A Gal Pal: Every Woman Needs One

I'm staring down at my toenails right now, speckled in remnants of "Oh So Glam" from the last wedding I attended.  Seriously, these nasty nails need some TLC.  Come to think of it, I could use a little TLC too.  

What's a girl gonna do?  Regis, I'd like to phone a friend.  A gal pal.  That friend who you call when you need a break and a little something to jazz up your day- a new pair of shoes, a foot massage, a cup 'o java.  At the beginning of flip-flop season, I always call my friend Ange: "It's pedi time!"  

It's the best of both worlds: girl bonding and pampering.  And the pampering begins with a "big" decision: Which color will define you for the next few months?  The search for the perfect shade is no small task, as it's never confined to mere color; the actual name is key.    Here's me over-complicating OPI nail polish colors: 

Makes Men Blush. Yeah, not feeling "hot" today. 

Room Service.  Forget room service.  How about a vacation?  A vacation would be nice.  

It's a Doozi, Says Suzi.  Sounds like this afternoon's diaper.

No Room for the Blues.  Like that name, but it's blue.  Can't look at that all summer. 

Twenty Candles on my Cake.  Dream on, honey.  

Kiss on the Chic.  Okay, that's sweet.  Hold that one. 

Senorita Rose-alita.  Oh, reminds me of that Phil Vassar song I love, about high school sweethearts.  Possibility. 

Your Villa or Mine? Villa.  I like that word.  Villa means vacation.  I'm noticing a trend here.  

And so it goes, until I'm forced to choose or Ange shares her polish (yet another reason why I love her).  Then, for an hour, I shirk my mommy responsibilities, sink into a sumptuous leather massage chair, and undergo the transformation to "Senorita Rose-alita." Meanwhile, my gal pal and I dish the latest news- in our lives and in People magazine.  Every woman needs one of those friends who she can call for a little escape- whether that's chatting over a cup of coffee, or under a nail dryer.  

 

Enter Sandman

Here is how it all started- the story behind "turnitupmom."

It was an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, or so I thought. My three-month-old daughter, Liza, and I were still in our pajamas, bouncing to Steve Miller Band’s Jungle Love. Somehow the lyrics “drivin’ me mad, makin’ me crazy” seemed all too appropriate. Liza had been awake for seven hours straight, and I was running out of silly Mary Poppins-like antics to keep her content. She’d resisted the traditional methods of settling down, and I needed to come up with something, and fast. Clearly, she needed a nap. Clearly, I needed one too.

While I’m not a voracious reader of parenting manuals and how-to guides (Let’s face it, there is no manual.), I did expect that my daughter would respond well to the recipe for a happy baby: swaddle, sway, and shush. I envisioned her nestling into the crook of my arm and drifting off to sleep, lulled by classical melodies. Quite to the contrary, she squirmed free of my futile attempts to cuddle close with a warm, cozy blanket. I spent days grasping for straws until I realized that she required something a bit more edgy than “The Muffin Man.” That’s when I turned to my husband’s eclectic music collection.

That afternoon, we ripped up the dance floor (Okay, the linoleum kitchen tiles.), bouncing and grooving to the music. And the louder, the better. Liza closed her tiny fingers around my shirtsleeve, and we clung to each other. We whirled past kitchen counters strewn with bottles and dirty dishes, and we twirled in circles, dizzying ourselves. We weren’t waltzing to a Brahms lullaby, and yet I felt a deep sense of comfort separate from the rest of the world. It was an unmistakable bond with my daughter, as I gave myself permission to dance with a childlike abandon and wonder. 

Despite my utter exhaustion, an untapped stream of energy rose from deep within and gave way to flirtation with a light, carefree me. I wasn’t going to need a Richard Simmons video to get this body back in shape. I was sweatin’ to everything from Michael Jackson to Metallica. Before long, that room was filled with laughter, singing, and a curiously content baby. But God, did I need a shower.

I couldn’t wrap my head around it; my husband and I were quiet babies, content to sit and gaze and bat our hands at colorful rattles. I half-expected our daughter to be the same. It was in this moment that I made a conscious effort to shift my thinking. Instead of wishing her to be otherwise, I began to embrace all that she was- a curious, wide-eyed, active baby who made me laugh- instead of all that she wasn’t. And we danced. What emerged from this moment was the opportunity for me to know my child and to rediscover myself.

