How do we think about happiness?

"To be without some of the things you want is an indispensable part of happiness." - Bertrand Russell

I posted this quote on my Facebook page the other day because I had seen it over on The Happiness Project and it resonated with me. In truth, I hadn't thought about its meaning that deeply but when a friend called on me to explain what it meant, I felt I had to take on the challenge. It was a work day and I was trying to get a number of things done, but in the back of my mind, I kept thinking about how to interpret this statement.

By the end of the day, this is what I had come up with:

1) When you have everything you want, you have no need to change or grow. When you don't have everything you want, you will strive for more (not necessarily material things) and increase your happiness in the process. 

2) I also think about this as the feeling that you get when you are lying in bed under a blanket and you start to get too warm so you stick your bare foot out from under the covers to find a little cool air. This balance creates happiness (or at least contentment) until you find that your foot is now cold and you have to put it back under the covers. That moment of happiness is most salient when you first move your foot out or back under the covers - that change or transition point is when you most notice that you are happy. After that you go back to wanting something else, which again brings you to that state of contentment.

 I wasn't completely satisfied with my response and I kept thinking about it as the girls and I started our long weekend. My spouse was away so it was just the three of us. We decided to take a trip to the beach on Saturday.

We never actually leave the house as early as I think we are going to and this day was no exception. We had to make a few stops along the way and we didn't find ourselves at the beach until 2:00 in the afternoon. The kids didn't seem to care. They had a blast splashing in the water and playing in the sand. We combed the beach for shells and rocks to take home. We stayed for about three hours before taking a leisurely drive home. As we passed the houses along the shore, my older daughter said, "I wish we could live here. I love it. I would go to the beach every day. It would be so much fun."

I thought about that for a while and she said it a few more times on the drive home. I realized that this was what Bertrand Russell was talking about. I said to her, "I'm so glad you love it when we come to the beach. I do too. I know you think you'd like to live here all the time, but I'm not sure you'd find it as special if you were always here. It's the leaving and coming back to a favorite place that makes us appreciate it so much." And I actually said out loud, "That's what Bertrand Russell meant." To which my daughter replied, "Who?"

Downsizing a Life

I've decided that I don't want to pretend that I'm wonder woman anymore. I wasn't especially good at it and it has had an increasingly adverse impact on my life and my family. I want to do less. Can I do it? I dunno, but I'm going to try.

More (or maybe less) to come on this... 

My favorite things

The kitchen is covered in a fine layer of flour and sparkling sugar. The scents of cinnamon, cocoa and vanilla hang in the air. It's the week before Christmas and I've been baking.

This is one of my favorite times of year. I get to stay up late and sip a little brandy or port (ok, sometimes it's bourbon), listening to my favorite music - on headphones so I don't wake up the girls. Over the course of the week I make batch after batch of cookies:

-Fig and walnut biscotti
-Lemon rosemary shortbread
-Pecan crescents
-Drunken fruit and nut bars
-Chai spice balls
-Cappuccino shortbread
-Mexican chocolate balls
-Spritz

The list grows and changes each year.

The purpose of baking all of these cookies is not to eat them myself - in fact I rarely eat cookies while I'm baking them. No, these are to give away to friends and family. Part of the fun during my week of baking is the time I spend poring over recipes after putting the kids to bed. I dig through cookbooks and web recipes, I find notes I've scrawled onto scraps of paper. I make my preliminary list of what I will bake. I try to create a balance - some cookies have fruit, others have nuts or strong spices, and there is always chocolate.

After the list is complete and I've made sure I have all of the supplies I will need, I am ready to bake. I love the stillness of the house as I move through my kitchen, creaming butter, adding sugar, flour, cinnamon, and cocoa. I love shaping the cookies. Each one is a little different. To me, they are beautiful.

