spends $200/mo on beauty/spa products.
Average order size $350.

This is so not me.

So thanks, I'm honored...kind of. I'm glad you think that I would value your products, but I don't. And I'm pretty sure my 83-year-old widow neighbor down the street who bought her house for $30,000 in 1955 doesn't value your products, either.

Nice try.

Apartment for Rent - CHEAP!

I drive by this house nearly every day on my way home from work. Notice anything strange about it?

Yeah, seems weird to me too.

The ledger boards have been on the home for at least two years now. There are obviously plans to put on some kind of porch or walkway on the second and third stories, but it hasn't been done yet. Which begs the question: Who uses that upstairs door, anyway?

Since the house is divided into three units for rental, I decided to throw this out to my Facebook friends, to write a headline to help sell that upstairs apartment.

I've got some pretty clever friends, let me tell you.

Here's what they came up with:

• Be on top of the world in this very affordable upstairs apartment.
• An upstairs apartment so cozy, you'll never want to leave!
• Enjoy living in comfort and efficiency in this second story flat with walkout monorail access.

One of my friends came up with an ad for a person living in this apartment:

• Single white female seeks relationship with firefighter to carry her away.

Comment below and add your own!

What's a Pineapple Look Like Anyway?

I'm not a big fruit and vegetable eater, never have been. But my kids are getting me to broaden my horizons. Every time they accompany me to the grocery store I end up buying something surprising. Like kiwi fruit. Or plums. Or pears.

And this past week I did one more thing I never thought I'd do; I bought a whole pineapple with the intention of cutting it up at home.

My kids begged me. I'm not kidding.

And so this weekend we tackled the pineapple.

It was fun, with both the girls watching in anticipation to see how tough the outside of the pineapple was, and how the core looks different from the more edible part. They felt the thick, tough leaves, the prickly exterior and couldn't wait to start nibbling.

It was delicious, juicier and firmer than the canned stuff I usually buy. The pieces were disappearing as quickly as I could cut them up.



Next on our list: pomegranate.

Instead of Cartoons

Who needs Phineas and Ferb when you've got an imagination like this?

A Rite of Passage

Lindsey has been asking for technology -- an iTouch, a cell phone, but one thing she hasn't been asking for is earrings. She's asked over the past few years about getting her ears pierced, about whether or not it hurts, how long it hurts, if it hurts every time to clean them or just when you get them pierced...you get the picture.

So I was surprised when a few weeks ago she asked to get her ears pierced.

A couple of her friends have gotten them pierced recently, and she decided to get over her fear of the pain to get hers done as well.

I thought about it a bit and decided she needed to make her bed every morning for a week before she could get them pierced, to show that she could take on some additional responsibility. After all, she would have to clean her ears three times a day for six weeks before taking out her starter set of earrings.

So a couple of Saturdays ago she and I headed out for the mall. She was too nervous to eat lunch beforehand and had butterflies in her stomach, she was both nervous and excited. And when I gave her the option to back out, she was committed.

And so she did it. She picked out green ones, the birthstone for May (same color I got when I had my ears pierced.)



Waiting in anticipation.

She did great and I am so proud of her. And she is diligently cleaning her ears three times, every day.

My little girl is growing up.

WW: The Toys May Change...

...but the scene remains the same.

First photo taken March 2006, second taken February 2012.

The Wrong Debate

thesocialpoets.blogspot.com

I don't really follow politics much. I should -- I'm one of those uninformed voters who should probably know more about seats and candidates before I hit the polls.

But you can't help but follow politics now, in a presidential election year. And here's what I'm learning: our politicians spend too much time worrying about campaigning and how their decisions while in office affect their chances of re-election.

Take, for example, the birth control debate.

President Obama recently backed a mandate that requires religious institutions to provide health insurance coverage to their employees for contraceptives. This is something the Catholic church is not happy about, and Obama's camp is being touted as "smart" for taking this stance which will activate young, female voters. Pollsters have found that voters across the board -- including Catholics -- support access to contraceptives.

