tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86964967242710560532012-01-20T08:33:54.988-08:00Chronicling the often gentle, but sometimes violent mix of the humorous, pathetic, awe-struck and sometimes mundane moments in motherhood that even the best digital and video cameras could not possibly capture.Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.comBlogger4201100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-89761470546083529272010-09-11T11:45:00.000-07:002010-09-11T11:58:40.419-07:00<div>I realized the other day, in the middle of a 4-year-old's meltdown, that all this time I thought the meltdowns were just going to fade away. I mean, a 2-year-old's meltdown is due to the terrible twos, and then there's the terrible threes and the frustrating fours. </div><div><br /></div><div>Most of the time, these days, life is a total dream with the girls. Most of the time. It's not easy by any means but it's easier than it was.</div><div><br /></div><div>And yet I realize all this time I've made mistakes. So many mistakes. The No. 1 mistake I make is that I often just try and convince them to just instantly turn their emotions off. Who does that? I've been extremely hurt by a friend in the last two weeks and as much as I wish I could turn off the hurt feelings, it's just going to take time. Why should I expect my 4-year-olds to do the same with much less world experience and much less understanding of what's important and what's not. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, during a nice cup of coffee and writing my morning pages, I realized that I should have kept a list from the very start of their birth on what makes them happy, what distracts them, what turns them from being a hot mess to being a happy joy. After all, this is what I have to do with myself now that I am hurting, isn't it? Find ways to heal. Find ways to distract. Find ways to cope. Find ways to remember that there are better ways to spend our days than mourning something that isn't that important. In my case, that people, despite what you think, can be very mean spirited and lazy just to make life easier for themselves.</div><div><br /></div><div>Life isn't easy. Our girls will learn that. But, for now, I am creating an energy list of sorts. A list that, at the drop of a tear, I can call upon to say: "You're sad/angry/frustrated and I'm sorry for that. I want you to feel better. How about ... X"</div><div><br /></div><div>So, so to not delay any longer, here's the list of 25 distractions for kids, almost any preschooler can do, (that do not involve TV or movies):</div><div><br /></div><div><ol><li>Hugs</li><li>Silly dances</li><li>Loud music</li><li>Monster faces</li><li>Chasing games</li><li>Tickle bug</li><li>Scavenger hunt</li><li>The Art Box</li><li>Let's take a walk</li><li>Snuggle up</li><li>Kid cleaning (adults should help)</li><li>Surprises</li><li>Tea parties</li><li>Lemonade stand</li><li>Bake something</li><li>Science experiments</li><li>Circle time/Story time</li><li>Charades</li><li>Duck Duck Goose</li><li>Build a fort</li><li>Rearrange a room</li><li>Write a book together</li><li>Go through old pictures</li><li>Do a puzzle</li><li>Hide and seek</li></ol></div><div><br /></div><div>Please feel free to add you're own distractions!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Thank you for visiting today.Please consider subscribing here:<p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-8976147054608352927?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-66758292907309902582010-07-21T05:54:00.000-07:002010-07-21T06:06:37.894-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/TEbwTf97ILI/AAAAAAAAE00/46bbDoiPnko/s1600/May+2010+031.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/TEbwTf97ILI/AAAAAAAAE00/46bbDoiPnko/s400/May+2010+031.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496344613041676466" /></a><br />Over there <a href="http://livinglaughingwriting.blogspot.com/2010/07/5-ways-to-let-go-of-perfection.html">on my other</a> blog, I'm talking about letting go of perfectionism. I use a picture of one my girls playing dead.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Yes, playing dead. </span><br /><br />I used the picture that looks most real. Here, I show you the same one, but with a smile on her face. I showed her these pictures today and she wanted me to print out the one with the smile. <br /><br />Just goes to show that she found the whole playing dead thing funny. <br /><br />I didn't find it so humorous. Our girls go to an inner city preschool. My guess is that death and guns and dying comes up a bit more there than say your average suburban child care center. I don't know. No one has died in our house but our pet fish. A family member's dog died and, well, they talked about that for years it seemed. <br /><br />I am not comfortable with talking about death. This is something I have to work on. <br /><br />But I tried hard not to tell them that. I just tried to change the subject when I thought their play had gone a bit overboard. They never actually kill anyone, just pretend to be dead. Whew, what a relief.<br /><br />So many things that happen on a daily basis are things I never anticipated having to deal with, especially with girls, but especially because of how we try to raise our girls. <br /><br />I didn't realize, of course, that they are smarter than we are and they go with their instincts and gut and natural reactions rather than what is popular or "right."<br /><br />I let go of trying to be the perfect mom a while ago. But, now and then, she does pop up and I have to shush her like a crying child. Go away. You're not wanted here. These children are perfect just the way they are. They were born that way and there's not much more I can do but just keep them alive.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Yes, keep them alive. </span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-6675829290730990258?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-29901167390536869362010-06-08T10:44:00.001-07:002010-06-08T10:47:57.564-07:00Welcome to my Coming Out party. Please go over to Magpie Girl and read a Guest Post I wrote <a href="http://www.magpie-girl.com/20100608/behind-the-mic-shawn-ledington/">about my religion</a>.<br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.Please consider subscribing here: <p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate"><img style="BORDER-BOTTOM: 0pt; BORDER-LEFT: 0pt; VERTICAL-ALIGN: middle; BORDER-TOP: 0pt; BORDER-RIGHT: 0pt" alt="" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-2990116739053686936?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-83708074138397418982010-06-05T11:45:00.000-07:002010-06-05T11:50:08.877-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/TAqaf8BgYxI/AAAAAAAAEwE/cyLwjdK90cI/s1600/Memorial+Day+2010+043.jpg"><br /></a><br /><pre><a href="http://www.magpie-girl.com/8-things/"><br /><img src="http://www.magpie-girl.com/wp-content/uploads/button_8things.jpg" alt="Join *8Things" /><br /></a></pre><br /><br />I've been following a blogging world full of creative spirits for a couple years now but it's been the last two years that I've really turned to this. And while I started out as a mommy blogger, unintentionally, I've long outgrown writing about my children. I thought long and hard about writing about all the artsy stuff I do with them but I knew I wouldn't keep up with that to maintain a following. Please check out my new blog called <a href="http://livinglaughingwriting.blogspot.com/2010/06/8-things-filling-me-up.html">Live Laugh Write<span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span></a>. I will still blog here occasionally.<br /><br />But I've always written about trying to be creative while being a mother and so being a Creativity Junkie just sort of fits my life. I recently wrote a guest blog post for Magpie Girl and I can't wait to share that with all of you who still read here.<br /><br />For now, how about I get a little started with this Creativity thing and let you know <a href="http://www.magpie-girl.com/8-things/">what's filling me up</a>.<br /><br />1. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Writing</span>. I recently learned a bunch of things were holding me back from writing and one of them was doing too much work writing. Funny how that works. But by letting the words flow, I have been more successful at writing. No more freelancing unless it feels right. No more blogging unless it feels right. I'm just creating now and that totally fills me up.<br /><br />2. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Sunshine</span>. We have a lovely pool at our new house and wow it has transformed our lives taking me back to what it felt like to be a kid again just sunning and swimming all day. We actually stayed home for a whole day yesterday. The sun fills me up so much.<br /><br />3. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Music</span>. I'm experimenting with new tunes on Pandora. I've discovered that I love Indian music. It's crazy but wow it makes me so happy. I also have known that I love Indian food and one of my MONDO BEYONDO dreams is to learn to cook it and then have a dinner party. I've also been experimenting with what music does to my writing.<br /><br />4. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Dreaming</span>. I just love to sit around with a notebook and pen and dream about life. I'm taking Mondo Beyondo and a couple other classes right now that are filling me up with dreams and actions to take those dreams on a journey.<br /><br />5. <span style="font-weight: bold;">My girls</span>. When they are swimming or running in the sunshine and being true little kids, it's the best gift in the world. I see so much of ourselves in them and that is crazy filling.<br /><br />6. <span style="font-weight: bold;">The simple life</span>. Homemade ice cream. Lemonade. Grilling outside. Picking strawberries. Spending time in nature -- deep wood nature. Watching the birds and listening to them.<br /><br />7. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Meditation</span>. Yes. When all else fails, it's all I can do to fill back up.<br /><br />8. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Creative friends</span>. I have a few and am working to build a tribe locally. I have a book club debuting at my house this coming week. I'm excited to release this dream into the world. I also started an art group for the girls to get them building these creative friendships sooner.<br /><br />To read more *8 Things lists, go <a href="http://www.magpie-girl.com/8-things/">here</a>.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-8370807413839741898?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-52104954554603341442010-04-16T02:56:00.000-07:002010-04-16T03:05:36.296-07:00I have virtually no readers left here, which leaves me in a strange place of writing mostly for myself for the first time in a really long time. Perhaps, ever?<br /><br />Nonetheless, it's still my home and I do plan to redecorate this summer and turn this into something a bit different -- more like a retreat than a blog.<br /><br />If you are here, thank you. Truly. Thank you for sticking with me all these years.<br /><br />Here's a list of things I'm loving right now:<br /><br />Lush grass.<br />Wide open spaces.<br />Playtime.<br />Flowering trees.<br />Little girls barefoot and bare legged. How did their legs get so cute this winter?<br />My new turquoise coffee mugs.<br />Relaxing on the patio under a blanket.<br />Walking and walking and walking.<br />Warm rainy nights.<br />Spring morning symphonies by feathered friends.<br />Hatching butterflies at home!<br />Seeing the wonder on my daughters' faces each day at spring's renewal.<br />Bunnies. Sweet baby bunnies eating forsythia in our yard.<br />Watching my husband slide down the slide at the playground for no reason other than a laugh<br />Farmer's market shopping.<br />Making time for being creative and knowing it's a choice.<br />Feeling gracious. <span style="font-style: italic;">Finally</span>.<br />The love of great friends who are and have been carrying me. I am full of love for feeling loved. <span style="font-style: italic;">Finally</span>.<br /><br />And, above all, finally knowing the very thin, fine line of what I want from my day, how I want to spend it, and with whom -- while staying happy, joyful and within the framework of my values.<br /><br />Blessed be.<br /><br />How about you? What do you love? What are you craving?<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-5210495455460334144?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-36797135829214786632010-01-18T03:33:00.001-08:002010-02-25T11:16:30.547-08:00It's a three-day weekend, so I have some "extra" time.<br /><br />Time.<br /><br />Since I began working full-time a little more than a year ago I have struggled more with the issue of time than ever. Mostly because of the "time lost" with my girls.<br /><br />And yet I spend every second with them -- when I'm not working.<br /><br />When I was home all the time, I felt no guilt leaving a few hours on the weekends or missing a bedtime here and there.<br /><br />Now. Oh, now. Is it guilt? Is it missing? Is it an emptiness? I have yet to put a finger on what it is that keeps me tethered to them even when I know I should leave, that it would be best for me to leave them.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/discussion/2010/01/13/DI2010011304120.html?sid=ST2010011304189">This Washington Post article</a> impressed me today. I don't know how. Or why. Just that it did. Perhaps knowing that my insane schedule isn't just my inability to plan or organize well enough. I've known for about three months that, if I'm lucky, I get a half hour of quiet time in the morning before the girls wake at 5:55 a.m. And, I "get" another half hour to an hour at night -- after they are asleep -- before I zonk out of pure exhaustion. And, sometimes, all I want to do is sleep with my "spare" time so I'm often found going to bed at 8:30 p.m.<br /><br />Pathetic.<br /><br />I have been meditating. And I owe <a href="http://mommazen.blogspot.com/"><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">HER </span></a>for this. I can't give her the credit, though. I have started this on my own, when the time was ripe, when I was ready to just surrender to stillness. I understand, therefore I can.<br /><br />I have found that it is truly my only real time for me. Not shopping. Not meal planning. Not even the thought of yoga or walking. Just being with myself.<br /><br />I can't do anything well or right. I sometimes can't do anything at all. But sitting, being quiet, ah ... that I can handle. I can do it in pitch dark first thing in the morning, or at night when the stars are bright. It requires nothing but me and the floor. And, well, a little commitment on my part.<br /><br />Do the thoughts of the to-do list badger me? Oh yes! Yes! Just this morning, after some sun salutations, my meditation included lots of things that need to get done today -- our last day together before the work-week begins again.<br /><br />I want to bake with the girls, exercise, unpack a couple mysterious boxes, write out the meals for the week, and tackle two easy art projects -- painting a chalkboard in the kitchen and painting a stool for the girls' newly decorated bedroom.<br /><br />It's a full life. There is so little time. But, it's all mine and that's why I've chosen to make JOY my word for the year. I have to keep it going. Joy can hardly be found when you're up with a vomiting child in the middle of the night -- such was the case Saturday night.<br /><br />And yet, here, I am writing this morning. Something's gone right.<br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate"><img style="BORDER-BOTTOM: 0pt; BORDER-LEFT: 0pt; VERTICAL-ALIGN: middle; BORDER-TOP: 0pt; BORDER-RIGHT: 0pt" alt="" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-3679713582921478663?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-70756678435550996012009-12-29T11:27:00.000-08:002009-12-29T11:30:42.592-08:00I'm learning to let go, to delegate to my girls and to be OK with things not perfect. <a href="http://www.parenting.com/article/Mom/Health--Fitness/21-Ways-to-Enjoy-Being-a-Mom?cid=enews122909">This </a>article spoke to me today. It's old, but it's what I've always been about but just never knew it.<br /><br />More later on my identity crisis.<br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0pt; BORDER-TOP: 0pt; VERTICAL-ALIGN: middle; BORDER-LEFT: 0pt; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0pt" alt="" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-7075667843555099601?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-68515154162936953772009-12-23T08:03:00.000-08:002009-12-23T08:11:15.641-08:00<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SzJBAAeHz_I/AAAAAAAAEo0/7JL9VSLz7ck/s1600-h/relax.gif"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418464770062274546" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 1px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 1px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SzJBAAeHz_I/AAAAAAAAEo0/7JL9VSLz7ck/s200/relax.gif" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Dear Joy --<br /><br />I lost you somewhere along the way. I lost sight of your face and the sound of your laugh. I gave way to the unauthentic kind of happiness that shows up in photographs and videos and blog posts and facebook status updates. I surrender. That joy is lost on me.<br /><br />But, I am renewed.<br /><br />I'm determined to find you again, to see your soul and feel your warmth. It might be snuggling with a good book on a Sunday afternoon while the girls sleep and the husband naps and the crockpot makes dinner. It might be dancing the morning away to a CD I love with the girls at my hips, shaking their booty along with me.<br /><br />It might be dropping everything to just sit and be quiet and still. I think I need this joy most of all. The joy of no obligations, no responsibility, no to-do list and no, above all, NO pressure that I've placed on myself, this day, this moment.<br /><br />Yes, joy, I'm all yours for the taking and I"m smiling as I tell you this. It's not about the perfect moment-to-be, it's about the moment that is right now here in front of me, at my fingertips, on my lips, whispering in my ears. Now. Now. Now.<br /><br />I want to be your friend again, Joy. I want to know you like I knew my best friend in high school who I miss dearly. I want to feel your breath on my neck and I want to know that you are squishing deeply between my toes like the sand on the beaches of my youth.<br /><br />Even as a mother, I must allow you, more than anything else, into my life. I must put you before the meal planning, the 40-hour work week, the gossip of others, the wants and desires of the future I dream of and even before my children on the days they are most cranky.<br /><br />You are a wish I dream of every moment, of every day and yet I never even knew it. Until now. A little light sparkled in front of me and I followed it and I now realize what has been missing all along.<br /><br />Joy, stay close. Hold my hand when times are tough. Stick by my side and hold me when I am weak. Hold me up when I am happy, too. You mean the world to me and to my family and I realize that now. My Joy is the difference between a good day and a great one. Why haven't I known this until now?<br /><br />Whatever, it doesn't matter because I'm letting go of all guilt to make way for more joy. More joy in coffee mugs in the evenings, more joy in a wine glass in the bathub, more joy is cupcakes for breakfast and more joy in prepared foods to carve out more time for joys like writing, and creating, and ... dreaming on the stars.<br /><br />Welcome, Joy! Welcome home. May you find enough peace here to stay forever.<br /><br />Love,<br /><br />Joy-filled.p.s. Happy Everything, everyone! I love you all. </div><br /><div>Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0pt; BORDER-TOP: 0pt; VERTICAL-ALIGN: middle; BORDER-LEFT: 0pt; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0pt" alt="" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-6851515416293695377?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-51539412243307966822009-12-14T06:21:00.000-08:002009-12-14T06:28:39.479-08:00Much like <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/search?q=stockings">last year</a>, we're using our mini stocking advent calendar to fit in some truly fun and memorable activities this holiday season. It makes me realize that I'm a much better mother when I'm organized and full of activities in my pocket ...<br /><br />This year, still trying to find ways for the girls to not compete against each other while also building their self-esteem, we're doing two activities a day. Each girl pulls a paper from their stocking. They love listening to me read what their activity of the day is and, even more than that, they love doing them. They do everything with such enthusiasm!<br /><br />Here's the list:<br /><br />Here's the list real quick.<br /><br />1.Make list -- sing carols<br />2.Look for color red -- dance party<br />3.A joke -- city light up night<br />4.decorate the doors -- visit santa<br />5.movie night -- make cookies<br />6.paint nails red and green -- make gift tags<br />7.play with cookie cutters -- mail cards (trace cutters, cut out playdoh and paint) we haven't done cards.<br />8.hang candy canes -- snowscapes with shaving cream<br />9.find the color green -- camp under the tree<br />10.drink hot chocolate -- read around the tree<br />11.count the red lights -- christmas magic<br />12.<a href="http://familyfun.go.com/playtime/family-tree-706572/">family tree activity </a>-- make cards for teachers<br />13.make homemade gifts -- be an elf for the night<br />14.<a href="http://familyfun.go.com/christmas/christmas-games/santas-helpers-game-707304/">Santa's helper/wrap a gift game </a>-- create gift kits<br />15.make choc. covered pretzels -- make seating cards (this tiny tumbler's and MNO so ... ??)<br />16.pin the <a href="http://familyfun.go.com/christmas/christmas-games/you-could-even-say-it-glows-707193/">nose on rudolph game </a>--write a Christmas story (and what is left from above)<br />17.make ornaments/wrap gifts -- red and green snack<br />18.spa night -- light a candle in memory of dog Prince<br />19.put on a christmas play -- eat dessert first<br />20. Create a winter alter -- jingle bell dance around the tree<br />21. Winter Solstice celebration -- star gaze<br />22. wear red and green -- eat breakfast for dinner<br />22.Jingle bells dance -- make sugar cone trees<br />23. Hand out gifts to teachers -- star watch<br />24. set out cookies and milk -- sprinkle reindeer food outside<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0pt; BORDER-TOP: 0pt; VERTICAL-ALIGN: middle; BORDER-LEFT: 0pt; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0pt" alt="" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-5153941224330796682?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-17241909425583721202009-12-07T07:00:00.000-08:002009-12-07T06:06:06.399-08:00<em>From the Archives of Between the Lines</em><br /><br /><a href="http://www.mamablogga.com/september-group-writing-project/">Motherhood is </a>...<br /><br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Wow, they're sleeping in today.</span><br />Oh, goodness, the whole day will be ruined because they're sleeping late.<br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">They're crying; they're hungry.</span><br />No, they're not hungry.<br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Yes, they are hungry. </span><br />Must fix something healthy.<br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Nothing easy is healthy. </span><br />Who am I kidding? They won't eat anything healthy.<br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">I want them to eat well. </span><br />Is it wrong to give them all sweets for breakfast?<br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Yes, it's wrong.</span><br />Let's eat!<br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Are you done?</span><br />Stop playing with your food.<br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Are you done?</span><br />Just take a bite.<br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Are you done?</span><br />I'm not making anything else for you.<br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Are you done?</span><br />We're done. Go play.<br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Just shoot me now. They never want to eat anything anymore.</span><br />Let's go in the playroom.<br />No, don't take out all of the DVDs.<br />Let's play with toys.<br />No, we're not going to jump on the cushions at 7:45 a.m.<br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">What was their father thinking to start this tradition?</span><br />They're crying; they're probably hungry.<br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Try eating something for breakfast next time. </span><br />What's wrong?<br />Are you tired?<br />Are you hungry?<br />Are you thirsty?<br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Are you a Republican?</span><br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">I'm sorry. I don't understand whining.</span><br />I have an idea! Let's go outside.<br />Yay! We're outside.<br />No, don't put flowers in your mouth.<br />No, don't put mulch in your hair.<br />No, don't throw grass at your Mama.<br />Hey, let's go inside and see if the mail came?<br />Let's watch Baby Signing Times!<br />Let's jump on the cushions!<br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Let's destroy all the DVDs so long as you aren't crying.</span><br />They're crying; are they hungry?<br />Should I give them a snack?<br />No. No snack. They must learn to eat at meals.<br />Aw, but they're hungry.<br />Aren't they?<br />I think so.<br />I don't think so.<br />Well, it's only 10:30, but let's try having lunch. I think you're hungry.<br />What? You're not hungry.<br />How about a nap. I think you need a nap.<br />Yes, let's take a nap. Shall we?<br />Zzzzzzzzzzzzz<br /><br />This post is in honor of Mamablogga's <a href="http://www.mamablogga.com/september-group-writing-project/">September writing project</a>.<br /><br />Now that you have some insight into how my brain works, and how much stress I cause myself, I hereby am taking a much-needed break away from this blog. A week of silence shall prevail here. Please leave me a comment if you participate in this writing project because I will stop by for a visit. Perhaps some solitude will come to my mind in the next several days. If not, our 4-hour drive to the beach and our first night away from home -- and cribs -- should make for some interesting posts next week.<br /><br />Namaste.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-1724190942558372120?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-254564667773525132009-11-23T03:01:00.000-08:002009-11-23T03:20:57.834-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SwpwDbpVy_I/AAAAAAAAEmA/3hPrEJKzBAI/s1600/IMG_7629.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SwpwDbpVy_I/AAAAAAAAEmA/3hPrEJKzBAI/s320/IMG_7629.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407257506874772466" border="0" /></a><br />In an effort to revive my blog, my writing self and my soul, I'm participating in Menu Planning Monday today. It's a small step to mixing my busy life with blogging.<br /><br />We've moved into a new house less than a month ago and while we're feeling settled, there's still a lot of unpacking and organizing going on. That means I'm still not writing like I would like.<br /><br />Go <a href="http://orgjunkie.com/2009/11/menu-plan-monday-nov-23rd.html">here </a>for more menus.<br /><br />Monday: <a href="http://www.instructables.com/id/Pizza-Bagel/">Pizza Bagels</a> (The Dad is cooking since I have a meeting)<br /><br />Tuesday: Leftovers<br /><br />Wednesday: Perhaps dinner out with visiting family<br /><br />Thursday: <a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/paula-deen/baked-french-toast-casserole-recipe/index.html">Baked French Toast for breakfast</a><br /><br />Thanksgiving, which will include these fine recipes:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.momadvice.com/blog/2008/11/make-ahead-mashed-potatoes.htm">Make Ahead Mashed Potatoes</a><br /><br />Sweet potatoes -- Toss in cup of butter and a cup of brown sugar and saute on stove top until softened.<br /><br />Turkey -- My grandmother is bringing this along with the stuffing<br /><br />And a bunch of other things. Naturally.<br /><br />Friday -- We're going anti-shopping this year and I plan to make Artisan bread from this book: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0312362919?ie=UTF8&amp;tag=letttomydaug-20&amp;linkCode=xm2&amp;camp=1789&amp;creativeASIN=0312362919">Artisan Bread in Five Minutes</a>. We'll eat leftovers, of course.<br /><br />Saturday -- Pizza day! I'll make pesto and goat cheese pizza for me and traditional for the rest.<br /><br />Have a very Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-25456466777352513?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-86900259834371371362009-09-28T17:34:00.000-07:002009-09-28T17:45:53.528-07:00Our home has finally sold after two very long, excruciating years of a terrible market. In that time, much has changed within these walls and beyond. And we are ready. More than ready.<br /><br />We are leaving our urban neighborhood where we can wander along cracked sidewalks and littered streets all while listening to raw, thumping music and curse words waft through the air like smells of Arroz con Pollo.<br /><br />Leaving is such a harsh word for such a harsh place. It wasn't always this way. In fact, it was nothing of the sort then -- before kids. And yet by leaving we will still be just two minutes away. Two. That's it.<br /><br />Now, we're packing and sorting and Purging in a great way for a house that lives in harmony with the Earth with just the right sunlight to warm its bones during the winter days and sunken into the dirt to cool it in the summers. It sits on nearly two acres of land with near two dozen lovely trees for me to rest my eyes on and sit my dreams on and escape under. On our recent visit, we weren't the only ones visiting: a fox and a groundhog trotted in the backyard and we watched from the sunroom.<br /><br />It took six years living here to know who we were as a family, to know what we needed and wanted and longed for -- peace, quiet, balance, nature.<br /><br />A month seems so far away and yet I can't sleep at night at the weight of it all. The mounds of stuff I honestly can't remember why we need. The fear of too much stuff and not enough truck or hands or able bodies. The change from lights 24/7 to darkness and perfect vision to the stars and a moon to go to sleep to each night instead of, well, some more negative things.<br /><br />We have been blessed to live where few middle-income Americans have lived, and experienced a life some could not even imagine. We have learned about real people living real lives in poverty. And I'm not just talking about the monetary sense of that word.<br /><br />There's too much to do, too much to remember and not enough time to mess with it all. Because we have a life too full of beautiful nows to live. The precious sleep in a room down the hall. The house is a true disaster.<br /><br />And we could not be any happier.<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-8690025983437137136?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-26214458875186485862009-08-31T17:04:00.000-07:002009-08-31T17:07:59.408-07:00A long time ago, I had this little idea to preserve my thoughts now for my daughters later. You know, that was a damn good idea. <br /> <br />Dear girls -- <br /> <br />A man should want to listen to you and hold your hand without any other intentions. He should be smart and sexy but not too much of either because it can go to their heads in one way or another and that leaves you feeling bad about yourself. You should be able to be yourself – boldly, daringly. You should be able to wear what you want, go where you want and believe what you want. If you can’t, than the relationship is not right for you. Granted, none are perfect, but these are good starters. If they have this, you can live with a little Sports Network now and then – and tell him so, too. Appreciate the men you find who are like this. Above all, though, nurture yourself and the woman you want to be. <br /><p></p><p style="margin: 5pt 53.25pt 5pt 9pt; text-indent: 9pt; line-height: 200%;"> <br /></p><p style="margin: 5pt 53.25pt 5pt 9pt; text-indent: 9pt; line-height: 200%;">Love,</p><p style="margin: 5pt 53.25pt 5pt 9pt; text-indent: 9pt; line-height: 200%;">Mom <br /><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <br />Anyone else care to chime in here?? <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />Thank you for visiting today. <br /> <br />Please consider subscribing here: <br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-2621445887518648586?