While I do love to bake alone, I also make time to share the fun with my girls. I save the spritz cookies for an evening when we can bake together. They love to sprinkle the formed cookies with sparkly sugar and non-pareils. They help me tint the dough green and red to punch out mini Christmas trees and flowers. Often when I bake with them, we make sugar cookies that they can decorate with sticky icing. Those never make it into the gift bags - my girls have no qualms about eating the cookies when they are done baking.

Baking all of the cookies is a big part of the fun, but cookie delivery time is just as wonderful. First, I have to pack up all of the cookies into bags or takeout boxes - it's quite an assembly. Everyone's package gets labeled. Some of the deliveries I do solo but what I most enjoy is to pack the girls into the car and drive around town, looking at holiday light displays and stopping in to visit with friends. We probably stay at each house for only 15 minutes or so before heading back out into the cold to our next stop. Sharing something as simple as a gift of cookies and good cheer with our friends - this is truly one of my favorite things. No fancy presents needed.

And, if you are wondering, these may have been my favorite cookies this year - a new recipe for me - Cappuccino Sails from Judy Rosenberg's cookbook. They are a coffee-laced shortbread cookie dunked first in very dark chocolate and then coated with toasted almonds. Yum.

Power. What's the point?

Power. It's a complicated thing. In my work, I have power in what I think of as small ways. I have access to money and I've built relationships across the campus where I work. I try to use this particular power to do good by our students. On some days, being able to wield this power is very rewarding but oftentimes just having the power and desire to help is not enough.

Today it was rewarding. I was able to help a student with an emergency scholarship so that she won't have to worry about how she will be able to pay the rest her bill. I like this student. She's smart and she's got that spark that comes from being a quick study in new situations. She will be a leader someday. In fact, I'm sure she is already. I was psyched to feel like I was investing in her future and our collective future.

On other days, having the power to help just frustrates the hell out of you. Last semester I got a call from someone in the college where I work. She told me that she knew of a student who was living out of her car because she didn't have the money to repair it and she lived too far away to make the drive back and forth every day without the fear that she would get stuck somewhere. The staff person who called me explained that the student was very private and had a difficult time reaching out for help.

Well, here was a problem I could fix. I immediately sprang into action. I called my colleague in residence life to see if we could find the student a room. I called my colleague in financial aid to see if we could get her a little more money. I was able to find some scholarship money in one of our funds to supplement the additional aid. Everything was in place, the student just had to call and ask for help.

I waited. She didn't call. It was finals time. I couldn't even imagine the stress of living in a car while trying to study for finals. Days went by. I called the staff person who originally told me about this student. I asked if she'd seen her. She told me that she tried to convince the student to ask for help but that she had decided to "tough it out." I told the staff person that I'd hold onto our plans and set the funds aside for the student and whenever she was ready, all she had to do was call. She never did.

I was so perplexed. I realized how invested I'd become in helping this student whom I'd never even met. I thought I could make everything better for her. I knew who to call. I had a little bit of scholarship money. It could all work out exactly as I planned. I really didn't expect to have this offer of help ignored.

It was an interesting lesson for me. I thought I had the perfect fix. I didn't count on it not working for the student. I realized that it's not enough to have a little power if those you want to help don't want any part of your assistance. I haven't learned not to get too invested in the students but I am trying to understand them better. My way is not always their way and I am not always right. Like most so-called adults, I think I have all of the answers but I don't. All I have is a little bit of power and the desire to help.

March is the bitterest month

The month of March hits me like an errant wave. It buckles my knees, knocking me down. It threatens to roll me under, sucking out my breath. Each year I find myself struggling against the undertow to get to my feet again. 

At least February, despite the ferocity of the cold and threats of blizzard, is the shortest month. You can hold your breath and soon you are on the other side, shaking your head to clear it and holding out hope for the warmth of spring. But instead you find yourself in March, with its 31 long day, some of which are tauntingly warm – maybe even a balmy 55 degrees. But then, to make sure you don’t get too comfortable in your longing for spring, the following day will be sure to drench you in freezing rain, or pile another 6 inches of snow on the tired-looking and dirty snow dunes that still flank all of the roads and driveways.