Political analyst Charlie Cook put it this way: "If it's framed as a fight over contraception, President Obama wins and the church and opponents of the rule lose. If it is perceived as a fight over religious freedom, the church and rule opponents win and Obama loses."

Who loses in this discussion? We all do, but especially women. After all, the majority of contraceptives are ones targeting the female reproductive system.

Let's first talk about the reasons why women in this country may need contraceptives. Did you know that a woman taking oral contraceptives ("the pill") reduces her risk of ovarian and endometrial cancers by up to 70 percent? And some women use the pill along with a host of other prescriptions to control acne. Some pills are used to reduce the symptoms of PMS, an actual medical diagnosis that reduces the quality of life for the women suffering from it. You can read more about all the reasons not related to contraception why women may want to take the pill on this WebMD page.

Note that it's a medical website, not a political website.

But where are the medical experts in this fight for coverage for contraceptives? Nowhere. They have no voice. Or, if they are talking, they are not getting media coverage so Americans can be educated on this issue. What do our politicians know of medicine? Don't they have bigger things to worry about?

It's a shame that Obama's advisers have to recommend a course of action based on whether or not it's popular in the polls. How about making decisions based on what's the right thing to do? That gets lost in the election debate. They're talking about the right things for the wrong reasons.

It seems that the campaign trail gets longer and longer and starts earlier and earlier. Obama was only one year into his first term when I first heard political analysts discuss how his actions in office will impact his ability to be re-elected. How about what impact his actions have on the country? On our lives?

We need campaign reform. This is ridiculous.

Capital "T," Capital "G": The Grind

Get up. Get ready for work. Get children ready for school.

Brush little one's hair. Create ponytail/pigtail/braids.

Give hugs and kisses.

Go to work. Meetings. Phone calls. Spreadsheets. Letters. Emails. Emails. Emails.

Leave to pick up kids. Go to school #1. Looks for boots. Look at special school project at close visual range.

While in car on way to second school hear all about the day. Pick up at school #2 begins.

Collect boots. Collect backpack and gym shoes. Bicker with sister over who gets to tell mom about her day.

Home.

Quick! Feed the dog, he looks like he's going to gnaw your arm off. Whew! Disaster averted.

Start dinner.

Look through backpacks.

Stir dinner. Add some more ingredients.

Collect mail. Throw a load of laundry in.

Set table.

Serve, eat and clear table of dinner. Transfer laundry to dryer.

Clean up kitchen while half supervising homework. Or, in today's case, make a Valentine's Day mailbox for one child.

Begin bedtime routine. Begin bedtime routine. Begin bedtime, girls! Get your butts upstairs! Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!

Fold clothes while checking in on children's progress at 2-minute intervals.

Distribute clothes to bedrooms. Read books.

Give hugs and kisses.

G'night!

And usually fall into bed myself shortly after.

6:00 am -- Get up. Get ready for work.

"Why am I so exhausted?" said one friend last week, when we broke this routine to gather for drinks. "I don't understand, I don't even DO anything!"

Capital T, Capital G. The Grind.

I think I know how Sisyphus feels.

Super Mom does not live here.

Marissa and Mommy Day

This morning Lindsey got special time with Daddy at a kid's track meet at the University of Minnesota Fieldhouse. His running has inspired our kids, Lindsey especially, and she was excited to spend time with her dad doing his favorite sport.

Marissa did not want to go, and I decided that we would have some special time just she and I.

So off we went to Choo Choo Bob's, a model train store in St. Paul that I've heard about from lots of different parents. While there's lots of kids train products, they also carry many different kinds of railroad sets for the serious adult hobbyist. Need HO gauge railway? How about N gauge? All types, all sizes, they have it all.

They also had a story hour going on when we got there, and two different birthday parties, one for a 3-year-old and one for a 4-year-old. It was packed. We barely walked in the door and Marissa wanted to turn around. "This is a little kid's store!" she declared.

But we walked around a little bit and she decided it wasn't too bad, though she refused to play with the Thomas the Train set tables in the back of the store, even though I know she still loves to play with our trains when given the opportunity. Too many toddlers around,apparently.