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-89187654029401117712009-07-15T05:07:00.000-07:002009-07-15T05:12:59.167-07:00There's been one clearly defined reason for why I'm writing in my novel more this year than in all the 10 years past.<br /><br />I'm not writing as much.<br /><br />Ironic, right? I am writing more because I'm not writing more.<br /><br />Yup, you're not seeing things incorrectly. Nope, you don't have to read between the lines. Not even here.<br /><br />I spent 10 years as a journalist -- writing.<br /><br />I spent two years home, as a freelancer -- writing.<br /><br />I spent those same two years blogging -- which meant more writing.<br /><br />Now, I'm just writing -- in my novel. It ain't much but it's more than what I had been doing.<br /><br />My job has nothing much to do with writing and it feels WONDERFUL!<br /><br />I'm so in love with NOT writing that I'm LOVING writing, again, for the first time.<br /><br />I will never quit blogging. I owe so much of my life to the friendships and friends I've made and all that I've learned from all of you and all of the blogosphere, in general. It's been awesome.<br /><br />But, if you wonder what I'm up to, you'll now know and understand.<br /><br />This novel will be finished this year. I have no doubt for the first time in my life. It may not be perfect, but it will get done. Only motherhood could give me that kind of clarity, by the way. But, I'll save that for another post.<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-8918765402940111771?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-6227706799017579602009-06-26T14:53:00.000-07:002009-06-26T14:57:25.610-07:00Blogging, over the course of the last year, has become so hard for me. I can't decide if it's the sharing of details of personal matters or if it's just boredom. I have no words for this blog and when I do I have no time to write them.<br /><br />You can find me <a href="http://www.hdydi.com/2009/06/two-late-to-take-it-back/">here </a>every other Friday. You can also find me as betweenthelines -- or Shawn Fink -- on Twitter and even on Facebook. I'm there all the time these days.<br /><br />And, you should know that by not blogging, I have been spending more time writing.<br /><br />In fact, I am so excited about writing my novel right now I can hardly stand to talk about anything else (other than politics, of course).<br /><br />I worked to line up a press conference for the governor today. Wow. Crazy stuff.<br /><br />But, I'm writing. Just not here. But, I have lots of things to share -- if you are still here, that is.<br /><br />Are you here? I know I dropped a lot of readers in the last several months. That's depressing! I need to know some of you are here. What's your Twitter name -- leave in comments!!<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-622770679901757960?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-47824672752603983312009-06-03T07:09:00.001-07:002009-06-03T07:10:51.994-07:00If you work, do you spend a lot on child care? Are you a stay at home mom because child care was going to cost too much or not be of satisfactory quality?<br /><br />If yes to any, or if you know someone who can say yes, take just one minute to make an impact today.<br /><br />Go <a href="http://www.momsrising.org/blog/hey-congress-tell-us-where-we-can-find-child-care-for-3000-a-year/">here </a>and speak up.<br /><br />Thank you.<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0pt; BORDER-TOP: 0pt; VERTICAL-ALIGN: middle; BORDER-LEFT: 0pt; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0pt" alt="" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-4782467275260398331?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-17699180022373385772009-05-17T17:20:00.000-07:002009-05-17T17:21:13.052-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/ShCpBXOv29I/AAAAAAAAEWM/y3TbZ1MwCxI/s1600-h/IMG_7002.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/ShCpBXOv29I/AAAAAAAAEWM/y3TbZ1MwCxI/s400/IMG_7002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336951399314873298" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/ShCohL7I2XI/AAAAAAAAEV0/5Rn-HgAIOks/s1600-h/IMG_6992.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/ShCohL7I2XI/AAAAAAAAEV0/5Rn-HgAIOks/s200/IMG_6992.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336950846524021106" border="0" /></a><br />My last post was a true confession about how hard it is for me to let go of the girls and start letting them learn for themselves the consequences of life's challenges.<br /><br />I am committed to doing that.<br /><br />But, I'm equally attracted to offering them as many educational and cultural experiences as possible. Just yesterday I was telling them hello in six different languages and playing Spanish music. I want, for them, many of the things I didn't have as a kid.<br /><br />I was recently honored to be asked to participate in a blog book shower for the next awesome book by Andrea L. Buchanan and Miriam Peskowitz. Last year, I wrote a review of their first "Daring Book for Girls," which I have proudly displayed on a shelf.<br /><br />Now, I'm even happier to display next to it the next volume: "<a href="http://www.daringbookforgirls.com/about-the-book/about-the-double-daring-book-for-girls/">The Double-Daring Book for Girls."</a><br /><br />For this shower, we were supposed to actually DO one of the activities. Well, I didn't want to just do it myself so I had to find one that was good enough for the girls, now 3, to do as well.<br /><br />I chose rock stacking. I've been wanting to do some rock activities lately because there are so many of them out there circulating the blogs. I'm sure I played with rocks a lot as a kid but I don't recall ever stacking them like blocks.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/ShCo4fcpODI/AAAAAAAAEWE/wu76_9GV7U4/s1600-h/IMG_7001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/ShCo4fcpODI/AAAAAAAAEWE/wu76_9GV7U4/s400/IMG_7001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336951246901819442" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We first went out with the girls' little pink wagons and collected some rocks in the back, backyard. They enjoyed that part alone.<br /><br />Then we took them to the deck and just started stacking them. They lost interested in about five minutes but I kept stacking and stacking. I thought it was a ton of fun. I didn't realize the challenge it would be to make them stack higher and higher.<br /><br />I was able to stack 8 rocks at the most. Can you beat that????? I'm supposed to challenge my readers to be my performance so if you have any luck, let me know in the comments, please!<br /><br />Rock stacking a great multi-step activity to do because once you gather them, you can wash them and then <a href="http://crafts.kaboose.com/earth-ladybug-rocks.html">paint them</a>. Once painted, you can add pictures on them to depict <a href="http://redbirdcrafts.blogspot.com/2009/04/mouse-stones.html">story characters </a>to tell stories outside (or inside on a rainy day).<br /><br />And, if you want more cool things to try that are new, that might inspire you in some new way today, pick up the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/006174879X?ie=UTF8&amp;tag=letttomydaug-20&amp;linkCode=xm2&amp;camp=1789&amp;creativeASIN=006174879X">Double-Daring Book for Girls</a> today.<br /><br />It does rock. You'll be smarter for it, too. Just don't let your kids knock them over too soon.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/ShCop1RIP1I/AAAAAAAAEV8/wEAp7ZOJBpE/s1600-h/IMG_6995.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/ShCop1RIP1I/AAAAAAAAEV8/wEAp7ZOJBpE/s400/IMG_6995.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336950995061063506" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-1769918002237338577?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-80291689412145788122009-05-12T03:11:00.000-07:002009-05-12T03:24:18.918-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SglNiQmTLpI/AAAAAAAAEVs/WDieQ9f0ULI/s1600-h/IMG_6999.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SglNiQmTLpI/AAAAAAAAEVs/WDieQ9f0ULI/s200/IMG_6999.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334880484563562130" border="0" /></a><br />It's 6:15 a.m.<br /><br />There are times when I realize that I could let them go a bit more, yes. But there are other times, especially lately, when ...<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Hey, Mommy, Liana said next week about a movie and she got in my face.</span><br /><br />I realize that this is my life, the constant interruptions of one or the other or this or that even when I do try not to intervene.<br /><br />And so ...<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Mommy? (Yes Liana) I want to wear my blip on my belly. What?</span><br /><br />As I was saying, I am trying to ...<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Mommy, I want to get a movie, too.</span><br /><br />actually write and complete the novel that I have been ...<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Mommy, I can get a movie; I want a movie.</span><br /><br />working on for 10 years. I never finished it because, well, as a single woman and then as a childless wife suffering through infertility, I never had time.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">MOMMY, I WANT TO GET A MOVIE!!</span><br /><br />Funny, that concept of time, isn't it? The best time lately for writing has been right around bedtime. I'm tired as all get out, but it's the only hour I have that's uninterrupted and quiet. The man is on the couch, watching TV, and the kids are USUALLY sleeping soundly.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Blaahhhh! </span>(Jadyn pushes Liana)<br /><br />"Waaahhhh!"<br /><br />And I wonder now what I was so busy doing way back then when life wasn't crazy like this?<br /><br />Then again, I have more drive now than ever to finish it and I think it could be because of them.<br /><br />Other things have helped me reach the 50,000-word mark as well lately. More on that later. Gotta be mom now.<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-8029168941214578812?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-25968012175251444022009-04-27T09:11:00.001-07:002009-04-27T09:19:20.902-07:00As my little babies turn, gradually, into little girls, my helicopter parenting skillz are apparent. They've always been exaggerated. We got to the part of the bike trail that overlooks a lovely, but roaring creek and I cringed telling them not to climb on the very large, very high metal fence. A foot could get stuck. They might fit through the two-inch slats. What if they do fall? They'll drown in the knee-deep water. (It was easily a 20-foot drop, by the way).<br /><br />Part of the problem, I know, is that I was a news reporter. I wrote about a 14-year-old girl that was sucked under by an Amtrak train and killed. I wrote about the 4-year-old boy who was sucked down by a swollen creek after a hard rain. I interviewed many families who lost loved ones who were shot, stabbed, drowned, pushed down to their death and, yes, abused.<br /><br />It's no wonder that I'm smothering. Or circling. Or hovering. Or standing too close. I've seen death at too many doors.<br /><br />But, I'm trying. Always, always trying.<br /><br />This week's inspiration will take you to two links: <a href="http://voices.washingtonpost.com/parenting/2009/04/the_two_words_that_can_drive_a.html?hpid=news-col-blog">The Washington Post column </a>I just read, and the author's <a href="http://freerangekids.wordpress.com/">blog</a> as well.<br /><br />It's a very good discussion. Makes me want to let my girls roam -- to the fenced backyard by themselves (while I watch from a window).<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0pt; BORDER-TOP: 0pt; VERTICAL-ALIGN: middle; BORDER-LEFT: 0pt; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0pt" alt="" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-2596801217525144402?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-37959948254829829982009-04-20T06:11:00.000-07:002009-04-20T06:19:32.670-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/Sex2Ee_OTeI/AAAAAAAAES4/2IVNcMbXyQ4/s1600-h/candles+day+1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/Sex2Ee_OTeI/AAAAAAAAES4/2IVNcMbXyQ4/s200/candles+day+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326762278682250722" border="0" /></a><br />As I continue my journey to figuring out what I'm doing, I realized recently that while I love to surf the Internet, I rarely share any links anymore. I'm sorry for that.<br /><br />For the next couple weeks, I'm going to light a candle for all of the inspiring posts I read and want to share. These will be on anything and everything that make me smile, or laugh, or just make me get up and start doing something new.<br /><br /><a href="http://bullseyebaby.blogspot.com/2009/04/do-one-thing-every-day.html">Here's a link for you</a> to relish in all day, bathe in all week and perhaps dream about all year.<br /><br />Thanks, Jena!<br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-3795994825482982998?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-65903919806443783582009-04-16T06:42:00.000-07:002009-04-16T06:50:42.913-07:00Shh. I'm at work today and it's quiet and I'm alone. Everyone's out, busy, gone and not bugging me with insanity. And I'm taking it easy. Real easy.<br /><br />Which means it's time to confess something to you.<br /><br />I've been cheating. I've not been reading your mom blogs. Well, not much of them.<br /><br />For the better part of the last two years, I've been reading and enjoying a whole other set of blogs that for the longest time I always admired from afar.<br /><br />While being a mom is still prominent in my head, it's not what I am interested in writing about on this blog anymore. <br /><br />The truth is that I am considering a change. A big one. And so, while I'll wait for this change to express itself to me, I'm leaving some space here. A pause.<br /><br />Sit still with me for a while.<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0pt; BORDER-TOP: 0pt; VERTICAL-ALIGN: middle; BORDER-LEFT: 0pt; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0pt" alt="" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-6590391980644378358?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-67304247355419915752009-03-29T17:43:00.001-07:002009-03-29T17:53:20.672-07:00I have always had strong opinions.<br /><br />Really strong.<br /><br />And, none of that has really changed much since I became a mother a little more than three years ago.<br /><br />If anything, motherhood has helped me own my opinions even more, anchored them inside me and led me to feel pretty confident about some things (more than others).<br /><br />Lately, I've realized I've been on a little advocacy kick.<br /><br />I've had a few over the years. My first big thought was how my town NEEDED a cafe that was infant-friendly. You know, take out at the curb that wasn't McDonald's. Tables with lots of space for two car seat carriers, two high chairs and lots of room for bags of stuff. And, above all, open to families with crying babies. I had this place all picked out from the menu to the open play area that was age-divided so that parents could, ah, breathe and eat for just a few minutes.<br /><br />Yes, I was dreaming a lot in my sleep-deprived days.<br /><br />Lately, my kick has been something pretty expensive and dramatic and for the better of my community. A children's museum. A hands-on museum. Our city is pretty historic, but it's also faced with a plethora of issues, none of which I care to drone on about here but all of which are why we have been trying to sell our house and move to a less depressing neighborhood.<br /><br />I tell everyone I meet in meetings, who is trying to better the city, that we need this museum, that it would help revitalize the downtown.<br /><br />After all, I know plenty of moms who are, let's just say, EAGER to find things to do during the week and currently travel far and wide and pay $$ for these kinds of venues in other towns nearby.<br /><br />I know, I have been one of those moms.<br /><br />What's your cause? Anything you're working on either by word of mouth, or blogging or maybe even writing your State House of Representatives about??<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-6730424735541991575?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-77301498031916858402009-03-24T03:19:00.000-07:002009-03-24T03:35:18.288-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/Sci3Xjc3sUI/AAAAAAAAEQg/xa-srQEGMYM/s1600-h/IMG_6955.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/Sci3Xjc3sUI/AAAAAAAAEQg/xa-srQEGMYM/s200/IMG_6955.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316700975392076098" border="0" /></a><br />For a long time, during my fights for the disadvantaged, I spent countless hours advocating for the underprivileged who were black, Hispanic, and poor.<br /><br />I still make those same arguments now, in the working world, but I've added in mothers, too.<br /><br />I wear the Scarlet M. Do you?<br /><br />Where ever I go, it's there sitting on my chest. It's in my clothes. It's in my walk. It's in my head. Following me. Pulling me. Holding my hand.<br /><br />Everything from automatic flushing toilets to the way parking lots are configured are clearly inventions and creations and engineering constructed only by men who were not fathers, or were fathers who were too busy creating a life outside of fatherhood.<br /><br />And the paternalistic attitudes. I've <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2009/01/anti-parenting-world-we-live-in.html">seen them</a> a lot lately. I've fought against them. I'm trying to tell the powers that be who are aging yet still full of cash about what they're missing. Of course, I'm doing it nicely, womanly, sweetly as possible. We're a new generation of mothers. A new generation of women.<br /><br />But inside I'm angry, filling up with anger and ready to send outbursts into the air that say something like girls matter, women matter, mothers matter and what the hell are you thinking?<br />We're mothers; not poison, not caged animals. Not covered in snot. Not germy. My kids scream, so what? My kids cry, a lot, so what? I deserve to eat out, too, you know. I can't afford a babysitter for that stupid event. (And, hey, my girl twins are now peeing on the potty, ya'll!)<br /><br />I'm on a destiny to change everything related to mothers and women and raising girls right now. Something's gotta give.<br /><br />I wear the Scarlet M. Do you?<br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-7730149803191685840?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-74809118239731913672009-03-12T02:26:00.000-07:002009-03-12T03:07:31.819-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/Sbje3H7CsQI/AAAAAAAAEQA/bSlrMa8qopA/s1600-h/IMG_6826.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/Sbje3H7CsQI/AAAAAAAAEQA/bSlrMa8qopA/s200/IMG_6826.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312240799084359938" border="0" /></a><br />I keep coming back to this thought about parenting. I imagine that for some people parenting (ie: handling the crying, choosing rewards over discipline and managing the minor stresses of how and when to roll over, stressing about the health and safety of it all) comes easy.<br /><br />I would not be one of those mothers. First, I take everything too seriously. Second, I take everything too seriously.<br /><br />I know this and have known it and yet I can't seem to find a good place or age when it just starts getting easier for me. Sure, 3 is easier than that first year. It's still easier than the second and third years.<br /><br />Now, I realize that having two of the same age intensifies this feeling. And, I also know that since I'm dealing with the first born times two that I don't get that natural take-it-easy approach that usually tags along with the second and third borns. For us, it's all the first time and it's a bit frustrating that there are so little books for parents of twins dealing with discipline vs. rewards. You can't honor one and not the other without someone having their feelings hurt.<br /><br />There are things about 3 that lead me to wonder ... is parenting always going to be this hard for me? Will I ever get to feel relaxed again? Stop worrying? Stop having to intervene.<br /><br />It's been three solid years of changing diapers, worrying how to get them back in bed when they wake too early, trying desperately to get them to settle down for bed at bedtime in their shared room and making sure they get a healthy diet that does not include too many sweets.<br /><br />I'm fairly sure that they are happy and smart and that we've done a great job thus far. But, I'm also fairly sure that I've made some bad mistakes, things I wish I could do differently -- for them and for myself.<br /><br />Does anyone else feel this way? Not necessarily regret, but remorse.<br /><br />Since I will not be getting a second chance at parenting a second born, I am going to dedicate this week to my advice for new mothers, especially new mothers of twins and how to deal with issues of rewards and discipline.<br /><br />Because, seriously, we can't always sweat the hard stuff in parenting. Because it's all hard stuff -- if you ask me.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-7480911823973191367?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-16921960175226870352009-03-03T03:19:00.000-08:002009-03-03T03:42:39.386-08:00When I started blogging, I had so much free time it was ridiculous. First, the girls napped twice a day. Then, as they got older and started taking just one nap, they were so enamored with their daddy that when he got home he consumed most of their bedtime routine, especially bath.<br /><br />For the last several months, he has not been enough and my free time in the evenings has been zapped.<br /><br />Bedtime woes, in fact, have been tormenting us lately though I think we've finally passed that stage and it's getting easier. I received lots of insight from people and never followed any of it.<br /><br />We just rode it out because we're those kinds of parents. We've always done this the hard way -- the long way around. We'd rather sit in that chair and ride out the tantrums than leave and teach them a good lesson. (Though, secretly we complain the whole time that we need to teach them a lesson.)<br /><br />I've written so much on this blog, but never our bedtime routine. It has changed over time, but mostly it's the exact same as it was when they started having a bedtime -- around 10 months or so. We've recently moved everything up by 15 minutes because we felt it was part of the problem and that did help a good bit.<br /><br />Dinner at 6<br />Play until 6:45 (used to be 7)<br />Bath or wash up<br />Pajamas<br />Drink smoothie (eat snack if we're having one)<br />Read 2 or 3 books. (I'll list our favorites right now at the bottom)<br />Brush teeth<br />Blow out the light by saying 1-2-3 and blowing. (Twice for twins)<br />Turn on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cloud-Twilight-Turtle-Constellation-Night/dp/B000BNQC58">Turtle </a>and <a href="http://thechunkypurse.blogspot.com/2009/03/revew-sylvania-palpodzzz.html">Ladybug </a>lights; play quietly for 5 or so minutes.<br />Turn them off, get in bed and Jadyn usually requires time in chair with us.<br />Snuggles and kisses<br />Asleep by 8:15 p.m.<br /><br /><br />This is usually when she fights or tantrums but has stopped that and is now sleeping through the night again! Whew!<br /><br />Our favorite books lately have been these:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/Sa0WO1pz0pI/AAAAAAAAEPw/cPndYTkuoAQ/s1600-h/llama.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/Sa0WO1pz0pI/AAAAAAAAEPw/cPndYTkuoAQ/s200/llama.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308923979916104338" border="0" /></a><br /><br />"Llama Llama Red Pajama," by Anna Dewdney"<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />"Are You My Mother?" by P.D<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/Sa0W7dUqQlI/AAAAAAAAEP4/M65u50RzyXc/s1600-h/rumother.gif"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/Sa0W7dUqQlI/AAAAAAAAEP4/M65u50RzyXc/s200/rumother.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308924746479059538" border="0" /></a>. Eastman<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-1692196017522687035?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-26000308573344806202009-03-01T17:42:00.000-08:002009-03-01T17:55:04.138-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/Sas8ODj72eI/AAAAAAAAEPI/Ka8QkPOMBBU/s1600-h/IMG_6900.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/Sas8ODj72eI/AAAAAAAAEPI/Ka8QkPOMBBU/s200/IMG_6900.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308402797958126050" border="0" /></a><br />My brain is too cluttered to write anything coherent here. Am I writing for me, Shawn -- the one I've known forever? Am I writing for me, the mother? Am I writing for you? Am I writing for the new me, the working mother who's finally getting it together? Or, am I?<br /><br />I haven't a clue, which is why I haven't been writing.<br /><br />Not that I don't have anything to say; I'm just not sure how it fits. Or, perhaps, when I'm downstairs in the kitchen and think, "Wow, that's a great blog post" I'm often instantly sent in another direction to answer a question (because that's what it's like now) or to reason with a 3-year-old. And then my mind forgets the good idea. Or, I walk to the computer to write and then I get stuck on Facebook, which reminds me of the past and soon I'm walking down memory lane and getting stuck. And then tired.<br /><br />And, where was I?<br /><br />Lately, my good ideas have been centered around the me I am now, the one I've talked about lately -- the one closest to the everyday me.<br /><br />Stop.<br /><br />Smell.<br /><br />The.<br /><br />Roses,<br /><br />Mama.<br /><br />Breathe.<br /><br />Breathe deeper.<br /><br />Let your ears fall away from your neck.<br /><br />Hug your husband.<br /><br />Giggle with the silly girls.<br /><br />Write with no strings or purpose. Just do it.<br /><br />Be patient with yourself.<br /><br />Be even more patient with others.<br /><br />Lower your expectations.<br /><br />Forgive yourself. The things you've said. What they're saying now.<br /><br />Live.<br /><br />Stay awake.<br /><br />Create. With your hands.<br /><br />Enjoy.<br /><br />Find peace. Know peace. Hold peace.<br /><br />Sleep.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-2600030857334480620?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-90867665991357858292009-02-16T11:44:00.000-08:002009-02-16T11:56:12.545-08:00I've looked long and hard at myself lately in reflections in the microwave or the dirty car window and even in the mirror. I'm surprised to see myself there because I hardly recognize the person in front of me.<br /><br />She has lines of aging and sagging skin around her greenish brown eyes that used to be the highlight of her face.<br /><br />Her teeth, more yellow now than ever, have shifted in their roots and are now crooked where they never were before.<br /><br />She's heavier. Her clothes hardly fit. Even the new, bigger ones.<br /><br />The sight is not pretty, and it leaves me wondering where did I go wrong? All of this has happened in the last three years. Some, in the last year or two.<br /><br />Is it too late to reverse the signs of aging, I wonder?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-9086766599135785829?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-91949413899341610532009-01-29T03:22:00.000-08:002009-01-29T03:35:07.195-08:00Dear Jadyn and Liana:<br /><br />Don't ever accept <a href="http://www.feminist.org/news/newsbyte/uswirestory.asp?id=11493">less</a>. Don't ever give up. You're <a href="http://www.usnews.com/articles/news/national/2008/04/23/equal-work-unequal-pay.html">worth full price</a>. Always. Even after 180 days or a 180 years. Even if it <a href="http://www.usnews.com/blogs/sam-dealey/2009/01/28/ledbetter-law-makes-sex-discrimination-suits-worse.html">isn't convenient</a> for employers. Even if it will make a few <a href="http://www.heritage.org/research/legalissues/lm34.cfm">overpaid thinkers</a> whine. The world <a href="http://themiddleclass.org/bill/lilly-ledbetter-fair-pay-act-2007">sides with you</a> today.<br /><br />Love,<br /><br />Mama<br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-9194941389934161053?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-66163233689208792622009-01-25T16:41:00.000-08:002009-01-25T17:20:00.243-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SX0PsB1_GMI/AAAAAAAAEN4/FeSBKhB2vdA/s1600-h/IMG_6660.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 116px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SX0PsB1_GMI/AAAAAAAAEN4/FeSBKhB2vdA/s200/IMG_6660.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295405985941100738" border="0" /></a><br />I've been lucky that my job is very flexible toward the fact that I am a mother first and foremost in this life right now.<br /><br />That does not mean that I haven't had to make some very tough decisions, mainly regarding how to leave a meeting late and still get to the girls somewhat on time. (You see, I start to stress that they are sitting in the dark center alone, getting scared and worried that I'm not coming for them. Yes, I have issues.)<br /><br />Truthfully, I do worry about running late. I worry about how to get to the car out of the garage and not get stuck in the rush hour traffic, then hurry to pick them up and rush home to also make dinner as they starve and cling and cry at my legs. In fact, that last hour before dinner is often my most frantic and stressful. Even when I'm not late and mostly prepared.<br /><br />Some days are worse than others and leave me wondering about who sets the agenda:<br /><br /><ul><li>7:30 a.m. meetings. </li><li>Working sessions at 3:30 p.m. that last two hours, and include dinner.</li><li>Non-child friendly venues like ballrooms instead of ball parks.<br /></li><li>Evening invitations. Period.<br /></li><li>An inauguration that outlawed <a href="http://www.usatoday.com/news/politics/2008-12-02-inauguration-banned_N.htm">strollers</a>.</li><li>Bathrooms without diaper changing areas.</li><li>Restaurants without <a href="http://fastfood.freedomblogging.com/2008/05/08/cheesecake-factory-balks-at-kids-menu-even-near-disneyland/">kids menus</a>.<br /></li><li>Diapers and milk buried at the BACK of the stores.<br /></li><li>New Year's Eve celebrations that don't include families with children.</li><li>Happy Hours.<br /></li></ul>The other day at the dinner meeting in the middle of the afternoon, an old acquaintance who saw I was not eating asked me if I cook dinner every night.<br /><br />"Um, yes," I wanted to say. "Isn't that what all mothers do or should do or try to do?"<br /><br />"Yes, I try," I said to her.<br /><br />She shook her head in disbelief.<br /><br />Perhaps the bar, even for myself, is to high, I thought as I was stuck in traffic afterward, stressing about how I'm already late to get them and don't have anything really easy planned for dinner.<br /><br />I experienced a slight epiphany as the setting sun burned into my eyes.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">I need to relax. </span></span><br /><br />So, I'm declaring this week as <span style="font-weight: bold;">Mama's Week Off From Cooking</span>. The dinners are so easy they can practically make themselves. The agenda is to have fun and be healthy -- without eating out, without spending a fortune and without a bunch of fuss.