Did she fall asleep? Of course she did. After a few minutes, Liza nestled her head into the space under my chin and tucked her knees up into my chest. Her eyelids grew heavy and her body, limp. Although the couch was enticing, my heart told me to savor this moment. I pressed my lips against her forehead and continued to rock. Here I was, mommy-gone-mad, with a sense of calm falling around me. I, too, closed my eyes and let go, knowing that in a matter of months, her little tushy wouldn’t fit in the palm of my hand. My nap could wait. I didn’t ever want to wish that we had danced more.

I often ask myself, why does my daughter love to dance? Maybe it’s the rocking motion that simulates the womb or the liveliness of the music, but I have to believe that it’s more than that. Perhaps Liza is giving me exactly what I need- the chance to stop, to breathe, and to be fully present. Somewhere along the line, between juggling work and the inability to say “no,” I had suppressed my most basic need to be and to honor all that I am. 

Liza had her own agenda from the moment of conception. What I didn’t know was that it would come in the form of a gift, one that transcended my expectations.

The serendipity of it all is that one week later, I slipped on a pair of brand new jazz shoes and headed off to dance, this time with a group of women who love to sweat. Every week I do this for myself- for my body, my spirit, and a guilt-free break. Who do I have to thank for this? My little Liza who, literally, doesn’t miss a beat. Thanks to her, I’ve been reacquainted with the happy-go-lucky girl who could pirouette, slide into a split, and steal the show. (Although, I must admit that after delivering a baby, the thought of a split makes me cringe and contract my pelvic muscles.) Because of dance, we have a few more funky songs on our playlist and a few new moves for our kitchen repertoire. Because of dance, I have reconnected with a freer side of myself that I’d lost in the trenches of life. Liza gave me the push I needed to step out onto the dance floor again and to linger in moments of sheer fun.

I have since plunged into this new role, at times wacky and wild, and while it differs from the challenges of classroom instruction, it demands a similar creativity and freshness. Every day Liza cracks me up, and some days I wonder where she came from. Although, in truth, I’ve come to believe that while our children are of us, they are not us. 

My husband and I joke that someday our daughter will be the last child to conk out at her first slumber party. But for now, I have come to appreciate the fact that I can “sway” my daughter to sleep, even if it means cranking up a little classic Metallica. And maybe- just maybe- the Sandman will pay us a visit.

Less Is More

There is something cathartic about getting rid of stuff. It's freeing. In fact, I actually get a bit jealous when I drive past a heap of trash piled at the end of someone's driveway, because potentially, that someone's basement or bedroom is less cluttered. And if she's like me (let's be honest, he doesn't care), so is her mind.

Recently, I've felt guilty (just a little) about my eagerness to purge. You know, I love singing Jack Johnson's "Reduce, Reuse, Recycle" song, and I'll admit, throwing things away isn't exactly living up to my end of the reuse bargain. Somebody, somewhere wants my trash, bless her soul.

Feeling the need to bid farewell to Precious Moments and the chotchkies of my youth, we teamed up with our neighbors last weekend to have a giant garage sale.  I don't need 15 Yankee Candles (the infamous teacher gift) or 5 silicone spatulas. I'm not keeping them "just in case. . ." That's hogwash.

Over the years, I have developed a "Less is More" philosophy. I don't need things to live a full, rich life. I need a clean, open space for my thoughts of gratitude and abundance.

I felt liberated watching people genuinely happy to walk off with my trash. I'd much rather it sit on someone else's bookshelf than in a landfill. Here's the best part: Our very last customer was a woman who has an orphanage in Haiti. She filled her car with my remaining five boxes of stuff, for free of course. Honestly, I would have paid her to take my junk.

Before she left, the woman scribbled down her phone number.  So the next time I feel the need to grab a garbage bag and toss, I'm going to pick up the phone instead.  And bless her soul, she'll cart it all away.