She wanted to leave so down the street we went, to see what else was around. We ended up stopping in to a local coffee shop called Kopplin's Coffee. This is a brand new location for them, and it was hopping. It made me smile to see the local neighborhood types in there, the entrepreneurs meeting with clients on a Saturday morning and the long-time friends getting together to catch up.

Marissa had a hot chocolate and a donut muffin (a muffin that seriously tasted just like a donut!) and I had a rogue mocha. What makes a mocha rogue? The chocolate, apparently, which was a specialty 70% cocoa bean chocolate. Yum. And seriously, how cool is the froth on it? Every drink had a different design. Such a nice touch.

We headed back down the street and stopped by Sweets Bake Shop, which was now open. We picked up a little something for dessert tonight, and then peeked back in Choo Choo Bob's one last time before leaving the area. This time story hour was over, and we got to see the real model trains in action. We watched this for a bit, and then Marissa decided she wanted to go home. So we did.

She's been playing by herself for hours now, making up her imaginary worlds and dressing up. And even though she said she wanted the entire day to be "Mommy and Me" day, she's decided she just wants Marissa time for now, to play and imagine the afternoon away.

That sounds divine.

How Planned Parenthood Created an Army

Graph from Planned Parenthood 2009-2010 annual report (link below)

 What an interesting couple of days this has been in the world of fundraising.

If you hadn't heard, Susan G Komen announced on Jan 31st that, due to a new policy they implemented, they have cut funding to Planned Parenthood that pays for breast exams and screenings, to the tune of $680,000. Their new policy was that they cannot fund organizations that are under federal investigation. Guess what, Planned Parenthood is pretty much ALWAYS under investigation, thanks to one of the services they provide to their clients.

Within 24 hours, Planned Parenthood sent an email out to their supporters, asking for their assistance to fill this sudden and unplanned-for gap in funding, so they can continue to provide breast cancer screening to low-income women.

The public's first response was surprise: You mean Planned Parenthood doesn't just abort babies?

Once we all were educated that Planned Parenthood provides many more services than abortion, the collective public became outraged. How could Komen, the leader and most well-known breast cancer brand in the world, choose to cut funding to those who can least afford it? Doesn't this go against Komen's mission?

This blogger did a better job of summarizing what happened than I can; read more of it at the Nonprofit Marketing Guide blog.

The backlash in social media has been immediate and loud. Shame on Komen -- support Planned Parenthood!

Within 24 hours Planned Parenthood had an army of advocates speaking out on their behalf on the social media spectrum, standing up for them and making their voices heard. Within 24 hours after Planned Parenthood's cry for help, the $680,000 gap caused by Komen's decision had almost completely filled by supporters who became donors. I suspect Planned Parenthood has a whole lot of brand new donors who have never given to them before.

The word from Komen's camp?

Silence.

Finally after 2 days had passed, Komen's PR machine began to churn, with Facebook notes, tweets and a push via traditional media to make their voice heard on their change in policy. But at this point 75% of all social media buzz was against Komen and for Planned Parenthood; they have some work to do.

Here's the best part.

I began wondering, "Hmmm...what does $680,000 mean to Planned Parenthood anyway? How big of a gap IS this?"

The answer: Not very.

Planned Parenthood's latest annual report indicates that they receive hundreds of millions of dollars in charitable income, through individual donations, grants, program service revenue and other sources. Their net assets on their most recently filed 990 are $103 million, with gross receipts of $130 million.

Let's see...$680,000 into $130 million...that's .5% of all of their funding. Yes, that's a decimal point in front of that number. That's less than 1% of their total funding.

Wow. All this, over a dollar amount that they probably could've replaced just by asking some of their other sources for a couple more bucks.

But look at what they've done. They've brought over new advocates and supporters to their cause. They've educated the public as a whole as to their mission and how they fulfill it.

I am sure that the long-term impact is that Komen will never fund Planned Parenthood again. If I were Planned Parenthood I would say that that's no big loss, considering the amount of supporters they've gained in this debacle. And Komen is already under attack and has lost walkers and donors, just as they are ramping up in their marketing for the 3-day walks which take place all over the U.S. all summer long.