<br /><br />And, of course, still be Mama -- because I can't be anything else right now.<br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-6616323368920879262?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-61297453005253337612009-01-20T07:02:00.000-08:002009-01-20T07:04:44.451-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SXXnqNDVEOI/AAAAAAAAEMc/_DAzNNsxCHI/s1600-h/20INAUG.MS.600.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 275px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SXXnqNDVEOI/AAAAAAAAEMc/_DAzNNsxCHI/s400/20INAUG.MS.600.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293391649288032482" border="0" /></a><br />Thank you. Thank you for this day. It's a new day. A new path. A new light.<br /><br />It's your turn.<br /><br />It's our turn.<br /><br />Onward with peace, prosperity and fairness for ALL.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-6129745300525333761?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-41655791545793709612009-01-15T17:19:00.000-08:002009-01-16T02:55:21.221-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SW_jlEvfRTI/AAAAAAAAEL0/GiVE_UO1tkY/s1600-h/IMG_0006.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SW_jlEvfRTI/AAAAAAAAEL0/GiVE_UO1tkY/s200/IMG_0006.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291698313251210546" border="0" /></a><br />One of the most peculiar aspects of returning to work after just two years is the fact that I see people I haven't seen in years at meetings.<br /><br />And we look at each other. I know them because they haven't changed, for the most part.<br /><br />Me? I've changed like a dozen times -- all because I'm a mother now. I don't see things the same. I'm in a different crowd. Instead of bars and fancy restaurants, we can be found at Target, Lowe's and the local grocery store on a Saturday evening.<br /><br />So, it's been interesting watching people's reaction as they realize that first I was gone from the scene for a while and now I'm back.<br /><br />But it's nice having a voice again. It's nice being heard. Listening. Solving problems more complex -- but twice as easy as -- than helping two preschoolers share a new birthday toy or convincing a 3-year-old not to get out of bed and yell for us five times in one night.<br /><br />It's still true that there is no harder job than being a mother -- a parent. At least, not in my experience.<br /><br />That makes working again kind of difficult. It's hard for me to take anything too seriously. It's hard to watch people with minor problems freak out. It's hard to see single people call themselves busy. It's hard to see why the childless can't get stuff done.<br /><br />Still, my inability to take command of my parenting skillz is nothing compared to the problems we deal with in this state government job. It's really easy by 4:30 to drop everything and rush to pick up my girls, knowing that at the end of the day, that's the highlight, the prize, the pot o' gold at the end of the rainbow.<br /><br />OK, not a pot of gold ... a couple cranky 3-year-olds who make me chase them around the school before I have to pin them down and force them into their winter coats, gloves and hats, and then shove them out teh door to the car, where they cry all the way home and cling to my leg until I get their dinner on the table and then they just shove it away and cry some more and I start to want to pull my hair out and start feeling despair and frustration and vowing to never, ever, ever, ever make another meal again.<br /><br />It's right about then that I start thinking, "Oh, good, I work tomorrow."<br /><br />It's not perfect, but it's my life.<br /><br />And, in other news, I'd like to thank <a href="http://kisatrtleskreativekorner.blogspot.com/2009/01/golden-globes-did-it-why-cant-i.html">Kisatrtle </a>for honoring me with a One Lovely Blog Award. That just rocks ... it's been a while since I got<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SW_kkuVRnGI/AAAAAAAAEL8/wEcW8bQq2SE/s1600-h/lovely-blog-award.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SW_kkuVRnGI/AAAAAAAAEL8/wEcW8bQq2SE/s200/lovely-blog-award.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291699406747311202" border="0" /></a> a blog award.<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-4165579154579370961?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-70986000611413357532009-01-07T17:49:00.000-08:002009-01-07T18:01:39.278-08:00After missing all of last week due to Jadyn having a very bad sinus infection that wasn't diagnosed for treatment to start until New Year's Day, I had high hopes for Monday. The Highest.<br /><br />Here's what I didn't expect:<br /><br /><ol><li>That I'd wake Monday morning with a half-closed left eye and two swollen, red eyes.</li><li>That I'd end up at the doctor's office, for myself, not once, but twice this week.</li><li>That I'd master putting eye drops in my eyes, and still dread each one.<br /></li><li>That I'd use this opportunity to stop and write, even when I could barely see the computer screen.<br /></li><li>That my daughter would, after many near-misses, actually leave her bear blanket at school accidentally. Oh, the heartache.<br /></li><li>That nearly all of our 20 invitations for the third birthday party have been accepted!</li></ol>And, what I did expect was this: To order cupcakes for the party. And, then I haven't gotten to do that yet.<br /><br />So, this puts me right around ... oh, shoot mode.<br /><br />Still, not caring because my girls are turning 3 and some fantastic friends of theirs -- and mine -- are planning to attend. And, since my vision is clearing up, I just might see them.<br /><br />Fab.<br /><br />And, here's Six Surprising Things that comes along with two 3-year-old girls.<br /><br /><ol><li>Jadyn leaning on the wall, quietly, talking to a pretend person about her day. Visions of teenager-hood snapped me awake. </li><li>Here Mommy (as Liana proceeds to hand me everything I don't need and do need even when I don't need it and yet half the time she's right and I'm wrong).</li><li>Pushing (up the stairs, at the counter, to get to me, etc.) and fighting (still!)<br /></li><li>"I'm not talking to you, Mommy." (OK, whatever!)</li><li>"I'm talking to you, Mommy"</li><li>Fights over still wanting to wear Pampers diapers -- with Elmo on the front, not just the back.</li></ol>Ah, the drama. I love it!<br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-7098600061141335753?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-70302287654795268772009-01-05T17:26:00.000-08:002009-01-05T17:37:59.531-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SWK1mwGm6aI/AAAAAAAAEHo/0nz5kQ5Vl0M/s1600-h/dream2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 194px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SWK1mwGm6aI/AAAAAAAAEHo/0nz5kQ5Vl0M/s200/dream2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287988589838657954" /></a><br /><br />If I wish it enough. If I long for it enough. If I will it to come my way by whispers and desires. If I dream it. If I survive it. If I wake up day after day with the same nightmare -- that I didn't achieve it. <br /><br />If I weren't so tired. If I didn't have dishes to wash or lists to make. <br /><br />After I work out. After I make the bed. After I drink my coffee. After I gather our things. <br /><br />Once I start, I'll begin. Once I start, I'll know. Once I start, it will come. <br /><br />Just sit down. <br /><br />Just sit down and type.<br /><br />Just sit down and type what comes and eventually the words, the dreams, the ideas, the creativity will fill me up like a balloon. <br /><br />I can't live without blogging. <br />I can't not write for me, for you, for us. <br />I can't live a life without words drifting effortlessly, endlessly, ungrammatically, on these pages. <br /><br />This is about finding soul and passion again. This is about reaching inside and turning a life of routine and office cubicles and constant emails on its side and starting again. <br /><br />Again. Again. Again. So many agains. <br /><br />Happy Writing, my friends!<br /><br />Photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/jup3nep/">Katarina2353</a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-7030228765479526877?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-74308704763523968312009-01-04T18:27:00.000-08:002009-01-04T18:40:58.859-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SWFzK6cO57I/AAAAAAAAEHY/ip3GX8Y3k8Y/s1600-h/IMG_0055.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SWFzK6cO57I/AAAAAAAAEHY/ip3GX8Y3k8Y/s200/IMG_0055.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287634068833232818" /></a><br />Later this week, Jadyn and Liana will turn three. <br /><br />They've been three for a while already with their demands and wants and emotional dramatics. At least that's what I've been telling myself, hoping that this phase will end. <br /><br />While I've been busy being their Mama, I couldn't help finally take some time to reflect on last year and what it meant to me. On one hand, it was crazy dealing with two little girls. On the other, I did manage to meet some goals and accomplish something other than a diaper change. <br /><br />(Potty training was NOT one of those accomplishments, unfortunately).<br /><br />In fact, if you look at my list of <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/01/2008-year-of-writing.html">goals for 2008</a>, I think I did OK. The truth is that once I was published in a national glossy magazine -- and then two more -- I felt I had reached a true milestone. I also doubled by freelance income for the third year in a row. <br /><br />And then I took a job I knew little about and the story has changed dramatically. <br /><br />I've been thinking about that decision I made and wondering if it was the best for me. <br /><br />I'm not sure. There's parts of the job that fit me well; there are others that leave me unsettled. For one, I am not the star and never would be. That's hard for me to admit, but it is true. It's hard to aspire to be your best when often you're just an afterthought. <br /><br />Still, I like it enough and the boss is cool. I think I'll be able to rebound this week with a yet another evolved MamaWriter, someone who knows that writing is her truest path. That is what I have to do and even when I have other things to do. <br /><br />I didn't write 2,000 words a month let alone a week last year. I didn't produce an ezine. I didn't send out one query for my novel. I didn't even finish my novel. Though, I did get an agent interested in reading it. Shame on me for not staying up late at night to finish it. <br /><br />When I'm ready, I'll do it. When it's in me, I'll exhale it out. <br /><br />For now, I'm still Mama to two very sweet, very demanding little girls who couldn't care less if their Mommy writes a book or not. <br /><br />So long as I read them a book, it's all good. <br /><br />And, really, that's enough for me. <br /><br />Most of the time. <br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-7430870476352396831?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-61441412490595106422008-12-28T10:29:00.000-08:002008-12-28T10:41:47.604-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SVfIX837AwI/AAAAAAAAEG4/AV1Q1fFdv-k/s1600-h/IMG_0016.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SVfIX837AwI/AAAAAAAAEG4/AV1Q1fFdv-k/s320/IMG_0016.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284913001545794306" /></a><br />There was enormous joy spilling over my Christmas stocking this year. Mr. Claus was very good to me, leaving me smiling over my cookies and milk. I am feeling the pieces fall into place now. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Little girls rule. </span><br /><br />There was very little we didn't bring into our home this year. The full throttle of peace was nestled between us and formed great big hugs around our shoulders.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The magic was alive.</span><br /><br />Dress up attire, a new kitchen set, classic board games, big and small stuffed animals and much, much more. None of it, of course, meant more than the bright eyes of two little girls who now believe Santa Claus brought them a bunch of presents. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I believe, too.</span><br /><br />Now, as we nurse a high fever and keep the spirit alive, we enter the last of this great vacation and the end of a year of conflict and energy. Everything and nothing is changing. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Time to set new goals; achieve new dreams.</span> <br /><br />There's lots on the horizon for us this year, I believe. I've entered a new realm of working motherhood, of being a a mother to twin toddlers, of being a daughter and a grand-daughter. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I am finally free. </span><br /><br />Christmas pasts have finally found the place where they belong and that little girl who grew up with them, has finally come home. She is Santa Claus and Mrs. Claus. She is the mother. She is the wife. She writes the story of her Christmas, of her birthdays, of her Mondays. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">She is at peace. </span><br /><br />Happy New Year! Stay tuned for some new, peaceful Between the Lines blog posts. <br /><br /><br /> <br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-6144141249059510642?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-50905116854628297432008-12-18T02:39:00.000-08:002008-12-18T03:18:07.927-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SUoxZlx8uzI/AAAAAAAAEE4/T5OPoC1AZGw/s1600-h/store.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SUoxZlx8uzI/AAAAAAAAEE4/T5OPoC1AZGw/s320/store.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281087828753431346" /></a><br /><br /><br />Perhaps it's because I have one almost 3-year-old who is very in touch with her wants.<br /><br />Perhaps it's because living on one income was so hard that being on two makes me feel rich.<br /><br />Perhaps it's because after working so hard, for so long, we deserve some nice things.<br /><br />Perhaps it's none of this, and just the stress of life pointing me toward things. Things.<br /><br />It's been a juggle, a hassle, to walk the line of saving and spending. Of needs and wants. Of this and that.<br /><br />What's harder is that if I enter a store for say, diapers, I see the girls' clothes clearing rack, then I think about how one pair of shoes isn't enough, or how they need snow boots now that we've encountered our third snow storm of the season and we're still a week from Christmas.<br /><br />Then, I remember that I need printer ink, so I head to that part of the store, easily getting sidetracked by my love of books, which luckily haven't been easily found in my favorite big box store lately. But, it brings me closer to the toys, where I think I might finally find a toy that my two almost 3-year-olds will play with. I scour each shelf, high and low, smiling and at how much joy each one of those brand, spankin' new toys will bring such immense joy that is not currently in our house, relishing the thoughts, maybe even picking up one or two.<br /><br />I sneak out past the home and garden section, where I long to buy more storage bins to feel more organized and less cluttered. And that reminds me that we need this and that for the girls' bathroom, which was recently painted and looks lovely, despite it's lack of anything in it.<br /><br />I skip past the food, only going back a second later to remember to pick up that easy-to-fix dinner item that the girls, hopefully, will eat tonight. Turkey dogs. Chicken tenders. Cheese sticks. Annie's macaroni and cheese. Then, I rush past the snacks trying to grab just one more healthier-but-easier bedtime snack in the hopes that they will be so full they won't actually wake up, again, tonight.<br /><br />By the time I make my entire circumfrance around the store, which started all because we were down to one last friggin' pull-up, I usually have a full cart. So, I swing into the make-up and beauty section, examining my goods, and tossing out what I know I don't need right now. Diapers? Yes. Turkey dogs? Yes. Paper towels? Yes. More girls' clothes? No.<br /><br />As I pile what's left onto the moving belt, I realize that I've probably just saved myself a nice chunk of cash by impulse shopping, but with a final once-over.<br /><br />But then the verdict is in: The bill is 80-something dollars.<br /><br />If this isn't a vicious cycle, I'm not sure what is.<br /><br />Which gets me wondering, does the American reliance upon THINGS have anything to do with wanting to get their kids to stop crying?? To get five minutes of peace to make dinner? To have just one more cute craft to hang up so that there is just one thing that proves we were somewhat productive today?<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/burtgummer/">Dan Halen for President</a></span><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-5090511685462829743?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-90689435659290258282008-12-14T17:34:00.000-08:002008-12-14T17:45:24.536-08:00The many forms of me stare back at me on just one page.<br /><br />Kindergarten friends. Elementary friends. Neighborhood friends. Cousins from long histories ago. High school best friends. College cohorts. Newspaper colleagues from near and far.<br /><br />Best friends.<br /><br />Past boyfriends.<br /><br /><a href="http://mommazen.blogspot.com/">Zen teachers</a>.<br /><br />Current <a href="http://aroomofmamasown.com/">friends that I've never met</a> or only <a href="http://www.halushki.com/">met once</a> -- through blogging.<br /><br />Even my boss, as of last week, became a friend on <a href="http://www.facebook.com/home.php">Facebook</a>.<br /><br />Each night, after we tuck the girls into bed, I climb into my computer chair for what I call Facebooking time. It's when I get to reconnect with people from my past and my present all in one sitting.<br /><br />It's beautiful because with each facet of friendship and relationship and connection, I pick up the pieces of the woman I am with each face, each memory.<br /><br />And, as I learn things about all of these people in an easy-to-read format, I am learning that we're all as much alike as we are different.<br /><br />We're all new and old and learning together. I've rekindled girlfriend relationships, and even rebuilt a bridge over troubled waters (or two).<br /><br />Signs that we're aging, yes, but that we're essentially who we've always been. Just with some character lines -- and some children.<br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-9068943565929025828?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-42408146594542668392008-12-10T17:47:00.000-08:002008-12-10T18:00:47.470-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SUB0SEFLoBI/AAAAAAAAD5c/y_ZeStV0NK0/s1600-h/IMG_6538.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SUB0SEFLoBI/AAAAAAAAD5c/y_ZeStV0NK0/s320/IMG_6538.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278346616960163858" border="0" /></a><br />Dear girls,<br /><br />You're girls now.<br /><br />In just one month, you will begin your fourth year and I think that might be the year that we leave babyhood behind, even though you go at this reluctantly, urging me to still call you a baby. But, every day, just about, I see how you are seeing the larger picture of how the world works and how you fit into it. And I try to be patient, though, not patient enough, for you to learn and experiment and, yes, test the rules and boundaries around you.<br /><br />The truth is that I love being your mom -- when I'm not busy intervening, putting things back together or moving things out of your reach -- because, let's face it, the child proofing wasn't necessary until now.<br /><br />I love how your sense of wonder stops me in my tracks and wakes me up -- easing me right back into my childhood days, just like that. My eyes bulge and I remember.<br /><br />I do wish I could help you slow down because I see your growing beyond your years already. You say things that not only amaze me, but leave me scratching my head in wonder. School has been good for you and I'm all the more impressed by your ability to communicate, to tell stories, and to speak your heart.<br /><br />I don't like everything that comes out of your mouths, but I also know that there's no turning back now. I also know that the apple may not fall far from the tree and that my own character flaws are now yours. At least some of them.<br /><br />I tear myself up inside not knowing if this is good or bad. You will speak your mind. I know this. I want this. But I also know the torment that can cause a young woman.<br /><br />I also wonder what you will look back and think about your childhood with me. What will I be blamed for? What will I have done to cause you shame (and therapy?)?<br /><br />Take care in these last four weeks of two. I know I plan to. Because finally -- just like those early days when people told me life with twins would get easier -- I now understand what the others meant when they said that you would grow up too fast.<br /><br />You already have.<br /><br />You're girls now.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-4240814659454266839?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-49318719981129334352008-12-01T03:15:00.000-08:002008-12-01T03:43:01.249-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/STPL_B3zPeI/AAAAAAAAD5U/HnWnmI7cMJw/s1600-h/chocpretz.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/STPL_B3zPeI/AAAAAAAAD5U/HnWnmI7cMJw/s200/chocpretz.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274783872275660258" border="0" /></a>Has it really been a week since I posted? That just goes to show how out of the writing habit I truly am ... that time slips by and I don't even realize. I will say I made progress this week in that I started to THINK about writing, again. Like, how can I? Where will I? When will I be able to, again?<br /><br />I have built lots of pressure for myself, again, this December. I have resolutions spiraling through my mind all day, and all night. Both for what I want to achieve this season, and for what I hope to walk away with as new, good habits for next year.<br /><br />I'll start with saying that I will write again every day. Just like I have to get up and just force myself to work out now that I'm not getting ANY exercise.<br /><br />For now, the next 25 days-plus are about one thing: Celebrating.<br /><br />One of the awesome things about having the girls in school is that they have become so much more aware of the world around them. Perhaps it's the age, but there's no way we could have taught them as much as they know now, including their fondness and belief in (pretend) ghosts. The week after Halloween had me shaking in my heels when they were informing me throughout the day that there were ghosts, "Over there."<br /><br />We hung an advent activity calendar on our mantel yesterday just like this one -- well, close. And, inside each stocking is an activity that will hopefully help us all enjoy this month a little more carefully and slowly. It is about the season -- not about the day, or the gifts or even the old guy with a beard. It's about us -- our family, the four of us.<br /><br />And this year I get it. I finally understand my place, my roll, our purpose here. For the longest time, I've been trying to find happiness in other people when the holidays rolled around -- worked our schedule around theirs to be together, to make people happy. In every other aspect of my life, I create my own path and yet happy holidays always have been a chore.<br /><br />No more.<br /><br />This season, I finally understand that even the holidays are up to me. Even Christmas. Even Thanksgiving. Even Valentine's Day. Even Memorial Day.<br /><br />I'm not a little girl any longer and everything has changed, including me. I am the mommy of two little girls who are so excitable right now that even the fact that I'm driving the car makes Jadyn yell with enthusiasm.<br /><br />"You're driving, Mommy!!!!"<br /><br />So, it's easy -- rather cheating, actually -- to make this Christmas the one to remember. The one where I finally grow up and be The Mom and take charge of the holiday spirit.<br /><br />How will we celebrate? Each day a card in the stockings will read something like this:<br /><br /><ul style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><li>Play Christmas music every morning and sing songs</li><li>Have a tea party with scones and tea</li><li>Make Christmas crafts such as <a href="http://www.funroom.com/holiday/conetree.html">this one</a></li><li>Bake cookies, and deliver them to neighbors</li><li>Go to a lights festivals</li><li>Camp out by the tree,</li><li>drink hot chocolate</li><li>and read our Literary Advent books. </li><li>Paint our toenails</li><li>Making handmade holiday cards, and wrapping paper</li><li>Wear red and green<br /></li><li>Cover pretzels with drippy, gooey chocolate</li><li>Star gazing and drinking hot chocolate for Winter Solstice<br /></li></ul>How about you? Any <span style="font-weight: bold;">unique-to-yours</span> activities this year? Please share.<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-4931871998112933435?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-81684597513305040362008-11-23T18:23:00.000-08:002008-11-23T18:45:16.333-08:00Thank goodness the Terrible Twos are almost over ... because I can tell already that the Thrilling Threes are going to be one big, fat Hair Pulling/Pinching/Spitting/Pushing/Screaming/Chattering Party. Who-hoo!!<br /><br />And, I wanted to be a mother because ... ??? (It's a joke, folks. Really. Sort of.)<br /><br />Despite the brilliance of how my almost-3-year-olds treat each other and us, their parents, we did manage to have a very good weekend that included starting to make our Advent calendar, which will hang on the wall on a string, their own holiday place mats and the cutest snowmen I've ever seen!<br /><br />Not just that, I cleaned. I really cleaned, and that includes de-cluttering and tossing out stuff.<br /><br />And then I baked. Granola. Pumpkin/Chocolate Chip muffins. Finally, I cooked risotto in the crock pot. I'm very impressed with myself. Perhaps this working-life-mother balance beam isn't so difficult after all.<br /><br />I like weekends that result in some relaxing -- our second movie night went well but the movie was too old for the girls -- and productivity. In fact, I'm a results kinda girl in just about anything I do. So long as we have art work to display, I am cool with a morning of crying. Same goes for my weekends: I like to get things done. I consider relaxing one of those things.<br /><br />This week's dinners will be super easy and ready instantly: Total working mom fare.<br /><br />Sunday -- <a href="http://crockpot365.blogspot.com/2008/02/creamy-crockpot-risotto.html">Risotto </a>and salmon cakes (salmon, mayo, dried mustard, bread crumbs, cheese, egg)<br />Monday -- Quesadillas (beans and cheese served with salsa and sour cream) and salad, rice<br />Tuesday -- Burgers + Fries<br />Wednesday -- <a href="http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Silky-Coconut-Pumpkin-Soup-Keg-Bouad-Mak-Fak-Kham-104372">Butternut Squash soup</a>, <a href="http://soulemama.typepad.com/soulemama/2008/02/who-bread.html">WHO bread</a> and salad (leftovers for the girls)<br />Thursday -- Thanksgiving dinner -- Sweet potato casserole<br />Friday -- <a href="http://orgjunkie.com/2008/01/pizza-dough-recipes-for-the-bread-machine.html">Homemade pizza</a> (I plan to start making this and freezing)<br />Saturday -- Spaghetti with meatballs, salad and bread<br />Sunday -- Tuna casserole<br /><br />I'm going with each breakfasts this week: muffins and yogurt with homemade granola, cereal and fruit bars and yogurt and eggs and toast. I'm growing quite tired of putting effort into meals for the almost-3-year-olds, frankly, and so as long as they eat a crumb of something, I feel I'm doing my job. Yes, the bar is THAT low.<br /><br />For more menus, visit <a href="http://orgjunkie.com/">Menu Planning Monday</a>. Please share a recipe of yours that's a no-brainer, on the table in under 15 minutes. Come on ... you know we all need new ideas.<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-8168459751330504036?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-44859890862239186902008-11-21T03:19:00.000-08:002008-11-21T03:22:59.449-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SSaaEIqxb-I/AAAAAAAAD5E/LaHoSwSe6G8/s1600-h/minted.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SSaaEIqxb-I/AAAAAAAAD5E/LaHoSwSe6G8/s200/minted.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271069809720782818" border="0" /></a><br />I'm curious ... do you send out cards at the end of the year? What's your tradition? Read my holiday card saga <a href="http://thechunkypurse.blogspot.com/2008/11/review-minted.html">here</a>, which includes a review of <a href="http://www.minted.com/">Minted</a>, a great online store where we got our cards this year. Thanks, <a href="http://blog.parentbloggers.com/">Parent Blogger Network</a>!<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-4485989086223918690?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-28945658047118112082008-11-18T09:35:00.000-08:002008-11-18T09:51:59.830-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SSMAhknBFGI/AAAAAAAAD4w/zPILe_rO33Y/s1600-h/doihaveto.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 155px; height: 125px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SSMAhknBFGI/AAAAAAAAD4w/zPILe_rO33Y/s200/doihaveto.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270056565716620386" border="0" /></a><br />I'm working from home today, which means I'm not working as much as I should. But, to my credit, I am TRYING to work through this terrible sinus infection that even on Day 3 of antibiotics doesn't seem to be budging out of my system.<br /><br />I'm falling behind in everything blog related, even linking to those great In 8 Years posts that a few of you did. I will update your list very soon!<br /><br />In the meantime, I've been thinking about money, and spending, and Christmas/holidays and what it means to me this year. There's much more to this year than before.<br /><br />First, the economy in which our first thought it so save our money and stash it away, in case ... of something worse. To protect it. But, then there's <a href="http://mommazen.blogspot.com/2008/11/spending-is-new-saving.html">this argument</a> she made so boldly that has me thinking differently.<br /><br />Secondly, unlike many Americans, we're actually doing better right now. We have money to spend, to save, and to cover our expenses, even the most frivolous. This does not mean I want to blow it all, frivolously. Rather, I'd love to spend it on some quality things that in the past has only been used to replace the cheaper things that fell apart.<br /><br />Thirdly, there's Christmas, and being a mother of two very silly little girls who just get so amazed by just about anything and wanting to truly go overboard with wowing them this season. Not just with presents on Christmas morning, but with the joyous traditions of new and old that this time of the year can only bring.<br /><br />Fourthly, it's about family and wanting to have those movie-like moments with all our family around, baking cookies and singing songs and breaking bread and knowing that that dream will be just that, again, this year as family ties are so broken and scattered about with disregard.<br /><br />I felt this way <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2007/12/twas-night-before.html">last year</a>, but the stakes were much higher last year, and the girls were less aware, less involved in our decisions and more just along for the ride. I was at my peak of money-management learning in which I learned not only how to be frugal, but to truly go without for many things. It's a balance beam to stay in that mindset, even when the checkbook -- or Chunky Purse -- isn't as tight.<br /><br />This past Saturday we instituted our first Movie Night, which included their first-ever movie: The Polar Express. It was a very wise choice for a first movie, both in the timing of the year and in the nature of the film -- it's spirit and gentleness, and gift to all. Both, especially Liana, watched in awe as the characters and everything around them came to life in ways they had never seen before. It was the power of film unfolding before OUR eyes. Daddy Dan teared up, and still does just thinking about it. It was a night to remember.