"Me Time" for Mom

I have never met a mom who didn't feel the need for "me time." While I am so grateful for the privilege to be a mom, I recognize the need to regularly recharge my batteries. I asked six wonderful women to share a snapshot of how they sneak in a little time for themselves. I think you'll find their thoughts to be funny, authentic, and down-right true! 

I steal free time. Rather than wait for my husband to offer it, I just grab the car keys and announce to whoever might be in the room, "I'm going to a movie!" I then show up at the theater and watch whatever happens to be starting next. In other words, my "me time" is spent with my brain unplugged. Whether it's watching "Deadliest Catch" marathons on Discovery while my husband takes the boys to Best Buy to play Guitar Hero or it's my wandering aimlessly around a movie theater until the nachos run out, I approach my time alone with absolutely no goals other than to zone out and recharge. And maybe gain five pounds while I'm at it.

-Megan, Velveteen Mind

I have learned that no one will give me my "me time" - I have to find it, own it, and protect it. I carve out at least 15 minutes every morning to write or read while drinking a cup of ginger tea or decaf coffee. It is a nice quiet way to start my day before my kids wake up. I also have a weekly mom's night out. My husband picks up my boys from preschool and I have the entire night off. On a monthly basis, I schedule a girl's night out with one or more of my friends. And on an annual basis, I leave my family and go on vacation all by myself. All of these activities honor my needs, passions, and authentic self. "Me time" keeps me balanced and it gives me the mental bandwidth to live my life (on most days) with intention.

-Stacey, Create a Balance

After I put my girls to bed, I immediately change into my yoga clothes and recharge by doing an hour and a half of Ashtanga yoga. Oh wait. That's not it. I mean, I change into my Juicy sweatpants, sit on the couch, drink a glass of wine and watch "Gossip Girl" or "Rescue Me." Yup, that's how I recharge.

-Kelcey, The Mama Bird Diaries

I danced all throughout my childhood, but as I became older, I gave it up. About seven years ago I saw belly dance classes popping up all over Denver and I took a few with different teachers, but I always had a hard time with the schedule. When my son started preschool this past September, I asked the Universe for a teacher because I wanted to dance again. She appeared, and since then I have been dancing 3-4 days a week. I have re-discovered my sensuality, and it certainly doesn't hurt that I am getting in shape. But most importantly belly dance is a woman's dance, and it allows me to reconnect to my true self and to the Goddess. The beauty of this dance is that it is welcoming to women of all shapes, sizes and ages. In fact, dare I say as you get older, you get better.

-Dina, Walking Within the Spiral

One of the ways I find some me time is to lock myself in the bathroom and take a hot bath. My husband will also take my girls out occasionally on a "daddy date," and it's nice to just have some down time to myself to exercise, shop, whatever!

-Blonde Mom Blog

And from the expectant mom:

With only 13 or so weeks left until my first child arrives, my "me time" lately has been spent doing a lot of baby preparations. When I actually have free "me time," my favorite thing to do is to go to a great bookstore on a Saturday morning and peruse the shelves looking for a new read. Once I've chosen a new book (or magazine, depending on my mood), I enjoy heading over to my local coffee shop to have an omelette and read. It always feels like such an indulgence. Taking a couple of quiet hours just for me helps me to recharge. My husband is very "kid friendly," so I'm hoping that after the baby arrives I'll still be able to indulge in my Saturday morning "me time" every once in awhile.

-ChitChatMom

Waiting: Do You Think I Have All Day?

I used to hate waiting.  Waiting rooms. Waiting on line. Waiting for the freight train to pass. It’s my impatient, Jersey, I-have-somewhere-to-be mentality.

Yesterday, I had an appointment at a doctor’s office that is notorious for making me wait. I mean, really wait. Long, torturous hours. It makes my blood boil.  The audacity!  This appointment had the power to ruin my entire afternoon.

But yesterday was different. I entered the waiting room childless (childless may be the operative word here), with my reading materials, ready to wait. Bring it. I’ve got all day. Well, as long as I’m outta here by 3:30.

I relaxed into one of the cushiony, leather chairs and perused the latest Real Simple magazine, which usually accumulates dust on my nightstand for months before I have the opportunity to open it. By then, I'm reading about summer skin care in January.  What good is that?  