Ouch.

Well played, Planned Parenthood, well played.

*NOTE: As a disclaimer, I must remind readers that these views are my own and not that of my employer, former employer, husband, dog, great-aunt's second cousin once removed. Just me. Thanks.

Golly Gee

I get very few comments on my blog. If I ever post a link to it on Facebook or Twitter, those may get comments or get re-tweeted, but few take the time to go through to my original post and comment. Except my family, of course.

I was honored to see that my recent blog post "Are We Teaching Hate?" inspired my dad to write a blog post about his own experiences growing up in Northern Michigan during a time of great change in our country.

Check it out for another perspective. And really, how many men in their mid-60's do you know who write multiple blogs and keep up with family and friends near and far via Facebook and Twitter? I'll guarantee you he'll be one of the coolest guys and best storytellers you'll ever meet.

I Smell Bacon

Did I mention before how much I love bacon?

So much so that this year my dad ordered some special meats for our family for Christmas, including some amazing flavored thick-cut bacon, and Hawaiian chicken breasts.

The Hawaiian chicken breasts are stuffed with a special ooey-gooey cheese and pineapple chunks, then wrapped in bacon. Beautiful, woven bacon that sizzles and oozes into the chicken as it bakes.

Yum.

But unfortunately, the girls hate these Hawaiian chicken breasts. They particularly hate the oozing cheese.

So, in order to have some more of these, we decided to make an equivalent of these for our girls, with none of that icky stuff that they don't like. And since Lindsey REALLY wanted to help make dinner, I decided to put her crafting skills to work, weaving bacon.

Four strips of bacon the long way, four strips cut in half, then woven together to make a mat of meat. We put the chicken breast in the middle of it, wrapped it around the chicken breast and set it on the broiling pan with the stuff ones.

400 degrees for between 50 and 60 minutes, and voila.

A little sauteed broccoli on the side, and I had four happy, filled family members.

No, I did NOT have to find a special frying pan for this recipe. And yes, I did have to cut the bacon.

Are We Teaching Hate?

My youngest daughter came home from school with a book about Martin Luther King Jr recently. Very appropriate, considering that a couple of weeks ago we celebrated his birthday.

I began reading the book to her and got a bit disturbed.

Segregation of schools. Segregation of services. Unequal access to transportation, stores, jobs. Black people being severely beaten and sprayed with water from a fire hydrant, just for wanting equal rights.

Yes, it all happened, in the all too recent past. Yes, it was a terrible time. And we should never forget that we in this country, the land of the "free," did those things as recently as one generation removed from me.

But it never even occurred to my daughter until I began reading this book to her that people with different color skin could be treated differently. She was confused by the term "black."

"Do you mean brown people, Mommy?" she asked. "Because I've never seen someone with black skin. And what about people who are dark peach or light tan? What are they?"

"They" defy classification. We all do, don't we? Let's start treating differently the people who grew up with an Italian heritage but turned out to actually be French but who are actually more Croatian than either of those heritages, shall we? Because that would be my family.

I am all for teaching history lest we repeat it. But now, when diversity is so deeply ingrained in our children, are we doing ourselves a disservice by teaching that it wasn't always this way? Will my daughter look at her classmates whose skin is darker than hers and think of them differently, when she never did up to this point?

The other element that's changing is that "diversity" today is not about who is black and who is white. It is about who is Hispanic, or Muslim, or Indian or Chinese. It is about population growth in a multitude of ethnicities that most of us probably don't even know. Did you know that people of the Karen culture are the largest growing population in the Twin Cities? (Karen is pronounced Ka-REHN and is a certain culture of people who are immigrating here from Burma and Thailand.) The Twin Cities is home to the largest population of people of this culture outside of Southeast Asia. Check out their supporting organization, Karen Organization of Minnesota. What an amazing people. And guess what -- they came to this country to escape many of the same persecutions we did in the 1960's against a certain class of people as well. Ironic, huh?