<br /><br />Which leads me to my last thought: I want more of those moments. More gifts that wow and leaves us in awe. Passion and lust. I want to feel free to want. I want to feel free to live. I want to feel content with wanting it all, and then some.<br /><br />And, I want to feel completely wowed by nothing at all.<br /><br />If it's possible.<br /><br />That's said, I saw <a href="http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?ref=cat1_gallery_1&amp;listing_id=17489203">this cute necklace</a> on Etsy and just wanted to pass it along as a simple gift to you, too.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-2894565804711811208?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-60290622794605224382008-11-10T02:40:00.000-08:002008-11-10T02:50:08.447-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SRgR2OKg_PI/AAAAAAAAC5o/TvYCJ12enC0/s1600-h/obama.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 80px; height: 56px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SRgR2OKg_PI/AAAAAAAAC5o/TvYCJ12enC0/s200/obama.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266979387422604530" border="0" /></a><br />I admit that I'm still tearing up, on occasion, about Obama's win, and our future. A lot of it has to do with the anti-racist part of me, knowing that a large part of that part of our history has been wiped clean.<br /><br />But, more than that, it's that I haven't really known anything else as a president other than Dumb W. I used the bad analogy to Daddy Dan about feeling like an abused child, who doesn't know any thing better in life.<br /><br />I think people will soon wake up and realize we haven't had a real president in eight years. For some older Americans, who have lived through other presidents, that might not feel like a lot of time.<br /><br />But, for me, my world changed under the reign -- and chaos -- of Dumb W. In fact, looking at this list makes me wonder exactly how much damage he might have done over the last near decade that we don't even know about.<br /><br />In the last eight years I ...<br /><br />Moved to a different state<br />Worked three jobs<br />Met a man<br />Got engaged to that man<br />Married<br />Learned to be a wife<br />Traveled out of the country<br />Suffered through infertility<br />Got pregnant<br />WITH TWINS!!<br />Learned to be a mother<br />Was a working mom<br />Was a stay-at-home mom<br />Was a work-at-home mom<br />Became a working mom again.<br />Changed careers -- twice<br />Sold a house<br />Bought a house<br />Tried selling another house, but could not (thanks, W!)<br />And, now, I'm watching well-known businesses collapse before my eyes.<br /><br />And much more.<br /><br />How about you? What has changed in your life in the last eight years? Pass it on and link back to me, if you want for a sweet little, spontaneous writing contest. I'll link to everyone's post at the end of the week. Or, just leave your notes in comments.<br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-6029062279460522438?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-81116061705395071332008-11-04T21:30:00.001-08:002008-11-04T21:32:44.937-08:00My nose is stuffy. The tears keep coming. All I know is that we're going to be OK now. We're all going to be OK now.<br /><br />It's a Dawning of a New Day.<br /><br />I've never felt more proud to be a Democrat. Never.<br /><br />Thanks to all who made this happen.<br /><br />Hope is alive, again.<br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-8111606170539507133?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-21200700250571738692008-11-03T18:15:00.000-08:002008-11-03T18:33:48.447-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SQ-xWMPGQwI/AAAAAAAAC5g/7jSU6cbt2F8/s1600-h/yeswecan.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 149px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SQ-xWMPGQwI/AAAAAAAAC5g/7jSU6cbt2F8/s320/yeswecan.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264621484219187970" border="0" /></a>Vote for <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">hope</span>.<br /><br />Vote for change.<br /><br />Vote for <span style="font-weight: bold;">yourself</span>.<br /><br />Vote for our country.<br /><br />Vote for the thousands of white, black and brown volunteers making this a campaign about YOU, AND ABOUT ME.<br /><br />Vote for <span style="font-style: italic;">your </span>neighbors.<br /><br />Vote for <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">my </span>neighbors.<br /><br />Vote for <span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);">Mother Earth</span>.<br /><br />Vote for humanity.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SQ-xWMPGQwI/AAAAAAAAC5g/7jSU6cbt2F8/s1600-h/yeswecan.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 149px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SQ-xWMPGQwI/AAAAAAAAC5g/7jSU6cbt2F8/s320/yeswecan.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264621484219187970" border="0" /></a><br />Vote for the future.<br /><br />Vote for that smile.<br /><br />Vote for That One.<br /><br />Vote for the <span style="font-weight: bold;">next generation</span>.<br /><br />Vote like your life depends on it.<br /><br />Vote like your job depends on it.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Because it does</span>.<br /><br />If it rains, call for a ride. If it pours, run to the polls. If the line is long, just wait -- wait minutes, wait hours, but please just wait.<br /><br />Just vote.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">And, in honor of Obama's grandmother, who died just one day before she would have learned his fate in American politics, I give you this quote from him, a man too kind for his own good.</span> <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">From the New York Times:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">“She was one of those quiet heroes that we have all across America,” Mr. Obama said. “They’re not famous. Their names are not in the newspapers, but each and every day they work hard. They aren’t seeking the limelight. All they try to do is just do the right thing. In this crowd there are a lot of quiet heroes like that.”</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-2120070025057173869?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-27257113989103320692008-10-31T02:16:00.000-07:002008-10-31T02:48:11.188-07:00Dear Jadyn and Liana:<br /><br />I know it isn't fair that after working a long 40-hour work week, I have left you a couple times over the last two weeks in the evenings and on the weekends. I'm sure you've hardly noticed it, but I leave with a heavy heart.<br /><br />And, for the <a href="http://research.yale.edu/GOTV/">next FOUR days</a>, I will do it more. And yet I am doing it for you. It's all for you.<br /><br />You see, I'm working for that man -- the one with the smooth, tan skin and the incredible gift for speaking -- the one you call Obama!<br /><br />I wasn't always a supporter of Obama. Mommy wanted to you to see the first woman elected president in your lifetime. She really wanted that now. But, the country spoke and they saw something in Obama, something special, something unique.<br /><br />Now, just four days away from the election, I have done what many women have done and we have found excitement in seeing a beautiful, compassionate black man take oath in the Oval Office -- he will be the first black president, if elected.<br /><br />Do not get me wrong, this election is important for many reasons.<br /><br />What many in America do not get to see is what you and I see every day as we travel around our city, where 80 percent of the children live in poverty.<br /><br />Our neighbors have hope, possibly for the first time in their lifetimes.<br /><br />So, when I leave you this weekend, and when I'm gone from you all day on Election Day, please know I'm doing it for you, and for what I believe in:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I believe in prosperity for ALL. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I believe in peace.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I believe in being free to choose, free to believe and free to speak.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I believe handguns should not be in the hands of anyone but police officers.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I believe in putting humanity first.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I believe in the </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/10/31/us/politics/31taxes.html">middle class and working poor</a><span style="font-style: italic;"> and finally making government work for them.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Finally, I believe in </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.barackobama.com/issues/">Obama</a><span style="font-style: italic;">. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What do you believe?</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-2725711398910332069?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-52042919745735610962008-10-26T03:52:00.000-07:002008-10-26T04:06:36.120-07:00I've talked a lot about how in just about any life, one <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/02/thing-or-two-about-writing-and-books.html">can work writing into their lives</a>. I've even talked a lot about how motherhood is the one thing that has <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/05/my-biggest-challenge-me.html">gotten in my way</a>.<br /><br />Well, I take it all back.<br /><br />Kids have gotten in my way. Kids have blocked my writing.<br /><br />I can pinpoint the start of this nasty season to the third week of July. It was hot and we were preparing for our <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/07/mountain-whispers.html">road trip to GA</a>.<br /><br />Jadyn got up one day from her nap and met me in at the computer. She had escaped her crib.<br /><br />It's been over ever since.<br /><br />We moved them that week to beds.<br /><br />What used to be 7 a.m.ish risings around here, quickly turned into 6 a.m. risings, then 5:30 risings ... and I've been a mess ever since.<br /><br />There is no break. No downtime. I used to at least have the mornings and evenings, but even getting them to bed has been nearly impossible before 8:15, at the earliest, and then I just<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">want</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">to </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">crash</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">to</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">sleep.</span><br /><br />I've never been more tired in my life than I am right now. I dream of all the great things I can finally do for myself: paint my nails, soak my feet, read magazines, finally scrapbook, write, drink wine, watch TV ...<br /><br />And yet none of it happens.<br /><br />That's why I'm not blogging. Not because I'm working, but because the home life has been so tough ever since Jadyn and Liana got a bit of freedom.<br /><br />Today is the first day I can think of where they are awake and staying in their room to talk and play!!!! It's a miracle. I could do this. I could be this mother. Not the one that is surprised awake too early or rushed out of the shower. I can live this life, that leaves me even just a few minutes of space to breath, relax my shoulders away from my ears and let my mind wonder.<br /><br />The sibling battles have been tense, mostly for me. One or the other (mostly one) is never happy with anything: That frustrates me because I am, still, so emotionally invested in their well-being but also because their happy state usually means I can relax and let down a bit. It's just so rare now that I have become tense and grumpy and full of venom.<br /><br />All of that isn't much fun to write about, let alone blog about.<br /><br />So while I've found my groove as a working mother, I'm gathering many splinters in the process. And, their sticking to my skin like never before.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-5204291974573561096?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-85535293555222634472008-10-22T18:09:00.001-07:002008-10-22T18:09:12.918-07:00My name is Shawn and I am a <a href="http://thechunkypurse.blogspot.com/2008/10/once-upon-potty-review.html">potty training failure</a>.<br /><br />Not even <a href="http://www.fireflybooks.com/bookdetail&amp;bookid=9208">Once Upon a Potty</a> can help me. Sorry <a href="http://blog.parentbloggers.com/">Parent Bloggers Network</a>.<br /><br />So very sorry.<br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-8553529355522263447?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-60343418573626931832008-10-19T18:38:00.000-07:002008-10-19T19:07:22.685-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SPvkwe0WkKI/AAAAAAAAC5I/x90fVb3Ab5U/s1600-h/IMG_6339.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SPvkwe0WkKI/AAAAAAAAC5I/x90fVb3Ab5U/s200/IMG_6339.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259048511442686114" border="0" /></a><br />It's a big title for a mom who can barely keep her head above water most days.<br /><br />Many of you have been wondering about my work, what I'm doing and how I'm coping being away from my sweet toddler girls who bicker and fight about everything under the sun -- including whether or not the sun is up or not.<br /><br />I am working as a chief of staff for a local legislator.<br /><br />And, from what I can tell after a mere two months on the job, it's a really good fit for the woman I have always been and the one I've become since becoming a mother.<br /><br />The lens of the old me is much more filtered now ... many of the passions I had are now followed with a but, and a what if and why bother: and it always comes back to Jadyn and Liana or just plain being a mother in this generation.<br /><br />There isn't an issue or a law or a complaint that comes along that doesn't fire me up about my love and appreciation for humanity. But I can't easily forget where I've come from just that morning -- wiping snot from one girl's nose just seconds after wiping diarrhea off her sister's butt. Life is good.<br /><br />Motherhood -- parenthood -- is very humbling. My boss likes to tell me about the night he finished law school and was ready to celebrate -- only to arrive home to a floor covered in vomit, the result of his young son's cold.<br /><br />There's no manual; no law book. There's no play-by-play for this parenting thing. It's a crapshoot, really, of every day trying to blend the new and exciting and joy with the mundane, frustrating and ready-to-move-out-of-this-phase phase. And I often -- meaning, several times a morning and a hundred times a night -- feel like I do not know what I'm doing, or why I chose to do it all in the first place.<br /><br />And then they come along and look at me with their sweet eyes -- because they are starting to show those, now and then, -- and ask me a simple question, "My have that, Mommy?" And, they're starting to do little girl things like sit in front of my bathroom mirror and pretend to brush and fix their hair, and they love to fix my hair, too! And, they play some serious kitchen-play that includes lots of pretend hand washing. These are glimpses for me that there is light ahead, that I will be able to have fun as a mother -- some day.<br /><br />It's still really hard to manage life with twins. And, it is because they are twins. We've struggled with much more fighting and bickering than previously. At my wits end, I found some research online and it's helping slightly. When they are playing well, it's very good. When they are not playing together and have selfish needs, it can be rather terrible and upsetting for me.<br /><br />I miss them terribly when I'm at work, but I'm starting to find a balance - at least on the weekends -- that allows me to stay open and awake to them at certain times when not slaving in the kitchen or at the stores. There truly aren't enough hours in the day, dinner is ALWAYS a disaster and I now truly understand why more and more convenience foods are ending up on shelves despite the inconvenient cost.<br /><br />There's no chief in my cap in the morning as I juggle the line between being woken up too early --well before dawn -- and tip toeing around, worried they will wake any second even though dawn has already arrived and yet I'm not able to get much done.<br /><br />I'm not the boss of anyone as we make our way downstairs and bicker over what to eat for breakfast, which pants to wear and who will put on their socks, their shoes, their coats. There is no staff to help load the car with all the stuff, to help them realize we have to move along now or to race them to the car or to stop to look at a slug.<br /><br />Mostly, I'm starting to find the cool groove of working while mothering, but I've been a very slow learner. VERY SLOW, in fact.<br /><br />No, sir, there's no chief here.<br /><br />Just a mom. And a very tired one at that.<br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-6034341857362693183?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-31520273457611108772008-10-12T18:30:00.000-07:002008-10-12T18:45:34.023-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SPKnu47M4yI/AAAAAAAAC5A/T1QFfeJtwWs/s1600-h/IMG_6174.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SPKnu47M4yI/AAAAAAAAC5A/T1QFfeJtwWs/s200/IMG_6174.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256448139091305250" border="0" /></a><br />I already gave myself a little note about <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/08/thinking-out-loud-notes-to-working-gals.html">lessons learned as a stay-at-home mommy</a> and now I'm flipping the roles around and sending some 20/20 vision out to my SAHM friends seeking a bit of a balance while in the trenches.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">1. Act like you're going to work:</span> Get up, shower and drink your coffee just like you would start a day of working outside the home. And then take it a bit further: put on make up, and dress up, comfortably. You'll feel better about yourself.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">2. Enjoy your thoughts:</span> The main difference, that I can tell, between a stay-at-home mom and a mother who works outside the home is the fact that most SAHMs have more time to think. This can be good, and this can be bad. Whatever the outcome, be thankful that you have that space to reflect on the good and the bad instead of just wading deep in a pile of sticky fragments.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">3. Relish the Nap Time:</span> The second main difference between a working moms day and a stay-at-home moms day is in the nap time. Of course, that's only when the kids are napping. After that, it's all the exact same. No time to do anything. At. All. It's not mommy wars. It's called motherhood. But, while you have a nap break, use it to your advantage -- and that means get off the computer, and do something quiet just for you.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">4. Exercise:</span> I honestly thought I never had time to exercise, and really, I didn't but now looking back I realize I really did have more time. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't ideal. But it was something -- and it was MUCH more than I can give to that important hobby now. So, even if it's just running at the playground or doing push-ups in the playroom -- it's better than sitting at a desk all day. Seriously.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">5. Take. A. Freaking. Break:</span> Yeah, you ... leave the child. With someone else. For a whole day. Or a half a day. But, leave them. Hire a sitter and just go. Live with it. Deal with it. Learn to let the grips of guilt fall to the side, learn to leave your white knuckles at home, with the dirty diapers and mealtime battles. You will not be a better mother just by being with her or him around the clock. Trust me. You'll all be better off in the end.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-3152027345761110877?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-8077763621832632842008-10-06T02:12:00.000-07:002008-10-06T02:30:47.302-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SOnaCFuroII/AAAAAAAAC44/YTmbii7toF8/s1600-h/IMG_6001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SOnaCFuroII/AAAAAAAAC44/YTmbii7toF8/s400/IMG_6001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253970169736962178" border="0" /></a>Sharing giggles in bed before Mama comes in ...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SOnZ9KVOHfI/AAAAAAAAC4w/y7THPv5Z8lk/s1600-h/IMG_6111.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SOnZ9KVOHfI/AAAAAAAAC4w/y7THPv5Z8lk/s400/IMG_6111.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253970085073001970" border="0" /></a>Messing around with Daddy ...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SOnZzlJURmI/AAAAAAAAC4o/muKw6sLq10c/s1600-h/IMG_6092.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SOnZzlJURmI/AAAAAAAAC4o/muKw6sLq10c/s400/IMG_6092.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253969920472139362" border="0" /></a>Liana<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SOnZknbGfAI/AAAAAAAAC4g/LkrkdceE-7E/s1600-h/IMG_6120.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SOnZknbGfAI/AAAAAAAAC4g/LkrkdceE-7E/s400/IMG_6120.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253969663385566210" border="0" /></a>Ready for school ...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SOnZckTvIrI/AAAAAAAAC4Y/hSEN5MtdlKY/s1600-h/IMG_6133.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SOnZckTvIrI/AAAAAAAAC4Y/hSEN5MtdlKY/s400/IMG_6133.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253969525110416050" border="0" /></a>Rock Star Baby Carter<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SOnZR3ZrcLI/AAAAAAAAC4Q/nLBN3Dfo8P0/s1600-h/IMG_6136.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SOnZR3ZrcLI/AAAAAAAAC4Q/nLBN3Dfo8P0/s400/IMG_6136.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253969341257052338" border="0" /></a>More Carter<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SOnZI5ZXmfI/AAAAAAAAC4I/7ukPJLLr9t8/s1600-h/IMG_6155.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SOnZI5ZXmfI/AAAAAAAAC4I/7ukPJLLr9t8/s400/IMG_6155.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253969187173800434" border="0" /></a>Sand Art<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SOnY5mgB8XI/AAAAAAAAC4A/11ybHZ2NjcU/s1600-h/IMG_6181.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SOnY5mgB8XI/AAAAAAAAC4A/11ybHZ2NjcU/s400/IMG_6181.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253968924403429746" border="0" /></a>Dress up has begun!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SOnYzUx2fWI/AAAAAAAAC34/a4Kf4__0598/s1600-h/IMG_6182.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SOnYzUx2fWI/AAAAAAAAC34/a4Kf4__0598/s400/IMG_6182.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253968816567123298" border="0" /></a>These aren't even our Halloween costumes.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SOnYt5ElVvI/AAAAAAAAC3w/RkJI9tyn3Es/s1600-h/IMG_6187.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SOnYt5ElVvI/AAAAAAAAC3w/RkJI9tyn3Es/s400/IMG_6187.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253968723230152434" border="0" /></a>Two bags, heels, a princess dress and a weird hat.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SOnYnHwoatI/AAAAAAAAC3o/E5dZCpzsHKQ/s1600-h/IMG_6202.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SOnYnHwoatI/AAAAAAAAC3o/E5dZCpzsHKQ/s400/IMG_6202.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253968606913915602" border="0" /></a>Jadyn<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-807776362183263284?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-85889171395906508532008-09-30T03:17:00.000-07:002008-09-30T03:20:29.468-07:00Me: "Liana, are you messing up Mommy's papers?"<br /><br />Liana: "Yes, I is."<br /><br />Me: "Liana, you're crazy."<br /><br />Liana: "Yes, I is."<br /><br />Jadyn: "Nani, are you crazy?"<br /><br />Liana: "No."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">This is a somewhat exaggerated and fictional conversation based upon real life events happening in our house daily. Hope you are all well. </span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-8588917139590650853?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-22842960049688493072008-09-22T02:47:00.000-07:002008-09-22T02:59:53.060-07:00From the <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/09/22/us/politics/22campaign.html?_r=1&amp;hp&amp;oref=slogin">New York Times</a>:<br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">THIS?</span></span><br /><br />"<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);">Mr. Obama said that despite the huge new government obligation, he would press ahead with his plans to overhaul the health care system to insure more people, make college tuition more affordable, give a tax cut to the middle class and raise taxes on those making over $250,000 a year. </span><p style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);">“The problem that we have,” Mr. Obama said, “in part has to do with wages and incomes that have been flat. And so homeowners and ordinary families out there have been working very hard, but it’s tough for them to pay the bills and stay afloat with rising gas prices and health care.</p><p><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);">“So if we don’t address our long-term competitiveness, if we don’t address some of the inequities in the tax code, if we’re not addressing some of the things that weakened the family budget, then we’re not, over the long term, going to solve these larger problems in the financial markets</span>.”</p><p><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;">Or, THIS?</p><p><br /></p><p>"<span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">But Mr. McCain said in an interview here with CNBC and The New York Times that he would press on with his plan to extend the Bush tax cuts and to cut others. Contrary to the warnings of fiscal analysts, he said he believed he could do so and balance the </span><a style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);" href="http://topics.nytimes.com/top/reference/timestopics/subjects/f/federal_budget_us/index.html?inline=nyt-classifier" title="Recent and archival news about the federal budget.">federal budget</a><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">, which was falling deeper into deficit even before the financial crisis, by the end of his first term</span>."<br /><br />"<span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">I believe we can still balance the budget,” he said. “<span style="font-weight: bold;">I think that it is restraint of spending, and I think it’s growth of government and the economy, and the recovery of our economy. </span>And anything you do that would take more money from the American people who are hurting more now, I think, would be a serious mistake</span>.”</p>And, if you can tell me exactly what the latter in bold means, please feel free to leave it in the comments. I've read it five times and still can't figure it out. I mean, seriously. SERIOUSLY.<br /><br />This is not a joke, folks. The next bail out is going to be us.<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-2284296004968849307?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-35055757068004695652008-09-18T17:09:00.000-07:002008-09-18T17:23:18.137-07:00Besides reading and <a href="http://thechunkypurse.blogspot.com/2008/09/revew-dangerous-days-of-daniel-x.html">reviewing </a>Patterson's new book, "The Dangerous Days of Daniel X," I'm starting to hit my working groove, I think.<br /><br />I am no longer shrinking in the shadows. My name is slowly starting to creep back onto people's radars. I honestly feel like I have been living in a black hole in my own community.<br /><br />People are sending me graduation pictures of their sons who four years ago were just leaving junior high school.<br /><br />I've missed a lot of people's lives and they've missed a lot of mine but we're picking up the pieces as if I hadn't been holed up dealing with all babies, all the time for the last three years.<br /><br />Our mornings and nights are still chaotic. I cry a lot in those times because they are not what I want them to be -- filled with sweet moments between two girls and their mommy. They are really quite the opposite and it's upsetting. It's been four weeks of "school" for them and I do see progress both with how they are falling into the routine and the loss of me, as well as with what they are learning.<br /><br />When I'm busy at work, which is most of the time, I hardly have time to think about what I'm missing out on. But, those few moments in the day when I'm walking outside or driving, I have a minute to feel the grief inside my heart about being away from them for so long, for missing this part of their life.<br /><br />When we finally reconnect, we hug a lot and we are giddy with joy. At least until we walk into the house and the crying begins. Why the crying at home? It's always been that way.<br /><br />At night, when they need their blankets back on or a snuggle, I gladly hop up to do it, knowing it's my chance to get some peaceful time with them, breathe them in and feel their breath on my cheek.<br /><br />It's not perfect and I can't imagine any working moms life being as such, but it's working. The job, the boss ... are very good. I'm finding my legs, again, as a smart, strong woman.<br /><br />I'm still a <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/01/rising.html">mother, rising</a>.<br /><br />But there's a bit of that <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/05/who-was-that-woman.html">old Shawn</a> rearing her energetic, passionate head -- the one who's always been on a mission to make the world a better place.<br /><br />And, there could not be a better time to do this kind of work.<br /><br />How about you? What's rising in your world right now?<br /><br /><p><br /></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-3505575706800469565?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-65804814999353881752008-09-14T17:50:00.000-07:002008-09-14T18:05:04.592-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SM20nqznFRI/AAAAAAAAClI/pop4Prr8fvg/s1600-h/IMG_4588.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SM20nqznFRI/AAAAAAAAClI/pop4Prr8fvg/s200/IMG_4588.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246047734555153682" border="0" /></a><br />And this is the first real chance I've had at blogging in an entire week.<br /><br />I'd like to detail how I went<span style="font-weight: bold;"> at it</span> with the director of my girls child care center this week, or how we had painters in to paint the kitchen and hall and they sanded the walls and ceilings -- twice -- and we've spent the better part of the last 48 hours, cleaning everything from dishes and glasses to floors and windows.<br /><br />I'd love to fill you in on how the days away from the girls, while still hard, are getting to be physically easier. I'd love to say that I love my job and I can't imagine returning to life as a SAHM ... but I can't. I just can't.<br /><br />I'd love to say that working is easier, but it's not. It's so not. I can't think of the last five minutes I had to myself. I miss the quiet. Meditation may save me ...<br /><br />The truth is that I feel less fulfilled about this life than I wish I did. I am going through the motions, knowing it's right for our family and that this "preschool" setting is good for my girls and that, ultimately, I hope I am doing the right thing for myself. This week I have an event with our governor and while that's cool, I'm too insecure and worried about what to wear (it's a groundbreaking ceremony so it must be ... dirt-friendly).<br /><br />Honestly, being back in the working world has reminded me of one very harsh reality that I had forgotten over the last two years: That real life people are inefficient, average and often rather annoying.