I'll have you know that yesterday, I actually read entire articles without transforming into a human jungle gym, without a little person crawling on me or tugging at my pants.  It was liberating just to sit and wait, to read something that made me laugh out loud (embarrassing at times) or wonder Is this blogging material? I never once glanced at the clock, annoyed.

Heck, if waiting is the closest I can get to time alone, I’ll take it.

Women's Empowerment Series: Blogging Forum

Yesterday, I was honored to be a guest speaker at the Women's Empowerment (WE) Series in Ridgewood, NJ. This powerful program sets out to nurture the creative, contemplative nature of women through on-going conversation. It's for women "who yearn for a slice of urban intellect in the wilds of suburbia." And yes, it is wild.

I was joined by two highly successful, accomplished bloggers. Deborah Smith is the owner and editor of JerseyBites.com, a blog dedicated to recipes and restaurants in the Garden State. Deborah is "on a quest for food with attitude," the mark of a true Jersey girl! She is also the creator of "Blogging Out Hunger," a campaign which raised money and awareness on behalf of the Community Foodbank of New Jersey this past December. Deborah is a long-time online business owner of NannyClassifieds.com, servicing families who are searching for full time in-home childcare.

Jen Singer, creator of MommaSaid.net, has been successfully blogging since 2003, and has since appeared in numerous magazines and newspapers, including The New York Times, Parents, and Real Simple. Jen has also appeared on dozens of television and radio programs, such as ABC's World News Now and CBS The Early Show. Jen's new book, Stop Second Guessing Yourself-- The Toddler Years, just hit bookshelves in April, and is the first in a series of MommaSaid parenting advice books.

Are you looking for my list of accolades? Stop looking. You won't find them here. I was the voice of the new blogger on the block. As some of you know from my post If You Build It, They Will Come, I have always wanted to be a "real" writer. Yesterday, I met so many women like me, itching to come out of their writer's notebooks, but fearful of taking the plunge. I hear you! The blogosphere is another world with its own language and set of rules, and when you make the leap, you have to know who YOU are.

Each morning, I wake up knowing that I have the power to write something that will resonate with other moms.  So here I am, happily suburban, with my Mac and my thoughts.  My blog is a lot like me, a work in progress.  

What's the Hurry?

In college, I had a roommate from Wyoming. I loved her to pieces, but when it came to walking, she was Slow with a capital S. I was a "city" girl, destination-bound, with a quickness in my step. I walked with purpose, to get there fast. She, on the other hand, bounced her way down the sidewalk, in part I think, to irritate me. It worked.

My daughter is just at the age where she loves stepping out for a walk down our quiet little street. Together, we shuffle across the uneven pavement and explore nature's toy box. Yesterday we watched the birds darting from tree to tree. We listened to water gurgling through the sewer. We pointed to big, fluffy clouds and cars passing by. We picked a few flowers (Don't tell the neighbors.) and fingered the veins on leaves. We stomped across a patch of rocks and giggled as they crunched under our toes.

It was a grand buffet for the senses.

Maybe the tortoise is onto something. For years, I'd thought that slow was synonymous with purposeless. These days, I'd argue that the opposite is true. Because when you hurry about, you miss stuff. Stuff that stirs your blood and awakens your soul. You know, if we walked at the pace of a child, we’d see so much more of the world.

Okay, Miss Wyoming, you were right. Want to go for a walk? You lead.

50 Days of Affirmations

We know our truth, but sometimes we need someone else to exclaim, "Girl, you're amazing!"  A couple of years ago, I was inspired by the dynamic life coach and best-selling author, Debbie Ford, who challenged me to join in the Summer Self-Esteem Game.  

Here's how it worked: First, I needed to choose a buddy, someone with whom I felt comfortable sharing my insecurities and fears.  Next, I invited her to join me in a 50-day challenge, where we would text, email, or phone messages that empowered each other to, as Debbie says, "blast through our limitations."  Thus, it was important to choose a buddy with whom I could honestly share those negative thoughts and beliefs that were keeping me from radiating my light.  

My youngest sister said YES to this challenge, and for 50 consecutive days we "blasted" each other with love.  Girl, you can't beat that!  Here are some affirmations that we exchanged: 

*God doesn't make junk.  I am good enough, just as I am. 