So I'm not sure what to make of this. I agree that we should pass on the teachings of Martin Luther King Jr. He was an incredible leader who transformed our nation. I'm just not sure that age 6 is the right time to teach that hate ran so deeply in this country at one time.

Superhero Day

Yesterday was Superhero Day at Lindsey's school. The kids were instructed to dress up like a superhero, which was defined as anyone that they look up to.

Lindsey has been pondering Superhero Day all week. She didn't know who to be, and I didn't offer any ideas.

Finally on Wednesday she asked if we had a wig of short, black, curly hair. Ummm....no?

"Darn," she said, in all seriousness, "Because I would really like to go as you."

Since she probably wouldn't fit into my clothes, she decided to go as her sister, because she admires her sister, too. Except she decided that Marissa's clothes would be too small for her.

Finally the day came, and Friday morning she is looking through her drawers. She decides to go as herself, because she likes herself just fine, too.

One Letter of Gratitude

I have the honor of being the guest blogger for a friend of mine, Missy Durant, who recently published her first book, What Matters...Gratitude.

I first met Missy through our daughters, who are the best of friends. I got to know her more personally as our daughters have grown and am humbled and amazed that so much wisdom and positivity can reside in a single person.

Missy's book chronicles her journey of writing a letter of gratitude to 50 people in 50 days. Those letters changed her life, changed her perspective on life and ignited a zeal for the things that matter most in life and began a revolution of gratitude.

She asked me to write an answer to the following question: "If I could only write one letter of gratitude to someone, who would it be and why?"

My answer is, as always, rather personal. If you want to read my response, you'll have to visit Missy's blog, What Matters the Book.

Maybe it will inspire you to write your own letter to someone who means a lot to you.

Moments That Matter

“And then…um, and then…um, and then…”

I sigh inwardly.

I am attempting to listen to my 8-year-old recount some event of her school day. Something that was apparently very funny. But it is being lost in translation.

“Okay, I’ll start at the beginning. So at lunch today…um, ok…”

I contemplate my child’s brain function. Does she suffer from some kind of attention deficient disorder? Is this the result of hours of playing Plants vs Zombies? Is this why she needs to have a piece of technology in her hands while waiting for another piece of technology to boot up?

Playing Plants vs Zombies on the iPad while waiting for Animal Jam to load on the laptop.

I nearly get up from my chair, to go do some household chore like fold laundry or empty the dishwasher, knowing she will dutifully follow me around, attempting to tell me the story of her day.

But instead, I still myself.

I look her in the eyes, something I hadn’t been doing. I had been looking down at my smartphone, checking my personal email while she tried to tell me this story. (Hmmm…I wonder where she gets this need for technology to occupy her…)

I take in her deep brown eyes as they flicker back and forth, searching for words in the air. I watch her expression as she tries to grasp those words, and I wonder if her adorable little pixie chin will stay that shape when she hit puberty and everything about her body begins to change.  I watch her gestures as she begins the story again, admiring her long fingers and the natural grace of her movements.

And then something remarkable happens.

Her eyes catch mine, and she realizes she has my full attention. She looks in my eyes and the story comes to her easily, in one fell swoop.

“At lunch today I was sitting next to my friend Ellie and Charlie was sitting across from us and then Charlie began playing with his food, and pretty soon he had made a little person out of his carrots and his pudding. But then the lunch lady saw it and told him he had to eat it, so he did. It was so funny!”

And she looks at me with expectation, waiting for me to laugh, which I do. I give her a hug and thank her for sharing her story with me.

Suddenly a story that I would have half-listened to for 20 minutes and maybe would have remembered (but probably not) has become a moment. A brief one at that, but a moment that we have shared together, and it tells me so much about my daughter.

It tells me that she has friends, girls and boys who choose to sit by her at lunch. She loves it when these friends make her laugh. Likewise, these kids probably enjoy making her laugh, and that’s a pretty good basis for a friendship when you’re in third grade.

These moments are what matter to me. And I am thankful for them.

*This post was inspired by a book written by a friend of mine called What Matters...Gratitude. If you're looking for inspiration, or an amazing, positive place to make you smile, check out her blog.