<br /><br />My little third-floor attic office and work-at-home schedule -- though demanding -- and blogging and communicating with my best friends by e-mail put me in a bubble that erased this fact from my memory. I was the boss, and I didn't have to rely on too many people -- at least not for much more than a 20-minute interview.<br /><br />Now I'm left to realize that we're all human and that human sometimes isn't even close to being perfect -- or even average -- in real life.<br /><br />I blame all of you for appearing so perfect to me, for making me believe in humanity again.<br /><br />Darn you!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-6580481499935388175?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-52327373431298809602008-09-09T17:51:00.000-07:002008-09-09T17:58:03.235-07:00Check out my other blog for a cool <a href="http://thechunkypurse.blogspot.com/2008/09/and-then-there-was-yogurt.html">Yoplait Kids Yogurt review</a> -- and a giveaway -- as part of The <a href="http://blog.parentbloggers.com/">Parent Bloggers</a> Network. You could win something -- or you could, at the very least, print off a good <a href="http://www.yoplait.com/products_yoplaitkids.aspx">Yoplait Kids </a>coupon.<br /><br />And, speaking of giveaways. Have you checked out my good friend The Writer Mama's Back to School Giveaways? I won four or five books last year and, unfortunately, have been so overwhelmed with my new life haven't been able to enter. But that shouldn't stop you, now! Go. <a href="http://thewritermama.wordpress.com/2008/08/28/2008-writer-mama-back-to-school-giveaway-da-rules/"><span style="font-size:130%;">Here</span></a>. Now.<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-5232737343129880960?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-26043156310328813902008-09-09T03:07:00.000-07:002008-09-09T03:14:20.448-07:00As someone who has been a part of that "media" we all gripe about, I must give a shout-out when I read something outstanding. I know the media has more in it than they have given over the years.<br /><br />I don't know about you, but I am on a mission. A real mission. And it starts with me. And it starts with you.<br /><br />Daddy Dan started in 2004 reading everything he could to be an informed citizen and an informed voter. That means more than reading your hometown newspaper and watching the morning and evening news. We must seek out all sources of information about everything personal to us. And, since what is personal to us is sleeping in the next room ...<br /><br />I will read everything I can about this election to be sure that WE THE PEOPLE are going to be represented.<br /><br />And <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/09/07/opinion/07rich.html?em"><span style="font-size:180%;">this </span></a>tells me a lot. Please consider it, and pass it on.<br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-2604315631032881390?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-76877526800050700142008-09-08T11:42:00.000-07:002008-09-08T11:44:49.071-07:00I don't have time to write ... but, luckily, someone else has.<br /><br />Go <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/eve-ensler/drill-drill-drill_b_124829.html"><span style="font-size:180%;"><strong>here</strong></span> </a>to read my feelings, exactly. And more.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-7687752680005070014?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-74167001775607597292008-09-07T17:23:00.000-07:002008-09-07T17:57:09.281-07:00There should be a blog post here. Something witty or heartbreaking or, even, just tired prose. But, I have nothing. A long list of things I didn't get to do this weekend, a deep well of sadness that the weekend is over and a very weird feeling of not wanting to be a working mom or a stay-at-home mom or, even, a work-at-home mom anymore.<br /><br />I just am.<br /><br />I feel like a bug hitting the windshield of an 18-wheeler -- caught off guard with the full impact of this is what life is for mothers today.<br /><br />The question remains: How will blogging fit into this new life of ours?<br /><br />I wish I knew the answer. I'm pleading for the energy, the material and the time. This is the only thing I have and I want to keep it, even if everything else is a mess.<br /><br />I'm sorry for not reading your blogs, or even if I have read your posts, I haven't commented. I'm sorry for being absent. For being melodramatic. For being sad. For being angry. For taking at least one coffee break each day at work and wasting money on take-out lunches because anything -- ANYTHING -- is better than peanut butter and jelly or grilled cheese right now.<br /><br />To change all of this, I'm going to say this: Life is getting easier. And I still have a lot to say. I just don't know when and how I'll get to say it.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-7416700177560759729?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-74604084656490248512008-09-01T18:09:00.000-07:002008-09-01T18:23:14.985-07:00We survived last week.<br /><br />Barely.<br /><br />Friday evening I collapsed in the arms of my two little girls and husband and cried. I've never appreciated a three-day weekend more.<br /><br />I'm almost at a loss for words now. Numb, cautiously optimistic that this week will prove to be better.<br /><br />By Friday, Liana was soaring without me. But, she was never the one I was worried about. I knew she'd thrive. She's a social butterfly ... someone who seriously needs to be around other people to feel her best.<br /><br />She didn't even cry when I left Friday morning.<br /><br />But, Jadyn ... she's a whole other story and just the thought of what I knew she was going through last week can send me spiraling down, again.<br /><br />Still, she showed an ever-so-slight improvement Friday by not crying as long, and even played for most of the day. She still cried at pick up. She still didn't eat lunch -- but neither did all week. She was still so relieved to get back into her parents' arms. It didn't help that she picked up a small cold or something, too, but her weekend was all out of whack with what we believe was some night terrors and up several times a night wanting daddy, no mommy, no daddy. Helpless, knowing her pain, we did as she requested.<br /><br />I'm sure tonight she'll sleep well and then the week will start all over again.<br /><br />On a side note, both girls are talking non-stop now and it's so neat to witness it.<br /><br />Highlights of this milestone:<br /><br />In bed one night this weekend. The room was dark and we were doing our nightly petting hours. Liana said, "Daddy! I have gas."<br /><br />Then, today at lunch:<br /><br />Daddy: "Do you like grapes?" (Asked to Liana while she was eating almonds but preparing to eat a grape.)<br /><br />Liana: "Yes." Pause. "I like nuts, too."<br /><br />Thanks to everyone who has been trying to console me this past week. I do appreciate all of your kind words. I'm just going to let this play out for a while and see how it goes. There may be few postings in the meantime. Or, not ... you just never know.<br /><br />"D<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-7460408465649024851?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-3018085460416681812008-08-26T17:30:00.000-07:002008-08-26T17:57:49.941-07:00<span style="font-size:100%;">I must be under some test of strength by the universe. If I can handle this, I can handle just about anything, right?<br /><br />I take it all back. Every last word.<br /><br />I'd take a full day of tantrums and whining and never getting anything done to never, ever have to drop them off at day care, again.<br /><br />What was I thinking? This isn't going to work out. I don't have it in me. I'm going to cave.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">I AM NOT STRONG ENOUGH.<br /><br />But, I can't. I'm not working to make money. I'm not working to get away from my children. I'm not working to further a career.<br /><br />I'm working to help people; to make a difference in my daughters' world.<br /><br />It's hard right now to keep this in perspective. They didn't eat all day. They cried all afternoon. They sobbed, uncontrollably, again when I arrived to pick them up. Their little hearts bursting with emotion. They don't want me to leave their side all night afterward. We were each other's worlds for so long and now they feel like I'm going to leave them any second.<br /><br />And, my God, I can't stop crying about it (when they aren't around.)<br /><br />They are depressed. I can see it. And it's truly breaking every string of my heart. One by one.<br /><br />I don't think I can take another "it will get easier" comment. This sage advice doesn't help as I have to slide their little tightly gripped hands off mine and walk away, leaving them crying so hard they sound like they will vomit.<br /><br />My super cool boss said that I'll laugh about all of this in seven years and he's probably right. He's a father himself. And I take comfort that all of this will pass and we'll all be stronger for it.<br /><br />I'm afraid, I might be the one scarred for life. I'm picturing all the working moms of the world and wondering, seriously, how they do it.<br /><br />How do they do it and not feel totally, utterly, sincerely crushed?<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span>And then this note from one of their teachers: "They have a lot of trouble transitioning from one activity to another."<br /><br /></span>Seriously? This is a joke, right?<br /><br />I'm worried that my only children -- my first born -- my youngest and my oldest -- are getting basic needs, like, say food, water, sleep and that they are smiling and happy for more than 2 hours in an 8 hour day.<br /><br />But, OK, thanks for sharing your concern about how to get them to ease right from playing hard into taking a nap ON THEIR SECOND DAY OF DAY CARE!<br /><br />That will make everything better for my depressed 2.5 year olds who feel like their mother has left them and will never return.<br /><br />But, whatever, tomorrow's a new day and like this morning I'll set out with a smiling, happy face that will have them fooled until ...<br /><br />I get dressed for work.<br /><br />Then, it's game over.<span><br /></span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-301808546041668181?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-4140722272457939942008-08-26T08:11:00.000-07:002008-08-26T08:58:20.197-07:00In just two minutes they stopped crying ... 2 minutes.<br /><br />I cried longer than that!!!!!<br /><br />Sheesh.<br /><br />lol<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-414072227245793994?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-78275301662732715322008-08-26T06:15:00.000-07:002008-08-26T06:17:37.109-07:00Seriously. Take it out. I don't want to feel anymore.<br /><br />This morning was harder; the crying, louder; the clinging, tighter; the pain, greater.<br /><br />I"m having trouble seeing the forest through the trees. Why am I doing this?<br /><br />I feel so selfish.<br /><br />So.<br /><br />Very.<br /><br />Selfish.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-7827530166273271532?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-33840867070433118132008-08-25T07:11:00.000-07:002008-08-25T12:48:03.978-07:00Did you hear that? That loud crash ... the earth falling off its axis?<br /><br />Nevermind it.<br /><br />It was just my heart shattering in a million little pieces and falling out of the sky as two little girls cried and clung to my legs as I shoved them away and left them. With strangers.<br /><br />That's all. Just their world changed in a single morning.<br /><br />And, no they didn't stop crying after I left. Perhaps it is harder on me than them, but it's really hard on them, too.<br /><br />Back to work.<br /><br />EDITED: Who needs lunch? Or snacks? When you're depressed, right? Turns out, they didn't need a full belly to take a nap.<br /><br />Sigh.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-3384086707043311813?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-163741642531791402008-08-24T17:23:00.000-07:002008-08-24T17:36:02.076-07:00I've learned so much these last two years as a stay-at-home mom and I certainly do not want to forget any of it. And, to be sure that I do not, I wanted to create a memo to return to time and again to keep myself in check. Just about any parent could learn a lot staying home with their children for an extended period of time.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Live on one income: </span>Even if you make two, try very hard to live on one. Be frugal. Save a lot. And, keep things very simple.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Be creative:</span> It's not about being able to go out and purchase a piece of art; it's about working within your means to create it and have fun doing so. This goes for just about everything, too. Pick up pieces of a wardrobe at thrift shops and then try to make them work. Spend more time at the craft store than at the toy store. In fact, do not even go to the toy store.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Think natural elements:</span> Put rocks in your windows. Twigs in a bowl. Pick up acorns, leaves and pine cones to remember the place you visited. Spend more time outside than inside. Value Mother Earth and all the beauty she spins on this planet. Try to walk more; drive less. Stop to smell the roses, meditate and cherish a little piece.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Snuggle:</span> Our kids need this. Even if it's just once or twice a day. Stop cooking and cleaning if they want held. Pick them up and do it. If you can't that second, let them know you know that they need it and work hard to make it happen.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Quality time:</span> Take time each morning and each evening to really just be with your children. Period.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Remember, we're all busy:</span> And, we truly are. The stay-at-home mom life doesn't offer much in the way of breaks or time to fix dinner, either. It also doesn't offer sick time or vacation. Nor, was it easy to get to a doctor's appointment. Motherhood is hard no matter which way you slice it. Suck it up.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Write, write, write:</span> Between getting ready for work, working out, meditation, preparing breakfast and dinner and spending good, fun times on the floor, playing, you have to find time to reflect on this life. If you do not, it will pass too quickly and you will wonder where the time went. Write about it so you'll always remember. Just write. Even just a sentence like, "We ate ice cold ice cream in the scorching sun today -- as a family."<br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-16374164253179140?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-57446102874445167162008-08-21T16:57:00.001-07:002008-08-21T17:34:53.323-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SK4IWIRn0aI/AAAAAAAACkk/ej0sNjmMGXU/s1600-h/rippaper.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SK4IWIRn0aI/AAAAAAAACkk/ej0sNjmMGXU/s200/rippaper.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237132592950006178" border="0" /></a><br />For nearly three years, I've had to fight to remember <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/05/who-was-that-woman.html">who I was</a> before I became a mother. I had to wonder what I did with all my time.<br /><br />For the last 2.5 years, I haven't been able to <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/05/and-just-who-is-she-now.html">escape being a mother</a>. I couldn't dream of being anything else. The simplest things led me back to two beings: My daughters.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2007/09/mothers-brain-cracked-open.html">I breathed them</a>. I dreamed of them. I daydreamed about them. I couldn't imagine another child, another life ever being more consuming than my love for them.<br /><br />I couldn't imagine anything -- nothing at all -- ever coming between me and them. Where I began, they started; where they started, I began.<br /><br />Now, as I spend eight hours away from them each day, I have to fight to bring myself back to being a mother. When I'd normally be fixing their lunch, I'm fielding calls with complete strangers who now need my attention.<br /><br />As I walk on short breaks around town, I wonder who am I now? Am I still Mommy? <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2007/03/work-at-home-mama.html">Am I still a writer?</a> Glimpses of my old self have started creeping back. It's me, but very different.<br /><br /><div id="p-s-0"> </div> <div id="p-s-1">Like a web spun by a spider, I'm feeling stretched from limb to limb to remember the person I've been the last two years, the one who has put <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/07/i-laugh-at-your-messes.html">creativity and art</a> and nature before everything else. The one who values family and love and gratitude above all. The one with dreams that have <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/05/my-biggest-challenge-me.html">been on hold</a>.<br /><br /></div> <div id="p-s-2"> </div> <div id="p-s-3">And it is hard. I walk down the store-filled street, window shopping for exercise, and realize that I'm drawn to the natural elements as I have been lately. I long to <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/04/mama-stay-aka-namaste.html">sit in and do yoga</a>, create an artful masterpiece to sit on my daughters' bookshelves, a small bowl wih a simple message. I want to drop in the all natural cleaning store and soak up the good vibes respectful of Mother Earth. So many things I wanted to do ... so <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/03/another-34-things-week-of-lists.html">many, many things</a>.<br /><br /></div> <div id="vt7j"> </div> <div id="vt7j0">And yet ... I want to grab <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/07/my-bliss-list-whats-yours.html">a glass of wine</a> and listen to some music. I want to browse at the library. I want to talk to random people because I haven't' talked to random people in so long. but I forget how to talk to them. How to speak. How to get a conversation started without my conversation pieces -- Jadyn and Liana. I have nothing to glance down to, nothing to push forward and say, here these are my girls! <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/06/walk-with-view.html">Look at me! I'm somebody!</a><br /><br /></div> <div id="euek"> </div> <div id="euek0">It's just me. Feeling very exposed but thin and frail and a bit insecure. Like just learning to walk for the first time. Careful, cautious, considerate.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/05/catching-shooting-star.html">My first three days</a> were spent nearly incognito in a town where many people would recognize my face, and know my name. But, I have even changed that. I'm no longer using my maiden name -- my byline, a name that illuminates that woman I used to be and who hardly exists anymore. Even my hair is different.<br /><br />At 5:01, I lock the office door, and briskly walk-run toward the parking garage and swiftly make my eight block drive home to my husband and daughters who await my entrance with giddy laughter and big smiles -- something long, long overdue in my life.<br /><br />This week has been easy. I know they've been <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/08/guest-post-from-daddy-dan.html">happy and fulfilled</a>. Next week, next week will be different. <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2007/05/dear-girls-if-i-sit-still-long-enough.html">And hard</a>. Perhaps putting motherhood on a shelf won't be as easy.<br /><br />But, for this week, it's been an interesting experiment to just be a little bit of both of women I used to be.<br /></div> <div id="ynkp"> </div> <div id="ynkp0"> </div><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Photo Courtesy of <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/luckychair/2300576217/">Luckychair</a>.</span><br /></span></span></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-5744610287444516716?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-54221420048663157512008-08-20T05:22:00.000-07:002008-08-21T17:40:06.334-07:00I'm three days into my week with the girls. Here's what I've learned so far:<br /><br />They are a little more overwhelmed by new environments than I might have thought. Liana's clingyness is especially surprising: She is so independent and adventurous around the house. We went to gymnastics Monday, and they were both stuck to my legs. Same thing at our new pre-school. Now, in both places, they did warm up after a few minutes. But the world is still a big - and sometimes scary - place. It's easy to forget that seeing them in their element at home.<br /><br />Meals are the most stressful times of the day. They say they're hungry and then don't eat. They chew things up and then spit them out, and they don't always have a clear reason. They love to bang silverware and make messes. Exhibit A: The Working Mom made a special effort to whip up some chicken salad for chicken salad sandwiches at lunch. They were hungry. I brought out the sandwiches. And Liana very patiently took off every last bit of chicken salad and ate only the bread. Question for my mom: Was I like this at 2? Oh, never mind. I know the answer.<br /><br />All the energy it takes to keep up with them, all the stress - it's worth it for the one or two moments each day:<br /><br />Hearing them tell the story of their day to Mom when she comes home from work: "We saw cows. In the barn. Go milking. Cow peed. One cow pooped."<br /><br />Liana crying from a scraped knee on her way to the car. Jadyn, from her car seat, unprompted, reaching out to hold her sister's hand while Liana got her knee cleaned and bandaged.<br /><br />Seeing them with other kids and realizing they move pretty well on their own and make decisions on their own. In not quite three years, they have become little people. Not perfect by any stretch, but the most beautiful people I could ever imagine.<br /><br />Any dads out there have a story to share about that first solo week at home with the kids?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-5422142004866315751?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-48548037208253420682008-08-17T14:40:00.001-07:002008-08-18T03:07:58.846-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SKlJkN9P5eI/AAAAAAAACkc/_LWUS3URZgE/s1600-h/IMG_5972.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SKlJkN9P5eI/AAAAAAAACkc/_LWUS3URZgE/s200/IMG_5972.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235796928365585890" border="0" /></a><br />Dear Jadyn and Liana,<br /><br />Two years ago, my heart was <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2007/05/dear-girls-if-i-sit-still-long-enough.html">breaking in two</a> just about every day because I missed you so much as we parted as I left you at day care and went off to my job. I missed seeing you. I missed hearing your cries. I missed everything about you. I worried, too, that I'd miss seeing some of those important milestones. All of those firsts.<br /><br />In the last two years, however, I am happy to report that I've missed nothing.<br /><br />I was here when you first crawled.<br /><br />I was here to hold your hand when you lifted yourself to stand for the first time.<br /><br />I was here to catch you when you took your first steps.<br /><br />I was here, unfortunately, when you took your first spill and got a terrible boo-boo.<br /><br />I was here to introduce you to a slide and a swing, to show you the early morning when the birdies come out to eat, to watch you learn to draw circles and lines and zig zags.<br /><br />I was here to listen to teach you to count to 10, and listen to you do it successfully.<br /><br />We may have had our rough patches, but I will forever be changed (and more improved) for the time we've spent together these last two years. I'm looking forward to what lies before us now. I promise to stay awake to this <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/05/catching-shooting-star.html">remarkable life change</a>.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">This shiny new us.<br /><br /></span><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-4854803720825342068?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-11754285708028024472008-08-15T03:16:00.000-07:002008-08-15T03:23:11.415-07:00It's time. Submit your <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/08/daring-group-writing-challenge.html">Daring Group Writing Project</a> entries here with Mr. Linky and let's get reading. I've decided to leave this contest open until Sunday at noon, EST. in case anyone had a bad week of sleeping like I did.<br /><br />I will draw to names, at random, on Sunday evening and announce who will win the Starbucks gift cards.<br /><br /><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.blenza.com/linkies/autolink.php?owner=greatexpectations&postid=15Aug2008&meme=576"></script><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-1175428570802802447?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-78647935994905356052008-08-15T01:23:00.000-07:002008-08-15T03:33:58.728-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SKVbTTupnfI/AAAAAAAACkU/cJXashMZ-0E/s1600-h/IMG_3294.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SKVbTTupnfI/AAAAAAAACkU/cJXashMZ-0E/s200/IMG_3294.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234690529159650802" border="0" /></a><br />There's dew on the railing. A mountain of sand before me. I rub my eyes, clutch my yoga bag and head straight for her.<br /><br />She's vast, open and lush with sea foam.<br /><br />She's deep, harsh and scary, too.<br /><br />I spread out my mat along the crystal sand specks along her shore and stretch my arms out to her, wanting her to wrap her arms around me. I breathe in everything she offers, and it is everything.<br /><br />I sit. And wait.<br /><br />Wait for the quiet inside to squelch even the sounds of her crashing waves, a sound I dream about, a sound I long to hear over and over. Seconds. No, no minutes, pass. Hours, maybe.<br /><br />And then it happens.<br /><br />Peace. A smile. Lost tension. Light as a feather. Filled with nothing but sea salt air, and compassion.<br /><br />And a profound respect for my God, Mother Earth.<br /><br />Then, like magic, I turn and we continue building the most awesome sand castle around.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-7864793599490535605?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-73162021521435889212008-08-13T11:12:00.001-07:002008-08-13T11:45:07.423-07:00I've had a lot of time to think and prepare for this life change of returning to the working world. In fact, if I were going to continue staying at home, as is, I would be defending that choice.<br /><br />But, I'm not. The only real disadvantage of working is lack of time with our kids. And, it's a pretty big one.<br /><br />That said, right now, there's very little quality time going on between the three of us. It's squabbling time. It's bickering time. It's negotiating time. It's give-and-take time. It's cleaning time. It's making mess time. It's trying to please time.<br /><br />And, frankly, very little of it is actually fun anymore. What came first the job or the difficult toddlers? I guess they both sort of evolved at the same time. And since I know my days left to tolerate this challenging period are nearly over, I have less patience than you might think.<br /><br />Still, it will be hard. But, after a really great visit to their "school" last Friday I can attest to the fact that they will be MUCH better off there than at home with me. First of all, they are at an age when playing trumps everything and I am not sure I can step back onto another playground after this week for a long, long time. It's not just that, they want to do everything fun all day and so the things we used to be able to do, like crafts, are really boring to them now. I'm lucky that I had a really great almost two years since I know moms with boys have not had those great crafty moments.<br /><br />My point to this post, which has gotten lost as I watch HGTV on the couch instead of at my office computer, is that working will be easier than mothering full-time. I guess that is what many moms have meant when they said they are better mothers when they work. I can see how that is the case now that my girls are in a challenging stage. This week in particular has been rough and I'm not feeling like a very great mom right now. I suspect that I'll miss them terribly next week when they spend the week with Daddy Dan and even more the weeks after that when they start school. But right now I can see the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow and here's what is inside:<br /><ul><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Relieve the pressure</span>: Today's mothers have so much more pressure to deal with than our predecessors. Not only are we expected to mother without any village to rely on but we have to worry about serving our kids too much junk food and not enough organic; we have to worry about stimulating them and nurturing their creativity instead of just sending them off to play by themselves; we have to worry about pedophiles, car crashes, hot slides, plastic bottles and sippy cups and whether or not we're being a helicopter parent. Quite frankly, I'm looking forward to working all day and worrying about other stuff and letting day care deal with some of this stuff so that at the end of the day I can be what I wanted to be in the first place: A mommy who adores her kids.</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">No more lunch rut</span>: One of the hardest parts of my days -- other than being on my own with two toddlers for about 12 hours -- is the hour prior to lunch. They are usually starving and tired, especially now that they are getting up too early. I will not have to make lunches for day care and, boy, am I grateful. I've already been able to plan out a monthly meal plan thanks to this change. Same goes for snacks. Meals have become such drama that I'm thankful to have to be in charge of one less.</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Active entertainment</span>: Related to the first bullet, but worthy of its own section is the fact that I feel so much pressure to keep these girls happy and smiling and learning all day. The fact that they are usually begging and crying for a car ride by the time we eat breakfast does not help. They are not satisfied with just staying home anymore. We must go, go, go ... home is boring. And yet playgrounds can make or break my day. They are much more adventurous now, which scares me when I'm only one person to spot two toddlers, and I have a REALLY BIG PROBLEM with moms who do not supervise their own kids on the playground. In fact, I stormed out with one toddler under each arm yesterday because of unsupervised kids blocking their path on the slide, the climbing wall and in the tunnel. There was nothing else to do so we left, in a storm. If you are one of those parents who stands in a moms circle ignoring your kids, your child is the one who is desperate for attention and doing anything necessary to get it. I assure you.</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">No more boring days</span>: School is so wonderful that when we visited last week there was a bouncy house in the parking lot! That's how cool it is. I can't compete with that. And, if I did, it would cost more money than we already spend to go to places like Gymboree and the Zoo. I'm spending an easy $50 per month or more on new toys, activities, special events just to keep these girls entertained each day. If I wasn't doing this I might have lost my mind months ago. Day care will do all the right things that kids who are 2.5 years old need.<br /></li></ul>I know we will have rough patches as we deal with sick days and doctor's appointments. I know none of it will be easy or perfect and I might get into and realize that being home WAS easier. (doubtful). Who knows? All I know is that I have the ability to see the good and the bad in every situation and this is no different. I do know that I will always be one of those moms who sends in the cool snacks for the cool holidays like Summer Solstice and I will always be the mommy who is home after school.