*I deserve to live with vast amounts of self-love and joy, beginning today. 

*I am a genius, and the challenge is to uncover the genius within my soul.  

*My ideas and opinions matter, and they reflect the kind and gentle person that I am. 

*I am a Goddess of Possibility.  I inspire others and help them to see that anything is possible.

This was a powerful process for me.  It confirmed my belief that when we open ourselves up to vulnerability, we open ourselves up to deeper relationships and enduring self-love.  This summer, I challenge you to take the plunge and invite someone to be a part of your world.  Play the game.  You can't lose.  I promise.

But please . . .come back and tell us about it!    

P.S. Click HERE for Debbie Ford's free affirmations.  

It's the Little Things . . .

I lose things . . .a lot.  The other day, I found an old lip gloss that I love, stashed in the pocket of Liza's diaper bag. "Lost and Found" is my life; and now that I'm a mom, more seems to be lost than found, including my marbles.  My sister gave me this gloss over 8 years ago (Way past expiration, I know), and I fell in love with the color and light vanilla scent.   It's called "Cutie Pie" by Bloom.  

I'm pretty low-maintenance- a minimalist, I would say- when it comes to beautifying.  I've had the same beauty routine since age 18, with the exception of additional under-eye concealer (Dark circles, I curse you!).  But a new, juicy lip gloss has the power to make my day.  A bit scary, but true.  I feel invigorated and delicious and fun!    

I'm not in the habit of wearing lipstick these days, mostly because my daughter is often poking at my face, squeezing my nose, tugging at my glasses, or twisting my lips.  But when I stumbled upon my old friend, I wiggled and twisted the wand applicator, determined to soak up every last bit of flirtatious fun.  Even though I wasn't heading out on a hot date, I smeared it on, pursing and smacking my lips.  It was just for me, but even still, it felt good.  So good.  

Makeup does have a shelf life, but I just haven't been able to part with this gloss.  What if I never find one as yummy?  Here's the good news (for me): Bloom still makes "Cutie Pie," and hell, I'm going to treat myself; it's the little things that make life sweet.  

Here are some other things that have the power to make my day: fresh-squeezed lemonade, pedicures, homemade cards, flip-flops, a brilliant sunshine, a great book. 

What little thing (other than your kids) makes your day?  

Experience the Spa at Home *Giveaway*

One month after Liza was born, a friend invited me to her home for some girl bonding.  I didn't really want to go; I couldn't squeeze into anything cute or stylish, and I felt ugly.  Besides, how can you feel good with leaky boobs?  C'mon.  Honestly.

But this girls' night was different than others.  I was encouraged to dress in comfy clothes.  Check.  And the Evite said, "Don't wear makeup."  Check.  It turns out that I had been invited to experience the spa, right in someone's home.  What woman can pass up quality girl time while soaking her feet?  We exfoliated and moisturized with delicious mango and peppermint scents.  And all the while, we laughed, really laughed, about our hairy legs, creeping lines, and imperfections.  It was just what I needed.  

The party was given by Sensaria Representative, ML Banino, who was attracted to the company 3 years ago: "It's a way for mothers to find sanity.  Using high quality, naturally-based spa products provides a daily ritual that helps moms feel better."  

We all deserve to feel beautiful and whole.  That's why this month I am giving away Sensaria's Beach Scent Bundle (pictured below), a $60 value.  And, it's just in time for Mother's Day!   All you need to do is send a comment before April 30 for a chance to win.  The winner will be randomly selected using Random.org.  Good luck!  

A Shower for Your Brain: Who Would Have Thought?

Since becoming a mom, bathing has taken on a whole different meaning.  It means fending off the stink with a quick washcloth wipe-down.  I bathe to get the job done.  I haven't fogged up the bathroom mirror in ages.  No time for that.  There's a little person standing at the side of the bathtub, launching her toys into the water, trying herself to dive in.  I now consider a shower (one that's long enough to shave my legs) somewhat of a far-off luxury.  