<br /><br />But for now, I"m just going to be mommy.<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-7316202152143588921?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-57976457055704374532008-08-10T17:00:00.000-07:002008-08-10T17:28:32.141-07:00Somehow, during <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/07/mountain-whispers.html">The Venture</a>, we figured out that if we tell the girls NOT to do something -- like eat green beans -- they would, happily. It started because the girls would hardly eat on the trip and the result was that one of them -- Jaybird, in fact -- kept waking up starving in the middle of the night. Ack! Unfortunately, she's still doing that now that we're home. Double Ack!<br /><br />So, it went something like this:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Don't you eat that chicken!<br /><br /></span>And, lo and behold, she'd eat it, smiling, and she'd eat nearly all of it. <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><br />That's now a game we can't stop, and I know it's a very bad technique in toddler-world. But, they're asking for it and while we're not delivering all the time, it's hard to resist, especially when they are hardly eating a bite of dinner and we foresee a night of little sleep and proceed to fill her little belly with anything we can find.<br /><br />In honor of this first-class parenting technique, I'm thrilled to host my next (and long overdue) Group Writing Project. In the past, these contests have made my heart swell with pride for how awesomely dedicated my readers are, and I have gained such wonderful readers from these projects. I encourage anyone looking to gain readership to host their own project -- after mine is over, of course! Read the first three <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2007/10/someday-i-will.html">here</a>, <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2007/12/law-according-to-final-day.html">here </a>and <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/02/dear-cupid-final-day.html">here</a>. Some of the themes on this blog will change over the course of time as I try to figure out how to remain PRIVATE in a job that is not-so-private. I'm working for a politician, for goodness sake. But, these writing projects will remain, for sure. (And, I have three very cool elements I plan to add in starting in two weeks.)<br /><br />So, here's the deal: The Daring Writing Project will be just one day this time -- Friday -- yet another pivotal day of my motherhood experience when my days as a full-time, stay-at-home Mama come to end, for a while anyway. So, <a href="http://www.soesposito.blogspot.com/">for you procrastinators</a> who fear deadlines, you have five full days to write and submit.<br /><br />My heart will be bursting and breaking and sagging and leaping as this transition happens. But, I am ready because my core-being is to ready to serve something other than grilled cheese and carrot sticks. I long to make this world a better place, to make my community and my daughters' world a better place -- and not just by picking up a cigarette butt at the playground. I look forward to adult conversation, lunch breaks and time to actually get my annual Pap smear without having to hire a sitter or beckon the Husband home.<br /><br />Your duty, my dear village, is to write in any style or genre that you like using a writing prompt about having your <a href="http://doobleh-vay.blogspot.com/2008/04/where-im-going-will-you-follow-on.html">Third Eye</a>, an idea I came across via one of my new favorite blogs, <a href="http://doobleh-vay.blogspot.com/">Doobleh-vay</a>.<br /><br />The second I saw this idea, I thought of so many situations in which I'd like to have a third eye, to understand more and judge less. I thought of my neighbors, and their families and how violence on so many levels is a part of their lives and how if I had a third eye what I might see. It would not be pretty or fun, I am sure. I also thought about the fleeting moments of time when I'm driving or walking and feel enlightenment -- mere seconds of pure bliss with the world and all of its imperfections as imperfect people swell my heart with compassion.<br /><br />So, your job is to write like there is no tomorrow about what your <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Third_eye">Third Eye</a> sees, or what it would see, or how it feels to be there. If you are a fiction writer, as several of my readers are, write what your character's third eye sees. If you are a mom, like most of us, you could write something funny or serious or memorable about what your Third Eye taps into about your toddler or teenager. It could be true stories about your community, or your family, but feel free to be poetic or dreamy or just plain simple. There is no wrong or right for these so long as you write, and write honestly -- and, of course, link to this here blog post in the process.<br /><br />Mr. Linky will collect your posts as you submit them for the world to read and devour over coffee and scones next weekend. I will choose two participants, at random, to each win a $5 gift certificate to Starbucks, where you can gleefully indulge in something like an iced caramel latte or something else I often dream about when the sleep faerie visits. To be a valid participant you have to write your post, link to this post and/or Friday's post, submit via Mr. Linky in my Friday post and, above all, comment in the comments of Friday's post as well -- and all before midnight on Friday, August 15 EST. I know, I know ... lots of work but I've learned a few things in this blogosphere about giveaways. Winners will be announced Sunday night -- or when I get around to it. LOL Oh, and please spread the word so we all get some great visitors reading these posts!!<br /><br />Next week, Daddy Dan will be filling my flip flops and managing the rascals the entire week so I can get used to my new job and we all get used to being apart from each other. Baby steps, I suppose. If he can swing a minute or two, he'll be guest blog posting here and, on Thursday, at <a href="http://howdoyoudoit.wordpress.com/">How Do You Do It?</a> Otherwise, follow me on <a href="http://twitter.com/betweenthelines">Twitter </a>for my "Oh, hell, what did I do?" moments.<br /><br />See you all here Friday. I can't wait to read your entries!<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-5797645705570437453?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-34319825794771926662008-08-07T18:00:00.000-07:002008-08-07T18:23:32.070-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJufdjBjV2I/AAAAAAAACkM/M7L1RQJ665o/s1600-h/yoga+girl.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJufdjBjV2I/AAAAAAAACkM/M7L1RQJ665o/s200/yoga+girl.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231950722087737186" border="0" /></a><br /><br />A magazine I read a couple months ago had a page about carving out me time, specifically, about creating and writing a bliss list -- special treats for yourself designed to help you automatically have more energy. The piece stems from a book called, "<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1572245670/104-7981825-4223161?ie=UTF8&amp;tag=letttomydaug-20&amp;linkCode=xm2&amp;camp=1789&amp;creativeASIN=1572245670">Everyday Bliss for Busy Women: </a><span style="font-size:100%;"><span id="btAsinTitle" style=""><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1572245670/104-7981825-4223161?ie=UTF8&amp;tag=letttomydaug-20&amp;linkCode=xm2&amp;camp=1789&amp;creativeASIN=1572245670">Energy Balancing Secrets for Complete Health &amp; Vitality</a>,"Maryam Webster. </span></span>Webster is the director of The Energy Coach Institute. I saw <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1564149633/104-7981825-4223161?ie=UTF8&amp;tag=letttomydaug-20&amp;linkCode=xm2&amp;camp=1789&amp;creativeASIN=1564149633">another book</a> out recently by energy coach <a href="http://www.kimberlykingsley.com/Books.htm">Kimberly Kingsley</a>.<br /><br />As a mother, I am always lacking energy and, ironically, me time. I love the idea of meeting one need in order to fulfill the other.<br /><br />As I return to work and juggle the work-life balance, I want to keep this personal list of simple pleasures handy. I will not be running out the door when the Husband gets home anymore because I will have missed my girls all day.<br /><br />These little things that bring me happiness, though, are easy to fit into a day, especially once I start getting up earlier to beat the toddler clock.<br /><br />Here's my list.<br /><br /><ol><li><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Chocolate </span></span></li><li><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">A crisp, clean Chardonnay</span></span></li><li><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">A sweet Riesling</span></span></li><li><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Sitting outside on a quiet morning</span></span></li><li><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Nature walking</span></span></li><li><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Yoga to energizing, but relaxing music -- or with my girls<br /></span></span></li><li><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Clean sheets</span></span></li><li><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Daydreaming</span></span></li><li><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Meditation</span></span></li><li><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Planning just about anything</span></span></li><li><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Browsing bookstores -- used and new</span></span></li><li><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255);font-size:130%;" ><a style="font-family: lucida grande;" href="http://www.misikko.com/blsigosmnowi.html">This candle</a><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"> </span></span></li><li><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Take out and a video with hubby (if he doesn't fall asleep!)</span></span></li><li><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Listening to music</span></span></li><li><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Going to bed early<br /></span></span></li></ol><br />How about you? What's on your bliss list?<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">NOTE: STAY TUNED SUNDAY NIGHT FOR THE ANNOUNCEMENT OF MY NEXT GROUP WRITING PROJECT THEME. PREPARE FOR A WEEK OF WONDERFUL INSIGHTS AND WRITING, AS ALWAYS. IF YOU NEVER PARTICIPATED IN A GROUP WRITING ASSIGNMENT, GET READY. Read the first three <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2007/10/someday-i-will.html">here</a>, <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2007/12/law-according-to-final-day.html">here </a>and <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/02/dear-cupid-final-day.html">here</a>.</span></span><br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-3431982579477192666?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-71776455897996556522008-08-03T18:43:00.000-07:002008-12-09T07:26:58.870-08:00I realize there's only two more weeks left.<br /><br />I realize otherwise laid-back mornings will soon turn to chaos right before my eyes.<br /><br />I realize I'll be on a mission to get out the door, to not forget anything, to not be late for work, to kiss them too much and hug them too tight.<br /><br />I realize the impact <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/05/catching-shooting-star.html">Catching a Shooting Star</a> has on a life, let alone two little lives.<br /><br />I realize it all.<br /><br />That's why I'm trying to savor this life as it is right now. I'm trying to embrace the manic days of Terrible Twos and eat up every ounce of sunshine and smile and giggle I can get.<br /><br />It's not really anything different, except everything is changing and my heart is aflutter, and there's a lump forming in my throat and the sleepless nights are coming and there's tears dripping from my eyes right this second.<br /><br />Rough waters ahead, passengers. Rough, indeed.<br /><br /><strong><em>Breakfast -- al fresco.</em></strong><br /><br /><em>Menu:<br /><br />Pumpkin French Toast<br />Grapes<br />Milk<br />Sausage links<br /></em><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJZey0fDYXI/AAAAAAAACjU/U-nPLTTnMBc/s1600-h/IMG_5921.jpg"><img alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJZey0fDYXI/AAAAAAAACjU/U-nPLTTnMBc/s400/IMG_5921.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJZey191UHI/AAAAAAAACjc/Ncn--VELuCY/s1600-h/IMG_5923.jpg"><img alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJZey191UHI/AAAAAAAACjc/Ncn--VELuCY/s400/IMG_5923.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJZezMcFjNI/AAAAAAAACjk/ATy111KFEKk/s1600-h/IMG_5924.jpg"><img alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJZezMcFjNI/AAAAAAAACjk/ATy111KFEKk/s400/IMG_5924.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />But, the meal was hardly eaten, foiling yet another master plan of mine to relish these last slow mornings.<br /><br />The real highlight were the slow eaters at the neighboring table.<br /><br /></div><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJZezQ1wSrI/AAAAAAAACjs/4xxA8z1Wh0w/s1600-h/IMG_5927.jpg"><img alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJZezQ1wSrI/AAAAAAAACjs/4xxA8z1Wh0w/s400/IMG_5927.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate"><img style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" alt="" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" type="application/rss+xml" rel="alternate">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-7177645589799655652?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-51021276258422712362008-07-31T18:26:00.000-07:002008-12-09T07:27:01.752-08:00<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">We "played" football on those unrestful, rest stops.</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJJmXFGOS4I/AAAAAAAACh0/0oDSVALEPm4/s1600-h/IMG_5664.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJJmXFGOS4I/AAAAAAAACh0/0oDSVALEPm4/s400/IMG_5664.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229354664021871490" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" >We practiced our cheerleading stunts.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJJmemfnmaI/AAAAAAAACh8/kYYz75Z_cwE/s1600-h/IMG_5682.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJJmemfnmaI/AAAAAAAACh8/kYYz75Z_cwE/s400/IMG_5682.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229354793245841826" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >We went <a href="http://www.baldmountainpark.com/index.php">rock climbing</a>.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJJmwf8Xz6I/AAAAAAAACiE/H4Tbvur8ZFI/s1600-h/IMG_5703.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJJmwf8Xz6I/AAAAAAAACiE/H4Tbvur8ZFI/s400/IMG_5703.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229355100725039010" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >We snuggled with Gigi.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJJm6CwF45I/AAAAAAAACiM/0QfSTvzlMPg/s1600-h/IMG_5713.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJJm6CwF45I/AAAAAAAACiM/0QfSTvzlMPg/s400/IMG_5713.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229355264687596434" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">We spun around on the merry-go-round, which we hadn't seen before.</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJJnI90KY5I/AAAAAAAACiU/SK1-uxpNVuA/s1600-h/IMG_5739.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJJnI90KY5I/AAAAAAAACiU/SK1-uxpNVuA/s400/IMG_5739.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229355521060529042" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">We spent a lot of time on the front porch. Like, a lot.</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJJnQxBmPkI/AAAAAAAACic/lvfKSuQyFoQ/s1600-h/IMG_5761.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJJnQxBmPkI/AAAAAAAACic/lvfKSuQyFoQ/s400/IMG_5761.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229355655066172994" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" >We saw a lot of <a href="http://ngeorgia.com/ang/Brasstown_Bald">mountains</a>. Like, a lot, a lot.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJJnYEDbXBI/AAAAAAAACik/8X5MrNllVv4/s1600-h/IMG_5773.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJJnYEDbXBI/AAAAAAAACik/8X5MrNllVv4/s400/IMG_5773.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229355780433206290" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">We washed our shoes in the creek, just like the old days. Or, not.</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJJnvGLWsxI/AAAAAAAACis/xZ3IiBTv8GY/s1600-h/IMG_5813.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJJnvGLWsxI/AAAAAAAACis/xZ3IiBTv8GY/s400/IMG_5813.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229356176140317458" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >We discovered a new playhouse. </span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJJn7IS5s3I/AAAAAAAACi0/PsEQvzhATys/s1600-h/IMG_5826.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJJn7IS5s3I/AAAAAAAACi0/PsEQvzhATys/s400/IMG_5826.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229356382867272562" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" >We were entertained by Uncle Tommy's tricks. </span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJJpN0sDgyI/AAAAAAAACi8/BcLZEiYcWCo/s1600-h/IMG_5865.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJJpN0sDgyI/AAAAAAAACi8/BcLZEiYcWCo/s400/IMG_5865.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229357803533206306" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">We were silly. (Slightly more than usual, but only because of the crowds.)</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJJpfd_fX8I/AAAAAAAACjE/c31CR84vhuY/s1600-h/IMG_5876.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJJpfd_fX8I/AAAAAAAACjE/c31CR84vhuY/s400/IMG_5876.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229358106678353858" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">We sat in <a href="http://www.ncarboretum.org/">circles</a>.</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJJptHBaT9I/AAAAAAAACjM/QZpazlOCrEw/s1600-h/IMG_5917.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SJJptHBaT9I/AAAAAAAACjM/QZpazlOCrEw/s400/IMG_5917.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229358341030563794" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-5102127625842271236?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-77136858097751256072008-07-28T18:50:00.000-07:002008-07-28T19:29:26.086-07:00If you could hear me right now this is what you'd hear:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Sigh<span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span>.<br /><br />That's a sigh of relief, of having done something momentous and now feeling great to be remaking a life at home.<br /><br />Our trip, which from here on out will always be called The Venture because that's how Liana says it, was truly a remarkable adventure.<br /><br />I will also call it a vacation because I barely recognized my own home when we walked in the door. The dining table, the sparkle of that room looked odd to me, but it wasn't until I walked into the kitchen and did a double take that I knew ... I knew I had been away and that it had been a very good thing.<br /><br />There is no way to truly describe how physically and emotionally hard those four days of travel were but if you've traveled with young children at all for, say, more than a three hours then you can triple or quadruple that chaos to envision our 1200-mile road trip. In fact, to write it that way just makes me want to collapse or faint or cry. It was a ton of work. What should have been one 12-hour car ride turned into two eight-hour days -- one way! Then back again, back again, jiggety jig.<br /><br />Would I do it again? Not for a while, but while driving in the rural mountains of lovely northeastern Georgia, I realized that we have to do it again -- in May, when my dear brother graduates high school. Then again, I'm looking into flight rates ASAP for that. Or, at the very least, a minivan.<br /><br />In the meantime, the mountains taught me more than I ever imagined:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I'm not who I thought I was</span>: A few days into our stay at my mom's house, sitting on the living room floor, my mom told me something I never knew. She stayed home with me full-time until I was 2 and then she only worked part-time. My only memories are of her working and me being in day care. "That's why I'm so smart," I sung out. She laughed. Because of the divorce with my father, and the hardship that time caused my mom, I have avoided asking her many questions about my first five years. In time, she'll tell me more, I suppose.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I heart Southern hospitality</span>: It couldn't have been more perfect for my interview with Jen Lemen about building community to be posted the week I was in Georgia, where we enjoyed the following gifts from neighbors: pasta salad, strawberry cake, zucchini bread and homemade peach ice cream. This in just five days, too. It's not just being kind ... it's their way of life, and I could easily get used to that. Oh, and the old man down the road selling tomatoes and corn from his garden waved to every car, every day -- even if you passed him six times in one day, which we did once. There's a real lesson there, I think, which goes back to what Jen said about not caring what people think. Smile, wave ... spread the happiness and kindness even if it's not returned.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I still get car sick</span>: I'm not sorry to see the row houses that are my neighborhood any longer. Mountains make me sick. In fact, <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">I might still be swerving as I type right now</span></span>. Still, they are gorgeous, especially in the morning when the dewy fog and rain set in around them. I was listening to some meditation music on Day One of the return trip and it was almost a heavenly feeling to see those gigantic mounds of earth float by in such angelic music. I'd like to say that it helped the rest of the ride, but it didn't. Later, I cried from the exhaustion of it all, the stress of it all. And then I got bit by a spider, or something.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I'm not good at sitting still</span>: Dan was the better child entertainer; I am the better driver. He's fine with turning around a hundred times, tickling their feet and interacting. I have to stay still or else ... see above. The pressure, too, was just so much for me. It's one thing to be able to pull out a bunch of paint and brushes; it's quite another to feel motion sick and try to calm two very bored, restless 2-year-olds. None of our toys worked. Very few games were a hit. Thank goodness for DVD players.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Home is where your mom is</span>: My mom moved to Georgia when Jadyn and Liana were 6 months old. This was our first trip to her house, set deep in the mountains and nestled on a quaint campground, owned by my step-uncle. Most of the furniture came with the house and was new to me. She lives 600-plus miles from the home I grew up in and yet her house still felt like home. We immediately felt like we'd been there forever. There really is no other place than the place mom is.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Life would be easier with them around</span>: Tommy, an active 17-year-old, easily entertained the girls with pillow fights, climbing on the playground like a crazy teen-ager can and just being present. My mom easily embraced them, sat on the floor with them and curled up on the couch with them. They ran to her each morning. She ran with them in the field, walked with them and carried them, too. The girls felt this energy and thrived on it. We could easily sit back, for once, and just take it all in. We weren't the only center of their world for five days straight. It was amazing and, for that very reason, it felt like a real break. That, and my mom cooked every meal, every day. I actually got to spend some quality time with the girls each morning and night without having meal-time hassles to worry about.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Reality bites</span>: As great as it was to see my daughters playing and learning with my mom (Gigi), my step-father (grandpa) and my brother (Uncle Tommy), the reality is it really is the exception. We won't see them again until December, sadly. It's very hard when the people you love the most are so far away. As I've written before, I'm less angry now but it is still a situation I wish would change -- and soon. But, and listen up mom, I will be mad if you can't be here for their 3rd birthday party.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Elmo is evil, yet powerful</span>: We do not know for sure, but the trip changed one of our girls dramatically. She arrived in Georgia practically saying Thank You to everyone, for everything. We can only thank the Elmo video that seriously was the only thing that kept those two happy and quiet in the backseat for most of the Venture. Liana returned home speaking in full sentences, much of which we cannot understand because she's making up words as she goes along, but it's so amazing to see. Her voice is even different. Somehow, between Elmo and Georgia, she turned into a little girl, and one that I hardly recognize. And yet ... we were with her the whole time, never missed a beat.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 153, 153);">Or, perhaps I've returned home a little more awake, a little more aware and the fact that they are growing up is so very clear to me right now. </span><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today. Stay tuned for our trip in pictures.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-7713685809775125607?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-40644508008289378822008-07-25T06:26:00.001-07:002008-07-25T06:32:16.209-07:00A neighbor of ours sent me a link to this video and I just found it to be so relative to the life we live as mothers -- stay-at-home mothers, desperate to embrace the tiny moments that mean so much. This really says it all.<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/yNy9jTeolUk&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/yNy9jTeolUk&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Having a great time on vacation ... preparing for that long ride home. Will post next week!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-4064450800828937882?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-62688881024319656352008-07-21T06:00:00.000-07:002008-12-09T07:27:01.938-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SIDiQ5NEWwI/AAAAAAAACSA/fLes7dp7tro/s1600-h/jenbio_270.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SIDiQ5NEWwI/AAAAAAAACSA/fLes7dp7tro/s320/jenbio_270.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224424347611192066" border="0" /></a><br />I started reading <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.jenlemen.com">Jen Lemen</a> before I started reading any other bloggers. I'm not sure how I came upon her site, but I did and she never ceases to amaze me with her ability to tap into so much of what I'm seeking that day. More than that, I'm more captivated by her ability to reach out to her community and be open to it.<br /><br />If you aren't familiar with her work, she recently went to Africa, a trip that has changed her life and she's still trying to find that new normal. The stories are incredible. It's an adventure that was only possible because she was open to it. In the end, that seems to be the nugget I walk away with. Stay awake; remain open.<br /><br />The journalist in me sees more to Jen's story. I wanted to find out more about how she builds these relationships, how she nurtures them and how she came to have an urban family, which she writes about often.<br /><br />Now, it also happens, Jen told me, that these very things that I interviewed her about are also the very things that have shaken her to the core and have her in a little bit of a major life transition -- a major upheaval of sorts. I didn't intend to make matters worse, but she assures me my questions were therapeutic. Let's hope so. Thanks, Jen!<br /><br />Here we go:<br /><br />BWTL: My husband and I live in a very racially and ethnically diverse neighborhood and city. We had been trying to move to be closer to his job (and after some serious crime issues) until this job of mine came along, which is just down a few blocks and which has inspired our decision to stay and try and make this work a bit longer. We are some of the pioneers trying to revive the city. The thing is we've never really fit in ... I'm still longing for that quintessential urban family that you write about often. I also long to get to know some of the people I might not normally get to know. Now that I've dumped all that ... you seem to have a talent with building community and that is what I want to focus on.<br /><br /> <span style="font-weight: bold;">How long have you lived in your Silver Spring neighborhood? What's it like? What's your neighborhood like?</span><br /><br /><br />We moved here in June of 2005. Our neighborhood is pretty diverse--we are mostly a mix of middle class working and professional/established white families with some Chinese families, a couple of Turkish families, some Spanish-speaking families and a few African American families who have been here for decades thrown in in between. We have young families here, too, and down our street there is a collection of garden apartments where many African and Central American immigrants live. It's not Sesame Street, but it's close. I should also mention that we rent.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"> What does community mean to you? </span><br /><br /><br />For me, a community is a web of support, a big nest of kindness that is big enough to hold you along with the many things you need to feel connected, cared for and close. Communities pick up the slack, fill in the gaps, point out the holes, mend the fences and create a space where you can be yourself and you can grow and understand you are not too much. Your needs get spread around along with your capacity to give. I find that a community--while holding you close in so many ways--actually gives you more space to develop and grow. It's very hard for people to achieve this kind of thing alone or in their nuclear families.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Do you feel America is losing out on the idea of community?</span><br /><br />I think America is reaching out more and more for community really. We see it in all different kinds of ways--when people decide to go to each other's houses to watch a favorite show, when families eat dinner together, when women decide to pull their friends together for fun when everyone is worn out and run down. Our bigger problem as a country, I think, is believing that having our own stuff and our own space can make us happy. Americans really struggle with this--it's hard to imagine that you could actually be more fulfilled by giving up your privacy or your time, but I've found that to be the case over and over again.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">You write often about your urban family. Can you please describe what that family is, how it came to be and what it means to you?</span><br /><br /><br />My urban family is comprised of my immediate family (Dave and the kids, Madeleine and Carter), our next door neighbors Mark and Meryl (who are 60 something) and our other next door neighbors Nick and Jess (who are twenty-something). We function as a close extended family and offer each other a lot of practical and personal support. People who come to visit me often remark that it's like one family living back and forth between three houses--we do life together (and apart) in a fairly free, fluid way. That includes four to five meals together a week, giving each other space, hanging out on the weekend when we feel like it, cooking, celebrating birthdays, promotions and other life events, fighting in front of each other, having major meltdowns, talking about our day, asking each other questions, giving each other advice and lots of other stuff in between.<br /><br />All this happened gradually over time, but the seeds were planted with Mark and Meryl when we first moved in and I went over everyday to borrow something or look for something to eat in their frig. They started looking forward to my visits, and were delighted to be imposed upon after living quietly in the neighborhood for 30+ years. My kids became friends with Nick and Jess first by talking to them as they came and went on their way to and from work. Those conversations gave way to frisbee and a kind of play the kids really needed. Dave and I didn't factor in, until I went next door to bum a cigarette off Nick one drunken New Year's Eve. We started hanging out more after that, and have been good friends ever since.<br /><br />All of us like to cook, so it was only natural that we start sharing food and putting our meals together on the same table.<br /><br />I've always had some kind of urban family everywhere I've lived, but I can't begin to tell you what this one means to me. They are so dear to me--I really don't have words to describe what it's been like to have this level of love and support.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">You have tapped into the African immigrants in your community. How did that happen and what has that been like for you?</span><br /><br />It's not hard because we live across the street from the elementary school where 80% of the children who attend come from immigrant families--over half come from Africa. I have always felt deeply at home with people from other cultures, so it's natural for me to reach out. Sometimes people avoid conversation or eye contact with immigrants because they are worried about making people feel uncomfortable in communication, but I've found the opposite to be true. I always say hi and chit chat with the women dropping their kids off, even if we can only exchange smiles or little greetings. These little exchanges have opened to the door to deeper friendships where very sweet connection is possible--I honestly do not know what I would do without these women and all the ways they show me how to be humble in opening my heart. I need them so much.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What is the most courageous thing you've done to build community? </span><br /><br />Not worry about what other people think. Also, I have shamelessly and aggressively asked my neighbors for help over and over again on many levels--practical, emotional, social, spiritual. Without that, this community might not exist.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"> You raised money last year for an ice cream party for your neighbors. Can you share a photo of that? What did that event mean to you? Did it change anything in your neighborhood?</span><br /><br />It was mostly just fun and made me happy. I don't know if it changed anything for anyone else, but it definitely opened doors for me to talk to people who might have been shy before that--especially immigrant parents. It helped that we did the ice cream day with an African guy named Musa and that we tried to be as low-key and discreet as possible about the money that made the day possible. There was no big-give there, just love.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What's the hardest lesson you've learned in these community-building endeavors?</span><br /><br />The hardest thing for me has been realizing how fragile my own nuclear family is and how our success as a family is deeply intertwined with the existence of the urban family we have created. I'm going through a time of soul-searching and personal transition right now and I'm very aware of all the ways I crafted this community to keep my own family together. That's been scary for me to admit to myself and hard to hold as I think about the future. Building a community has been a lot easier for me than creating a traditional family.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What did your Africa trip do to influence your idea of community?</span><br /><br />Rwanda really blew me away. I was really shocked at the level of cooperation that happens there on a daily basis. My kids love the song from High School Musical with the line "We're all in this together" and I thought I understood what that meant, but really I had no idea. Any plan or priority anyone has can be shelved in a second, if someone else needs something. This has adversely affected development to some extent in Africa, but it has done wonders for people's sense of belonging to each other. I could say more, but that gives you a taste.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"> What three things would you suggest to someone like me or one of my readers to do in their own community to reach out to people we do not know?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">1. </span>Say hello to everyone you meet. Smile and don't worry about seeming insane for being so cheerful. If you want an urban family, you have to start by loving the people around you however you can and letting them love you. You don't need more than one other person to make a difference.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">2.</span> Share whatever you are cooking, baking, eating as much and as often as you possibly can. If you have extra anything, drop it off. If you are having a party for whatever occasion, invite someone over. Food is a great connector and breaks down so many barriers. No one has time to cook or entertain or enjoy food anymore, so you do a big thing when you bring that joy to your neighborhood. If you have kids, absolutely make them part of the invite or the delivery--kids (and dogs!) are natural community builders.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">3. </span>Ask for help. Really, without this, there is no community. Some people build community by offering help, but I think that's a mistake in the end. You will connect much more deeply with others around your frailty than your strength. So ask for soy sauce, advice, charcoal for the grill, help with your kids, ice for your party, paper towels, whatever you need really. You'll be shocked at what comes back to you as a result.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">4.</span> Decide that your neighbors and the people who live near you are the dearest people on earth. So many times, people think that community is only possible in certain settings with certain kinds of people and that you just don't happen to have the right conditions for having community. It is not true. Your community is right there waiting for you. If you love it as it is, it will blossom and offer you gifts you could not have cultivated on purpose or predicted in a million years. Love these people for whoever they are (even if it is only joy over yard work and neat, tidy yards at first!) and be open to being surprised.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><jen.lemen@gmail.com><ubertwins@gmail.com><br /></ubertwins@gmail.com></jen.lemen@gmail.com><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-6268888102431965635?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-72741060050713649962008-07-17T17:54:00.000-07:002008-12-09T07:27:04.814-08:00<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;">There's been so much happening, so many emotions and just so much Terrible Twos to deal with that blogging has actually become hard for the very first time. I'm not sure if it's that I just don't have the time, or if the mundane of saying no a thousand times a day is just not interesting to me. I could have written how we spent five hours in the ER with a bleeding finger last weekend that resulted in three stitches, or the fact that one of my daughters got locked in her bedroom this morning before breakfast. But, I'm just not feeling any of it. But, there have been plenty of bloggable moments happening ... even if they really only matter to me, the Mommy. I'll apologize now for the low-quality photos. <br /><br />So, here are some of those many good moments we have had these last few weeks:<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SH_p3LBG0VI/AAAAAAAACQY/e7qffAKH2Es/s1600-h/IMG_5549.jpg"><img alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SH_p3LBG0VI/AAAAAAAACQY/e7qffAKH2Es/s400/IMG_5549.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SH_p3XIwhpI/AAAAAAAACQg/Yjiv5JpBhcQ/s1600-h/IMG_5551.jpg"><img alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SH_p3XIwhpI/AAAAAAAACQg/Yjiv5JpBhcQ/s400/IMG_5551.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SH_p3p2RzCI/AAAAAAAACQo/QEoOpDNygTA/s1600-h/IMG_5552.jpg"><img alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SH_p3p2RzCI/AAAAAAAACQo/QEoOpDNygTA/s400/IMG_5552.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div>These three above are at a local nature center, again, and we have been enjoying getting to know the place. The rocks are perfect -- and intended -- for climbing. The creek is there for wading. And, the stage and bleachers are perfect for performing.<br /><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SH_p4JQStHI/AAAAAAAACQw/2yIQnpFwQXs/s1600-h/IMG_5571.jpg"><img alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SH_p4JQStHI/AAAAAAAACQw/2yIQnpFwQXs/s400/IMG_5571.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><br /><br />Sometimes just a flat piece of cardboard does the trick.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SH_rabPJieI/AAAAAAAACQ4/klBBYlJDLCY/s1600-h/IMG_5585.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SH_rabPJieI/AAAAAAAACQ4/klBBYlJDLCY/s400/IMG_5585.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224152931993487842" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Sometimes we make funny faces. And laugh.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SH_rspYu-VI/AAAAAAAACRA/WR1GsWUasQA/s1600-h/IMG_5595.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SH_rspYu-VI/AAAAAAAACRA/WR1GsWUasQA/s400/IMG_5595.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224153245029431634" /></a><br /><br />Sometimes we put homemade play dough on our feet and legs. Or, under our nose.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SH_r70AZd5I/AAAAAAAACRI/m1ooBcP7Nzc/s1600-h/IMG_5593.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SH_r70AZd5I/AAAAAAAACRI/m1ooBcP7Nzc/s400/IMG_5593.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224153505578186642" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SH_sICae6wI/AAAAAAAACRQ/IOpyF_eZZ0A/s1600-h/IMG_5600.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SH_sICae6wI/AAAAAAAACRQ/IOpyF_eZZ0A/s400/IMG_5600.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224153715604122370" /></a><br /><br />We dine a lot. Often alone, but sometimes with friends, which is a lot of fun. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SH_sZmVfhqI/AAAAAAAACRY/71b-Ezf2eto/s1600-h/IMG_5619.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SH_sZmVfhqI/AAAAAAAACRY/71b-Ezf2eto/s400/IMG_5619.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224154017304643234" /></a><br /><br />Who needs the 4-hour drive to the beach when local parks have beach volleyball courts ready and waiting all the time?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SH_sxaMVChI/AAAAAAAACRg/eXkIZuqDRz4/s1600-h/IMG_5632.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SH_sxaMVChI/AAAAAAAACRg/eXkIZuqDRz4/s400/IMG_5632.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224154426361842194" /></a><br /><br />Taking a nap in the sand would be perfect if our mean mothers would let us!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SH_tcNpXejI/AAAAAAAACRw/nsmZ86Q_e7c/s1600-h/IMG_5637.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SH_tcNpXejI/AAAAAAAACRw/nsmZ86Q_e7c/s400/IMG_5637.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224155161728350770" /></a><br /><br />We jump all the time. A lot, really. In fact, we just might be jumping around in all of our dreams. <br /><br />And, because we know you like them, too. Here's those trees that were mentioned earlier this week. Couldn't you just hug them?<br /><br />The trees, too.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SH_t0MA7XGI/AAAAAAAACR4/ZP5cGEHIp0I/s1600-h/IMG_5649.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SH_t0MA7XGI/AAAAAAAACR4/ZP5cGEHIp0I/s400/IMG_5649.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224155573607160930" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-7274106005071364996?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-22057077400628043972008-07-17T03:21:00.000-07:002008-12-09T07:27:04.961-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SH8eLYJ5d5I/AAAAAAAACQQ/obO5ODouAls/s1600-h/IMG_5082.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SH8eLYJ5d5I/AAAAAAAACQQ/obO5ODouAls/s200/IMG_5082.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223927273584424850" border="0" /></a><br /><p>We're gearing up for a major two-day, 600-mile road trip and our backseat will be full of two 2.5 year olds and not much else.</p> <p>Even our car is not ready for this kind of a trip.</p> <p>And, for two people who have had trouble going a half-hour to the outlets to shop, a road trip that will span at least six states is a bit of an undertaking.</p> <p>But, the time is now, and we're ready. In fact, other than knowing I will not get my usual weekend kid-free breaks, I'm excited for this trip.</p> <p>What's that saying? Plan for the worst; hope for the best. That's my philosophy.</p> <p>I've been reading and researching and thinking about everything. <i>Overthinking</i>, as the husband might argue.</p> <p>"Did you call and make reservations for Olive Garden?" he asked last night.</p> <p>"You don't need reservations for Olive Garden," I said, not getting his joke.</p> <p>We'll do half hour gift bags filled with something new and special, and some other prized possession that should bring a smile or two. (Same for the ride back.)</p> <p>We'll have various, very special snacks to offer at certain intervals -- things they don't normally get like a cool mix of cereals, toddler trail mix and fruit roll-ups.</p> <p>We'll stop every two to three hours, depending on the mood levels.</p> <p>We'll pack lunch, and probably serve it in the car and let them run at rest stops and other open spaces to let them blow off some pent up energy.</p> <p>We'll stay over night at a place with a pool so we can wear them out in the water and, hopefully, watch them crash quickly in the hotel.</p> <p>We'll have games planned, activities ready and toys and books within reach for those cranky moments, and just to help them let off steam vocally, physically, artistically and by laughing.</p> <p>And, we'll have a portable DVD player for the desperate -- and much-needed quiet -- times as well.</p> <p>Whatever happens, hopefully it's not too brutal. After all, it's supposed to be a vacation away from home. Then again, isn't there a saying about there is no such thing as a vacation with kids -- just trips.</p> <p>Still, it will be new scenery, a change in the mundane routines -- especially bedtime routines -- and a time to let go of the stress of only healthy meals and snacks and strict nap times.</p> <p>In other words, a week to say yes, yes, yes, instead of no, no, no.</p> <p><b>Any road trip tips you want to pass along?</b></p> <p><i>This is cross-posted at <a href="http://howdoyoudoit.wordpress.com/2008/07/17/road-tripping-with-multiples/">How Do You Do It?</a><br /></i></p><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-2205707740062804397?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-73472892309503584372008-07-13T18:05:00.000-07:002008-07-13T18:14:42.975-07:00While I realize that I will certainly have an enormous amount of guilt to overcome in a month about how I will be spending my Monday through Friday, I am jumping up and down with joy right now about guilt-free Saturdays.<br /><br />Yes, people: We are officially a two-car family once again.<br /><br />Living with one car was admirable. It was green. It was even a bargain.<br /><br />But, with a husband who's gone 12 to 13 hours a day, two restless toddlers and piles of errands each week, life was just a bit -- I can say this now -- crazy.<br /><br />Life will be so much easier now despite the cash flow loss.<br /><br />First, I've got wheels -- every. single. day. And, I'm not afraid to use them, folks. No, I will be using them.<br /><br />Second, my dear husband who has walked in the rain, sleet and snow to catch a bus that doubled -- sometimes tripled -- his commute time will have more flexibility to take a morning off, an afternoon off or just run home to help for an appointment. This has been impossible over the last two years. He was gone by 6, more recently 7, and not home until 6 or later.<br /><br />Thirdly, and most importantly, who ever is home with the kids on Saturday or Sunday isn't stuck at home with the kids anymore. I can go out on a Saturday morning and take my time and not feel GUILTY that they are all stuck at home instead of going out to the park or whatever.<br /><br />America is just not ready for less cars, which is why we're all buying hybrids. It's a shame, really, that employers aren't more flexible for one-car families.<br /><br />Now, what will we do with our wheels all week????<br /><br />Edited to clarify: We did not buy a hybrid but we did get a very nice efficient Hyundai.<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-7347289230950358437?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-88240202396475086422008-07-11T03:29:00.000-07:002008-07-11T03:56:19.990-07:00The other night I went out to walk and got only a few blocks away, knowing I had errands to run, and decided to change my plan.<br /><br />I didn't need the Suburbs. I'd been walking enough, freeing my mind enough, enjoying the 'burbs enough, that I could finally stay close to home and walk in a city park.<br /><br />I chose the one closest to my home, that also happens to be the most popular, the most beautiful.<br />I haven't been there much because it has steep hills and a "lake" and I'm probably too cautious when I'm alone with the girls but I worry ...<br /><br />I was mid-walk, shoulders falling away from my ears, when I remembered all the pre-children walks we had in that park. I looked up and realized I was surrounded by dozens and dozens of big, beautiful, wise trees. These beauties came to life right before my eyes.<br /><br />Not spending enough time in nature over the last 2.5 years has gotten to me, I guess, and I've been slightly obsessed with trees. They now adorn our living room, this blog banner and anything else I can find. Journals, necklaces (though, the girls broke it).<br /><br />It occurred to me during this walk that I've been scurrying out to the suburbs in search of something that I could actually find closer to home, in the city. Those metro-area parks have their highlights that I love, but they are, without a doubt, mostly treeless. Or, the trees are still babies, memorializing someone's life.<br /><br />I walked under the trees; they embraced my worries and troubles. They held me close as I realized that I'm not really searching to be outside the city; I'm searching to be a part of something.<br /><br />That, in effect, has always summed up my existence. We moved to the city to make a difference.<br /><br />As I thought about this I realized that living in the city is only great if you leave it, and often. The more you are here, the more it can work at your nerves. And I'm here a lot. All the time, in fact.<br /><br />But, if I lived in Suburbia -- and I will eventually -- I'll want to be in the city. I'll miss those trees, the walks to the farmer's markets and downtown events. Those new, mixed-use communities are on to something. It's what feels right. Open space, everything you need in one spot and community that is close to home.<br /><br />Community. That's what I was all about until I became a mother. Even in high school I was someone who wanted the best for everyone, not just a few. In the back of my mind I have remained that woman, but it's been hard to juggle it all. I wonder how I'll be able to let go of my mother-self to help represent all people, including the childless, in my new job.<br /><br />During an interview with a source this week for my very last freelance gig, he told me about how he sent his three children through city schools, and how they had fears going in about being bullied or not faring well, academically.<br /><br />In the end, he said, "We decided not to fall prey to our imagined fears." They left the door open for an easy exit ... but they never needed it. The kids are nearly all grown up.<br /><br />That is staying with me. I have a lot of imagined fears. I guess I have a lot of imagined promises, too. If I've learned anything, the let down of imagined promises is much harder to bear.<br /><br />My mom lives in a very rural location in the mountains of Georgia. She's mentioned a neighborhood bear. (Oh, god). I am sure it will be beautiful, and a welcome relief from city life. I'm open to this welcomed relief, knowing that rural settings actually scare me at night. I like being able to see my feet when I walk.<br /><br />I recall long ago, when my brother was in middle school, he wrote an essay that declared, "I hate the city."<br /><br />That statement hurt me not because of his honesty but because he didn't know the city. He's never spent anytime here. None of my family really has. Or any city for that matter.<br /><br />Cities get a bad rap and it's frustrating. People hate on the cities and yet get mad because developers are buying up farmland to build more new houses.<br /><br />Our city has plenty of available housing. Just waiting.<br /><br />Waiting for people to love on its gigantic, old trees.<br /><br />Waiting for people to get over their imagined fears.<br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-8824020239647508642?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-68148338249055629692008-07-09T04:06:00.000-07:002008-07-09T04:12:15.428-07:00Check out <a href="http://thechunkypurse.blogspot.com/2008/07/double-review-savvysourceleap-frog-tag.html">this review</a> for <a href="http://leapfrog.com/tag">Leap Frog TAG</a> and <a href="http://www.savvysource.com/quiz/preschool_kids_quiz">SavvySource</a> on my review blog, The Chunky Purse (I know, I need to update more now that I'm not doing as many reviews. Sorry.) For those of you with toddlers and preschoolers, you will love this review. Thank me later. See my note at the bottom of the post, too. All of this is related to this crazy-big sidebar widget to the right. It will be there a while so get used to it. lol<br /><br />Vacation doesn't start for a little while. I'll be posting some more between now and then.<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-6814833824905562969?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-6304584253105451872008-07-07T11:17:00.001-07:002008-07-07T11:42:19.026-07:00My brain is scattered; too scattered to write anything coherent, I assure you. We are busy and I am fine. There is too much happening; suddenly I can't find the brakes for this life.<br /><br />One month.<br /><br />One month.<br /><br />One month.<br /><br />It lives in my brain that way now. I have one month to do it all, to live it all, to be it all. I'm acting as if life ends in a month and I know it does not. That there will still be life. But it will be so different and the closer it gets the harder it is feeling.<br /><br />Working will be so good for our family; day care will be so good for my girls. I know all of this and that is why I am eager. But, at the same time, I am full of so much other stuff.<br /><br />What's making it harder -- and easier -- is that I'm planning a major event.<br /><br />A road trip.<br /><br />We are going to see Gigi in Georgie. Yes, we're going to take the girls to Georgia to see my mom, stepfather and brother, Tommy.<br /><br />I'm so full of emotion about this trip. I do not say much on this blog about my mom, her move away, because it has been such a hard thing to deal with, especially as a new mother of twins. I have gone through all stages of grief, I guess, even the anger. Which, I"m sure, my mom would say lasted a very, very long time. I still get angry, just not at her so much.<br /><br />After my last spell of this life is so hard, she pretty much demanded that we get down there, and fast. I agreed that getting out of this town, this house, this life is probably exactly what we need. What I need.<br /><br />I need my mommy. I need her to cook for me, and hold my girls and give me a break. A real honest to goodness break. No one else can do this for us, and this is why it's been so hard.<br /><br />So planning a road trip that will cover roughly 600 miles over two days is not easy. And, I dont' want to forget about the 600 miles on the return trip. So, I'm digging up every resource possible to make this "big ride" a success for all of us -- even The Overworked Husband who has been working two jobs at only the pay of one and who has been up for a promotion for three months only to learn last week that it will be a mystery for yet a fourth month. He, perhaps, deserves this vacation more than us. No, wait, he gets to eat two meals a day without two screaming toddlers who have discovered that they can spit out food and make each other laugh. At. Every. Single. Meal.<br /><br />This post is rambling, I know. That's my point. I'm full of life and emotion and happiness and joy and sadness and worry and ideas.<br /><br />Over the last two weeks, you all have been such amazing friends.<br /><br />From <a href="http://beyondthemap.blogspot.com/">Bella</a>, who I met in person last month and who is much more than you'd ever know, who never fails to cheer me up even when she's the one who really needs cheered. I love you, Bella.<br /><br />To <a href="http://katherineq.blogspot.com/">Katherine</a>, who I think is one of the most amazing artists I've ever come across, because she created <a href="http://katherineq.blogspot.com/2008/04/i-like-it-here-can-i-stay.html">this</a>, I fell in love with it and she sent it to me all the way from <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop.php?user_id=5854064">her studio in New Zealand</a>. I cannot wait to hang it up (both of them. : )<br /><br />To <a href="http://mommazen.blogspot.com/">Karen </a>and her daughter Georgia (Gigi) for parting ways with a couple years' worth of Baby Bug Magazines that, I swear, has filled our days the last week. We've read these great magazines at the park, in restaurants, in the car, in the stroller and before bed.<br /><br />And, <a href="http://www.mamasvillage.blogspot.com/">Susana</a>, a great neighbour up there in Canada who sent me a fabulous relaxation CD and a beach ball that actually does entertain my sweet bundles of energy for a couple minutes at a time. She isn't blogging anymore, but her blog is still worth reading for inspiration on how to truly live every single day.<br /><br />It's been hard not having my mom around, but I have done it but not without all of you. This crazy life is so much more amazing thanks to my blogging girlfriends.<br /><br />Now, the rascals are screaming from their beds ... nap time blogging at it's best.<br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-630458425310545187?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-6266885208662876002008-07-02T11:02:00.001-07:002008-12-09T07:27:06.890-08:00It was a typical afternoon.<br /><br />I said, "Paint your bellies."<br /><br />They looked shocked, but game. And that is how it all began ...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGvEvlQ7gBI/AAAAAAAACQE/bvzNLUGREQY/s1600-h/IMG_5455.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGvEvlQ7gBI/AAAAAAAACQE/bvzNLUGREQY/s400/IMG_5455.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218480914974867474" border="0" /></a>It didn't take long before smiles curled up on their faces.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGvEnqQPVbI/AAAAAAAACP8/_Ss3T0qvKQc/s1600-h/IMG_5458.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGvEnqQPVbI/AAAAAAAACP8/_Ss3T0qvKQc/s400/IMG_5458.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218480778875196850" border="0" /></a>Or, until they realized they didn't need paper or canvas or even their own bodies.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGvEewx_cKI/AAAAAAAACP0/7sX5itKnMTw/s1600-h/IMG_5465.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGvEewx_cKI/AAAAAAAACP0/7sX5itKnMTw/s400/IMG_5465.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218480626008551586" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGvEV9ml8rI/AAAAAAAACPs/BhujXmUly8Q/s1600-h/IMG_5473.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGvEV9ml8rI/AAAAAAAACPs/BhujXmUly8Q/s400/IMG_5473.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218480474831581874" border="0" /></a>Then their little brains took over, and that's when the real fun began ...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGvEH_FDkOI/AAAAAAAACPk/lonWtwLjBuc/s1600-h/IMG_5478.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGvEH_FDkOI/AAAAAAAACPk/lonWtwLjBuc/s400/IMG_5478.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218480234709618914" border="0" /></a>Purple paint below their feet; slippery slides they do make.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGvEATjQWgI/AAAAAAAACPc/ax9iB4m0t8Q/s1600-h/IMG_5477.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGvEATjQWgI/AAAAAAAACPc/ax9iB4m0t8Q/s400/IMG_5477.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218480102766041602" border="0" /></a>Purple butts, in our hair -- we had paint, everywhere!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGvDuTFhAzI/AAAAAAAACPU/xxMfvBjnfiI/s1600-h/IMG_5494.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGvDuTFhAzI/AAAAAAAACPU/xxMfvBjnfiI/s400/IMG_5494.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218479793403659058" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGvDkJXA7sI/AAAAAAAACPM/5Rmg9Ib1Tns/s1600-h/IMG_5497.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGvDkJXA7sI/AAAAAAAACPM/5Rmg9Ib1Tns/s400/IMG_5497.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218479618994007746" border="0" /></a>Pure success.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGvDTNoJfTI/AAAAAAAACPE/rMpYWldTgEs/s1600-h/IMG_5505.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGvDTNoJfTI/AAAAAAAACPE/rMpYWldTgEs/s400/IMG_5505.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218479328081837362" border="0" /></a>Great satisfaction.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGvDL65_dWI/AAAAAAAACO8/44QO_7RUB6c/s1600-h/IMG_5507.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGvDL65_dWI/AAAAAAAACO8/44QO_7RUB6c/s400/IMG_5507.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218479202797319522" border="0" /></a><br />A little swim, afterward.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGvDBEbrfGI/AAAAAAAACO0/7bY5ChQtB4I/s1600-h/IMG_5510.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGvDBEbrfGI/AAAAAAAACO0/7bY5ChQtB4I/s400/IMG_5510.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218479016375975010" border="0" /></a>This creative activity was inspired by both the book <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0876592221/104-7981825-4223161?ie=UTF8&amp;tag=letttomydaug-20&amp;linkCode=xm2&amp;camp=1789&amp;creativeASIN=0876592221">First Art</a>, and the blog <a href="http://pepperpaints.com/category/messy/page/2/">Pepper Paints</a>, which I found via the new and really cool <a href="http://www.blognosh.com/">Blog Nosh Magazine</a>.<br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-626688520866287600?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-82786523449296727962008-06-30T18:32:00.001-07:002008-12-09T07:27:07.768-08:00Before my sadness slump over the last couple weeks, I had been inspired to live a more creative life. A couple of books -- <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1590304713/104-7981825-4223161?ie=UTF8&amp;tag=letttomydaug-20&amp;linkCode=xm2&amp;camp=1789&amp;creativeASIN=1590304713">The Creative Family</a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0876592221/104-7981825-4223161?ie=UTF8&amp;tag=letttomydaug-20&amp;linkCode=xm2&amp;camp=1789&amp;creativeASIN=0876592221">First Art</a> -- and blogs such as <a href="http://artfulparent.wordpress.com/">this one</a> and <a href="http://spiralmontessorimama.blogspot.com/">this one</a> as well as some personal goals and ideas led me to want to do fewer structured activities and more free form art and nature appreciation activities. I also wanted to spend less time writing and more time creating other things.