As an educator, I always did my best thinking in the shower.  It was home to countless teaching "aha!" moments, and thus, scrapped lesson plans.  It was in a hot, steamy shower that the mental fog lifted.  I often thought God, why didn't I think of this sooner?  The answer: I wasn't in the shower.  

In the July 2008 issue of The New Yorker, Jonah Lehrer writes a fascinating article entitled, "The Eureka Hunt: Why do good ideas come to us when they do?"  He says that it is common for insight to come to us in a warm, relaxing shower. (If that's really true, I'm doomed.) Lehrer believes that insights originate as a result of a flood of neural activity in the right side of the brain, and that we are best able to tap into that hemisphere when we are relaxed. 

I need a shower.  Maybe that's why I can't think straight, why I walk into the same room five times and can't figure out why I'm there.  Although, to be honest, I'm not looking for an epiphany, just a few coherent thoughts.  As a mom, it's a real challenge to find time to linger, to open ourselves up to possibility, to "aha!" moments.  While I can live with a little stink, maybe I've underestimated the value of a shower.  Perhaps my daughter is onto something.  She's inviting me to dive in! (with her, of course.)

Time for a "Staycation"

Do you ever find yourself saying, "I need a vacation"? I do it all the time. But for many Americans, a vacation isn't in the cards right now. We're living in some topsy-turvy, scary economic times. Our 401k's are worth half of what they were 2 years ago, the market wavers more than a moody teenage girl, and frankly, we don't know who to trust.

The other day, as I was recycling my junk mail, I fell upon the idea of a "staycation," vacationing at home. I think the idea of a vacation is more of a mindset than anything else. You don't have to be reclining under a palm tree to achieve a sense of calm (although that sounds really nice right now). A vacation is about waking up at your leisure, lollygagging about, and voluntarily shirking your responsibilities and obligations in exchange for some good old fashion family fun. Thanks, Clark W. Griswold.

In the beginning of April, my husband has a week off from school, and we've decided to go on a staycation for two days. Actually, I think it's going to be quite a challenge. Many people, myself included, actually have a hard time relaxing in their own homes. We say, "I'll relax when the _____ is done." And so, we never relax, because there is always something to be done. It's so easy to get sucked into the distractions and send that one last email. For me, this staycation will be about no rushing, no schedules, and no doing. Just being. (That's why we're called human beings, not human doings.)

Here are some ideas for a family "staycation":

1. Turn off the TV and rent a Disney flick or go to the movies.
2. Take a family bike ride or hike.
3. Play a board game or a card game together.
4. Eat out at your favorite restaurant.
5. Go to a children's museum, aquarium, science center, or zoo.
6. Make an ice cream sundae buffet.
7. Unplug the phone, the computer, and the telephone.
8. Give everybody a break from chores and responsibilities.
9. Fly kites in an open field.
10. Dust off the sleeping bags and have a slumber party- ghost stories included!

I haven't yet decided how my family is going to spend our two days. We're going to fly by the seat of our pants, but definitely kick back and just enjoy one another.  And hey, I can light a coconut-scented candle and put on some Banana Boat sunscreen to give it that "beach vacation" feel.

Managing Your Life: One Thing at a Time

Every time I blink, it seems that my daughter is another half-inch taller, learning and growing and discovering the world.  Life's too short to miss out on pointing to the birds or "choo-chooing" when the train whistles through our town.  Still, it's hard to ignore that little voice in my head that's obsessing over dirty dishes, dirty toilets, and dirty laundry (Life would be so much sweeter without dirt!).  As a mom, it's hard to find that middle ground without beating yourself up over the leftover scrambled eggs, now glued to the plate, from this morning's breakfast.  

Sometimes my mental to-do lists are so long, that I do nothing.  I'm literally incapacitated by my seemingly insurmountable lists.  And so I ruminate, wishing I didn't care so darn much about the unimportant stuff.  These days, I am learning to think smaller.  I recently discovered a one-item list notepad (Yup, that's it!), and it's absolutely perfect for a mom like me, not to mention a lot less daunting.  It reads, "I will do one thing today." How liberating!  Now I can breathe.  The sun is shining.  The birds are singing.  I'm off to the park!  

Visit Pretty Bitter to order a pad for yourself.  You deserve to feel empowered!