<br /><br />I've been trying since the very beginning to foster a great imagination and I see that progressing greatly in Jadyn and Liana. For a long time we've been eating imaginary things and those things recently have been jumping off the pages of our books, such as all the berries in <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0694006513/104-7981825-4223161?ie=UTF8&amp;tag=letttomydaug-20&amp;linkCode=xm2&amp;camp=1789&amp;creativeASIN=0694006513">Jamberry </a>and the apples in <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0060256656/104-7981825-4223161?ie=UTF8&amp;tag=letttomydaug-20&amp;linkCode=xm2&amp;camp=1789&amp;creativeASIN=0060256656">The Giving Tree</a>.<br /><br />I practically lived an imaginary life during most of my childhood. While I didn't necessarily have one imaginary friend, I did have a whole gang of them.<br /><br />I worry about what happens to our imagination and creativity as adults. Rules become so important; creation and ideas so much less.<br /><br />Of course, I have all of this in my mind as a mother -- yes, even when a bit depressed about other things.<br /><br />And so my slump did not, fortunately, mean I stopped following the creative path. I'm still on it, and trying to find my way back to those days of free-flowing art forms like oral storytelling and drawing for no reason.<br /><br />In the past seven days, I filled my camera with photos of the girls doing various activities meant to foster their creativity and love of the world around them. Check back tomorrow for the ultimate toddler painting party. For now, here's a few free ways to nurture creativity with toddlers:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Letterboxing</span>: This is a new activity for us but it's become quite the fun thing to do. First, we love going to parks and as part of the summer reading program we are searching for insect stamps at many local parks. I love how we get to explore, get exercise and do something with purpose. Of course, the stamps aren't just for the book. They get put all over the arms, legs and belly.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGmLtU_hzGI/AAAAAAAACOU/dFJ_gsgnbpw/s1600-h/IMG_5411.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGmLtU_hzGI/AAAAAAAACOU/dFJ_gsgnbpw/s320/IMG_5411.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217855254130969698" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Nature hikes/museums</span>: If someone would have told me about a free museum with a great little trail that's perfect for toddlers, I might have pitched a tent and moved in two weeks ago. Seriously, it's a great find for those of us limited with what we can do with our toddlers. Here, we are visiting the museum's special reptile exhibit, and following the trail -- which includes going through a pretend rabbit hutch. How awesome is that??<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGmNMqzuw0I/AAAAAAAACOc/1rVFJVZTSAU/s1600-h/IMG_5378.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGmNMqzuw0I/AAAAAAAACOc/1rVFJVZTSAU/s400/IMG_5378.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217856892074640194" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGmNWFv3OgI/AAAAAAAACOk/0pT3XjxRZkQ/s1600-h/IMG_5391.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGmNWFv3OgI/AAAAAAAACOk/0pT3XjxRZkQ/s400/IMG_5391.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217857053924997634" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Music, of course</span>: I have tons of songs downloaded and we try to incorporate natural music elements into our days. We listen to a lot of folk since it has a natural tone and sound for toddlers. But, I try and change it up a lot, too. Here, we are just a few blocks from home listening to a local children's music band, The Stephen Courtney Band, that played for free this past weekend. I really enjoyed it, and I think the girls did as well -- at least for their first concert.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGmOVUg71aI/AAAAAAAACOs/xJOZ7oaOJCM/s1600-h/IMG_5427.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SGmOVUg71aI/AAAAAAAACOs/xJOZ7oaOJCM/s400/IMG_5427.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217858140220675490" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-8278652344929672796?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-43481724152287225342008-06-30T05:00:00.000-07:002008-06-30T05:03:38.402-07:00A conversation yesterday in the car traveling to my grandmothers:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Dad:</span> I think I'm going to start a blog.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span> Really! (I'd been encouraging this)<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Dad:</span> Yeah, I'm going to call it ... Notes to my Daughters.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span> Silence. Pause. Laughs hard.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Dad:</span> And, it's going to be really honest and ...<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span> I don't like it.<br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-4348172415228722534?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-66862921293132577752008-06-25T19:12:00.000-07:002008-06-25T19:42:45.007-07:00Nature walking has proven to be magical. In fact, I cannot recommend this enough to any mother out there who is also struggling with poor self-esteem and isolation.<br /><br />So, yeah, self-esteem. I hadn't mentioned that, had I?<br /><br />I have a low one. It's a deceivingly low one. As long as I am setting goals and striving for them -- and making some here and there -- I am OK. But the second things don't go my way, I look in the mirror and start blaming. Myself. Others. Mother Earth. You name it.<br /><br />Anyway, walking has become my time. I've even found a way to mix it in with errands so that I'm not wasting gas -- because I drive to my walking destination. Monday I walked before a moms night out dinner. Tonight I walked and then hit the grocery store that's along the route to the park.<br /><br />Cake.<br /><br />Why didn't I do this sooner, I was wondering?<br /><br />Easy. Life just was different. It's always different -- even when it's the same. The girls were born in the dead of winter. That spring and summer I worked outside the home. That fall, when I became a SAHM, I started freelancing and just relished my time with the girls. Winter came and went and my freelancing became my priority.<br /><br />Essentially, I stopped thinking about me and only thought about my career as a writer.<br /><br />A month ago, I stopped writing for money. At first it felt great. Then I was feeling inadequate. And now I'm trying to come to terms with this new life of not being a professional writer anymore. Just being a mom and a socially conscious woman who loves to write. I think this is who I wanted to be when I grew up. I'm letting these posts be whatever they are going to be now, too ... which is a mess, I realize, but my mind is a mess so it's all good.<br /><br />Walking alone in a busy park -- preferably near really nice houses that appear perfect -- is my sweet spot. I like the longest trails I can find so I can't cut it short. I like a nice average walk, right now, because really I am in no hurry. If I lose some pounds walking I'll be happy but that's not my motivation.<br /><br />My destination is also important. I walk all the time in our city. Walking has always been my sanity as a mother. In fact, I once walked the entire span of the west side one morning in search of yard sales that never existed. I am always the only mother walking her kids. I am always an outcast. I'm stared at because I am the mom with the really nice jogging stroller. Oh, and who has two girls who look very much alike and, oh, "Are they twins?"<br /><br />And, to be brutally honest because that's my place right now, I am the only white, educated mom walking.<br /><br />Basically, I'm a freak when I walk near my home. I've never fit in and will never fit in and that doesn't stop me from walking. In fact, I wore freakdom proudly yesterday as I donned a Maine Moose T-shirt -- just for my girls. Gawd, who knows who drove past! I never think about that until three days later someone at the grocery store says, "I saw you walking!"<br /><br />So ... my purposeful walk in the suburbs is important for me. I love seeing the high school kids playing soccer and baseball, whole families riding bikes, newly married couples walking hand-in-hand and the aging walking their dogs or with their canes.<br /><br />They all seem so normal. They aren't sitting on the curb, waiting for the homeless shelter to serve its next meal. They aren't standing on the corner looking suspicious. They aren't cursing across the street. They aren't smoking and carrying a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag. They don't glare or even turn their head.<br /><br />No, they smile. They say hello.<br /><br />I had forgotten these images. I had forgotten the smell of trees. I had forgotten the sound of laughter. I had forgotten about the sound of a bicycle bell, and scooter wheels rolling on pavement. I had forgotten that whole families went out at dusk to get exercise.<br /><br />These are not things I see and hear in my neighborhood. I see and hear many good things near my home, but lately those things haven't been enough for me. That sense of community is missing. Just another face in a sea of faces. Just another body in a crowd of thousands.<br /><br />No wonder I've felt so alone.<br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-6686292129313257775?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-28180516824728565072008-06-22T18:12:00.001-07:002008-06-22T19:02:18.149-07:00Wow, some really amazing women have shown up here this week. So many who I haven't met before. Some I've admired for a long time. Apparently, that last headline on my newspaper drew a crowd.<br /><br />Thank you. Everyone. I really appreciate everyone's thoughts, ideas, well wishes, etc. I am still reading, re-reading and trying to respond to everyone personally as well. Because some of you were right there with me and you need to be heard, too.<br />Now that I'm a mostly functioning human being again ... let's see ... where to begin?<br /><br />I am better. And, like always, I was able to do a lot of soul searching to get to the root of my problem. After all, I am, at heart, a problem-solver by nature.<br /><br />In the past when I've felt down, I've had many resources to use to pull myself up and out of that dark place. I mean, that is why people drink, right? Unfortunately.<br /><br />There I was, without a bottle of wine in the house, without using drugs or smoking cigarettes, without the ability to leave and go shopping, without even a dollar to my name due to some stupid extra expenses this month like when the heating unit in our house died just at the end of cool weather spring.<br /><br />Food, shopping and wine. That's how I've been able to lift myself out of dark places in the past. Not more than a glass or two, a fatty cheeseburger or a sushi roll. Chinese. A new, crisp book off the shelf. These are the luxuries of life I have been missing because I know they are not needed; that diapers and food and saving for a new house or a new car is more important now. I never knew this in the past. I just spent. And spent. And spent.<br /><br />No, we do not have any family close by to watch the two high energy toddlers. No, we really can't afford a sitter right now. However, a friend and I are swapping nights at each other's houses starting this Friday for us! Time out alone. And we don't even have to pay for a sitter. Awesome.<br /><br />Anyway, yes, I need some me time. The funny thing is that I've known this and I've tried to do it every weekend, but I realized this past weekend that I wasn't doing it right.<br /><br />Here's the three reasons why I fell into a bit of depression:<br /><br />1. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Stopped being goal-oriented</span>: I actually decided to stop freelancing and just sit back and be a mom for two months -- until I start working. I honestly feel this might have been the biggest cause of my slump. I suddenly had no other purpose to my life and I felt it, instantly. OK, after a week of watching HGTV. Since Day One, I always had freelancing to occupy my time either with finding new work, making calls or writing. It filled my mornings, afternoons and nights. There was no time to just sit and think.<br /><br />2. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Engaged in bad behaviors for me-time</span>: It's true. You do it, too, if you are here right now. Internet. Computer. Searching for coupons and good deals to save money. Reading blogs. (I do not feel that writing for a blog is a bad behavior, though). All of these things I had been doing -- including tearing down the wallpaper in two rooms -- wasn't about me. It was all a part of this great big journey that I've been on my entire life -- to finally find the next best whatever -- toddler recipe, printable coupon, bargain price, latest release, etc. (I hear <a href="http://mommazen.blogspot.com/">Karen </a>ringing her bells at me right now).<br /><br />3.<span style="font-weight: bold;"> I'd gotten distracted</span>: I've repeated this here before but <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/05/my-biggest-challenge-me.html">my mind is truly a mess</a>. I am an idea machine. A dreamer. A seeker. So many ideas pour through each day it's really, really hard to stay focused. While I do achieve many of the goals I set, there are many dozens more that never see any action more than being written down on a note pad. Even worse, many remain in my mind like little dust balls in the corner. Neglected yet staring at me all day long. Some of those dreams were unattainable at this point in my life -- like wanting to take yoga for exercise and mental clarity but not having any money or time. Like wanting to get out of the house but not wanting to spend any money doing so.<br /><br />So, what I have I done differently to pull myself up? Well, for one I wrote about it. That's always the first step. And, I cried about it. In the meantime, the people I needed to hear from did reach out and that made me feel better. And, I journaled for several pages.<br /><br />But none of that is really what helped me.<br /><br />I helped me. I always do. I spoke up and was heard. That was key.<br /><br />And then I walked.<br /><br />And walked and walked. Alone. Without burden or responsibility. Without lists of groceries to buy or coupons in my pocket.<br /><br />Deep into the heart of this long walk, it dawned on me. I could be walking for free to accomplish so many of my personal goals of taking time for myself, feeling healthier and being more fit. It gets me out of the house!<br /><br />So, I have started an exercise regimen -- with very specific goals -- that is free and will hopefully get me started in the right direction for my mind's sake but also my body's.<br /><br />I'm a goal-oriented person. Without specific goals I am exactly who I was last week and the week before. That's exactly why I have lists of what I want to do today, tomorrow, next week. I always try my best to achieve them.<br /><br />As happy as I am in this life -- and I'm very happy because I am the mother to two of the sweetest, cutest and silliest little girls in our block and possibly the world -- and as frustrating as they are right now, I have always realized how lucky I am to have them to push my buttons all darn day. No, it's not easy mothering twins. There is a constant heartbreak underway. Someone always has to be put down or put second and when they are so little and still not able to fully communicate that makes it even more complicated.<br /><br />But, more on this twin thing later in the week.<br /><br />Again, thank you. I'm better. Really. I told you it would happen.<br /><br />Then again, it's Sunday night. Ask me how I am on Thursday since that seems to be the day of drama around here. And, I'm without car wheels one extra day this week.<br /><br />Will the saga continue? I cannot say. I can only say that I do truly hope not.<br /><br />Is this my longest post ever? I am so anti-long posts so sorry. As Jadyn says now when things get a bit out of hand, "e-Nuff."<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-2818051682472856507?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-68922011324688333462008-06-19T18:36:00.000-07:002008-12-09T07:27:07.980-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SFsPaIf4tsI/AAAAAAAACOI/vpQHE2AtTKk/s1600-h/upper_yosemite_rain.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SFsPaIf4tsI/AAAAAAAACOI/vpQHE2AtTKk/s200/upper_yosemite_rain.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213777935243720386" /></a><br />There's this saying among law enforcement that graffiti is the newspapers of the streets.<br /><br />I'll add to that.<br /><br />This blog is the newspaper to my heart.<br /><br />And last week I wrote a <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/06/swollen-eyes-hurting-heart.html">dark post</a> that really was a call for help, a yearn for someone to reach out to me.<br /><br />That post was ignored by everyone real in my life. No one called to see if I was OK. No one even e-mailed, as much as I hate email these days.<br /><br />It's not the first time. In fact, just about every time I've written about how I'd love to have some company, some help, some support, a caring shoulder to cry on, my headlines go unanswered. <br /><br />Family is still too busy to make time for us. The only company we have are from my mom's club. <br /><br />I've even gone as far as asking people for specific help around our house only to be ignored, shoved off or offered some vague not really helping kind of help.<br /><br />Today, I questioned my mental outlook as I cried, again, on the way home from the park this morning. The girls wouldn't leave; ran in different directions leaving my heart to leap with worry and fear, which always puts me on the edge. I am not strong enough, fast enough, smart enough to outwit them anymore. I don't want to be the mean mommy. I don't want to cave in to their every want either.<br /><br />Everything is a battle right now. This age, this stage. From the second we wake in the morning to the second we go to bed. When I walk through the door I am not who they want to see. When we walk downstairs, being home with me is not where they want to be. They argue over what book to read, what movie to watch, who gets what toy, chair, shirt, car seat and which way I should drive when turning out of the driveway.<br /><br />They cry for daddy, for the park, for a car ride, for friends and family who we rarely see and won't be seeing for a long time. <br /><br />I'm not sure if this is the terrible twos or if this is just what life is going to be like. It's hard to see past my own tears half the time. <br /><br />They only miss me when I'm gone and I'm never gone. Ever. Who can leave when there's no one here to stay?<br /><br />The responsibility of trying to keep them happy, entertained, uninjured by themselves and by each other is enormous. Much, much more than I ever dreamed. <br /><br />I could handle all of this if it weren't for all the crying. <br /><br />It's the crying that tears me up; that makes me want to run. Some days it's constant. There are some days when nothing I do works.<br /><br />I wanted to be their life, but it's clear I am not. They want the world and half the time I can't even afford to buy them lunch.<br /><br />I am trying so hard to be a good mom, a happy mom. I truly am. And I hate it when people tell me to cherish these days -- as if I'm not, as if I'm trying to rush past it all. I'm not. Not at all. I'm just trying to survive each day with some sense of knowing I did an OK job today. That I'm not ruining them for life, that they will be proud to tell stories of their childhood. <br /><br />Dan is taking a day off today (Friday) to offer me some help. I hope it doesn't ruin his chances of getting the job he's trying to get. Just to help me. Then again, he hasn't taken a vacation day since, well, I do not know when. A year perhaps. Too long. Way too long. <br /><br />I am going to try and mother myself for at least part of the day. Because, I think, ultimately that is really want I need, a mother for myself. Someone who actually thinks about me, my wants and needs, my hurting heart, struggling mind and wavering strength. <br /><br />Why didn't I get the memo? Why didn't anyone tell me how hard being a mom is? Why did everyone pretend it's so easy and perfect and wonderful? I might have been more prepared.<br /><br />But, go ahead, keep walking. Nothing to see here. Really. <br /><br />Just everything.<br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-6892201132468833346?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-10315361808542199452008-06-17T04:37:00.000-07:002008-06-17T05:24:41.035-07:00It's no secret that 2 has been kicking my ass.<br />In fact, that might be an understatement.<br /><br />However, in an effort to pretend that everything is perfect and sunshiny I am focusing on the positive moments today. This week. Maybe it will be a list to incorporate every week from here on out. At least until this phase of obstinacy moves past us.<br /><br />Here are some happy motherhood moments sticking in my mind lately.<br /><br /><ol><li>Watching the girls eyes go wide as they went down the big slides at their first carnivals with their daddy -- twice in one weekend.<br /></li><li>Hearing the words: More ice keem; no likey; i sorry, mommy; Nana, look! Fire truck!; bun (which means fun); and, I wuv u whispered in my ear as a secret.</li><li>Seeing the two of them learn to really play and mimic with their dolls. Watching them feed them cereal or "lunch" with a spoon, give bottles, wrap them, unwrap them in blankets, push them in shopping carts, put them down to sleep only to wake them back up in seconds. The way they hold them and nurture them shows me that I've done my job even if it doesn't feel that way most of the time anymore.<br /></li><li>Helping them make a tall stack of blocks just so they can knock them over and hear them crash.</li><li>And, finally, wanting to twirl along with them as they spin and spin and spin in the prettiest dresses in all of the land during music class.<br /></li></ol><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/PteYoWqhZXk&hl=en"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/PteYoWqhZXk&hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-1031536180854219945?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-69952531505784143132008-06-17T04:35:00.001-07:002008-12-09T07:27:08.228-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SFehzQK1ghI/AAAAAAAACOA/JhVogzata3w/s1600-h/Babybug-Magazine-The-Award-Winning-Magazine-for-Kids.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z9H_790jqAc/SFehzQK1ghI/AAAAAAAACOA/JhVogzata3w/s200/Babybug-Magazine-The-Award-Winning-Magazine-for-Kids.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5212812995590455826" /></a><br />I've reviewed <a href="http://thechunkypurse.blogspot.com/2008/06/review-baby-bug-magazine.html">Baby Bug Magazine</a> and you should check it out if you have a toddler or three at your house. <a href="http://www.cricketmag.com/ProductDetail.asp?pid=10&utm_source=ParentsBlogger&utm_medium=Blognetwork&utm_content=LYBPROMO&utm_campaign=PBJune08">Baby Bug</a> is not to be missed.<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-6995253150578414313?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-37491011186050025682008-06-14T13:46:00.000-07:002008-06-14T13:47:06.427-07:00Who knew? <br /><br />And, I think I've figured out a few things ... I'm a mom of twins. <br /><br />Enough said.<br /><br />See you Monday.<br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-3749101118605002568?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-2989801178748498822008-06-12T11:13:00.000-07:002008-06-12T11:24:30.091-07:00It's the kind of day that I could easily spend it in bed, under covers, crying. Ask what's wrong and I'll just nod and shew you away.<br /><br />Everything. Nothing. <br /><br />It's the kind of day that if I weren't a mother in charge of two human beings I would take a long drive -- to the beach, maybe -- and sulk in the wonders of nature. <br /><br />All of it.<br /><br />It's the kind of day I want to give up, pack up bags and go away and forget people's names and faces. <br /><br />Including my own. <br /><br />It's the kind of day when I feel paper-thin, fragile, so transparent that I'm invisible to the naked eye.<br /><br />But no one is watching. <br /><br />It's the kind of day when I feel like I could stop breathing and no one would know.<br /><br />The phone never rings. The door never knocks. <br /><br />It's the kind of day when everything is dark. And I'm not home. And, I'm tired. <br /><br />So very tired. <br /><br />I've been <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2007/12/worlds-apart.html">here </a>before. I will bounce back. I have <a href="http://www.letterstomydaughters.com/2008/04/friends-vs-relationships.html">before</a>.<br /><br />But, a little Between the Lines hiatus is in order. Will be back next week sometime.<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-298980117874849882?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-5134288033489796462008-06-12T08:59:00.000-07:002008-06-12T09:02:41.383-07:00I'm excited to announce that I'll be posting each Thursday on the topic of twins on the fairly new and very good multiple moms blog, <a href="http://howdoyoudoit.wordpress.com/2008/06/12/an-antidote-for-twinsanity/">How Do You Do it?</a>. Please check it out, especially if you have twins. Because many of my readers are not twin moms, I don't always talk about the twin aspect of mothering on this blog so this will a fun adventure for me. Plus, it will help me continue my quest in writing a book about raising twins that is already under way. <br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-513428803348979646?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-4081484435501264642008-06-11T10:50:00.000-07:002008-06-11T10:52:11.136-07:00I am not an amusement park Mama. My mother wasn't and since I wasn't big on those kinds of parks as a kid either, it's no wonder that I am not cut out for them as the mother of two toddlers.<br /><br />And yet ... and yet two Sundays ago I was one for one day. <br /><br />Read that story and a review of Sesame Place <a href="http://thechunkypurse.blogspot.com/2008/06/review-sesame-place.html">here</a>.<br /><br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png"/></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-408148443550126464?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696496724271056053.post-62690151297330576232008-06-08T16:49:00.000-07:002008-06-08T17:31:42.054-07:00Dear Jadyn and Liana:<br /><br />I'm glad you were sleeping Saturday afternoon. I'm glad your little eyes were closed shut and your breathing was slow and deep and restful. I'm glad.<br /><br />Because just one floor below, I couldn't keep it together. As <a href="http://www.hillaryclinton.com/home/?splash=1">Hillary Rodham Clinton</a> spoke about being a woman, who ran for president, and lost the bid and cracking the glass ceiling, I was a blubbering mess.<br /><br />Because of you.<br /><br />It stopped being about me long ago.<br /><br />All too soon you will learn what it is like to walk around this country -- this earth -- as a young woman. This is no small endeavor. There will be obstacles. You will find yourself in predicaments. You must be smart.<br /><br />We must stick together. We must stand up for each other. We must try and stick together. We must cheer for each other.<br /><br />And, strong women, my girls, stand alone. You must know this. You must be prepared. You must stand strong. And never falter. Ever.<br /><br />Mrs. Clinton said it best:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Now, on a personal note, when I was asked what it means to be a woman running for president, I always gave the same answer, that I was proud to be running as a woman, but I was running because I thought I'd be the best president. But...</span> <p style="font-style: italic;">But I am a woman and, like millions of women, I know there are still barriers and biases out there, often unconscious, and I want to build an America that respects and embraces the potential of every last one of us.</p><p style="font-style: italic;">I ran as a daughter who benefited from opportunities my mother never dreamed of. I ran as a mother who worries about my daughter's future and a mother who wants to leave all children brighter tomorrows.</p> <p style="font-style: italic;">To build that future I see, we must make sure that women and men alike understand the struggles of their grandmothers and their mothers, and that women enjoy equal opportunities, equal pay, and equal respect.</p> <p style="font-style: italic;">Let us ... Let us resolve and work toward achieving very simple propositions: There are no acceptable limits, and there are no acceptable prejudices in the 21st century in our country.</p> <p style="font-style: italic;">You can be so proud that, from now on, it will be unremarkable for a woman to win primary state victories ... unremarkable to have a woman in a close race to be our nominee, unremarkable to think that a woman can be the president of the United States. And that is truly remarkable, my friends.</p> <p style="font-style: italic;">To those who are disappointed that we couldn't go all of the way, especially the young people who put so much into this campaign, it would break my heart if, in falling short of my goal, I in any way discouraged any of you from pursuing yours.</p> <p style="font-style: italic;">Always aim high, work hard and care deeply about what you believe in. And, when you stumble, keep faith. And, when you're knocked down, get right back up and never listen to anyone who says you can't or shouldn't go on.</p> <p style="font-style: italic;">As we gather here today in this historic, magnificent building, the 50th woman to leave this Earth is orbiting overhead. If we can blast 50 women into space, we will someday launch a woman into the White House.</p> <p style="font-style: italic;">Although we weren't able to shatter that highest, hardest glass ceiling this time, thanks to you, it's got about 18 million cracks in it ... and the light is shining through like never before, filling us all with the hope and the sure knowledge that the path will be a little easier next time.</p>This is not the scrapbook I wanted to keep for you, dear daughters. But, nonetheless, you will have a scrapbook from this very historic election. Just be sure that it will include a little more than <a href="http://www.barackobama.com/issues/">his</a>-story. <a href="http://www.thehillaryiknow.com/">Her</a>-story will be equally covered.<br /><br />And, I hope it all leads to <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">your own</span> </span>stories to cherish forever.<br /><br />Thank you for visiting today.<br /><br />Did you like this blog post? Please consider subscribing here:<br /><p><a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml"><img alt="" style="border: 0pt none ; vertical-align: middle;" src="http://www.feedburner.com/fb/images/pub/feed-icon16x16.png" /></a> <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/LettersToMyDaughters" rel="alternate" type="application/rss+xml">Subscribe in a reader</a></p><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><script src="http://www.google-analytics.com/urchin.js" type="text/javascript"> </script> <script type="text/javascript"> _uacct = "UA-1564863-1"; urchinTracker(); </script><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8696496724271056053-6269015129733057623?l=letterstomytwingirls.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Shawnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16038370158284663729noreply@blogger.com8