To be sure, this winter has been especially harsh, making March an even more miserable slog. Our bodies are weary from holding them rigid while we walk through the blowing winds, trying not to fall on the ever-present ice that lines the walkways. Complexions are pale from the want of sunshine; foreheads seem permanently creased in concentration. Even our eyes have adjusted to the dreary palette of white, gray and brown that marks winter. Once March arrives, we are longing for bright colors and gaiety. 

We long for something to lift our spirits so we begin to plan. My daughters scour the landscape for signs of spring – a patch of dingy grass, the first snowdrop or crocus. My gardening friends have been scrutinizing seed catalogs, comparing the brightly colored photos of various varieties of produce. For myself, I begin to plan our summer trips – a long weekend at the Cape, a camping trip in New Hampshire, maybe a week on the Rhode Island coast. We don’t have to travel far. We just need a change of scenery, some time by the ocean or in the mountains. 

When I start to plan these trips, my spirits finally allow themselves to lift. I begin to imagine a time when the sun actually warms my body, when I don’t have to shrug into a heavy coat and sensible shoes. My toes wiggle in anticipation of digging into soft sand and putting on flip flops. For me, the visions of summer vacation ground me and help me manage to get through another long day in March.

Two Hours

Today has been a long day. It started when I got up at 4:30 am. Work-related stress has been giving me insomnia this week. Sometimes it's just better to get up and do something rather than lie there thinking about all of the stuff that needs to be done. So, I got up. I made a to do list for work and then I edited a report that needed attention. When the members of my household started to get up, I turned to the task of getting them ready for the day. Lunches and breakfasts were made. Everyone was dressed. Then it was time for day care drop off, which, for a change, went pretty smoothly.

From there I was off to work. I knew I only had a few hours before I had to go to a meeting so I tried to get through as much of that to do list as I could. I also knew that I would have to leave work after that meeting to bring my mother to a doctor's appointment. All morning I was troubled by this feeling of being inconvenienced. I have so much work to do and yet I had promised to go with my mom to any of her doctor's appointments if she ever needed me. She asked. I had to say yes, even if the timing felt bad.  You can't say no to the woman who gave birth to you, right?

At 1:00 I rushed out of my office and I rushed halfway across the state to pick her up. I was late, even though I had budgeted in an extra 1/2 hour of travel time. I faced road construction and a closed street right at my usual shortcut, and I must have hit every red light I came across. By the time I got there to pick her up, I felt terrible, I had let her down. As it turned out, I didn't have to worry.

Not only did we make it to her doctor's office with fifteen minutes to spare, but the doctor was running behind so we didn't get to see him at the scheduled time. In fact, we had a two hour wait before he could see us. 

Despite the delay, her doctor was lovely. He apologized profusely for being so late. Then he got down to business. He spoke words that I'm sure he's spoken so many times. "There's a mass. We dont't think it's malignant but we have to be sure." I sat there calmly throughout the appointment. I asked appropriate questions. I took notes. After the appointment, we went back to my mom's. Her friend was waiting for her there. I rehashed the entire appointment. "There's a mass. It's probably not cancer but they have to take it out to make sure that it's not." The words felt reassuring.

On the drive home I kept thinking about the two hours we had spent waiting for the doctor. I knew I was supposed to be annoyed that it took so long for him to get to us. He had several family conferences lined up that day. He apologized. I know I was supposed to be annoyed, but really I wasn't. Not at all. We spent the time together talking and laughing. I had a chance to really listen to my mom - not the way I sometimes do, halfheartedly, when I'm on the phone with her and I'm checking my email and the kids are pulling on me. Then I don't really get a chance to listen. But really, it was great, a luxury even, to get to sit with her and talk about our family, what my kids are up to, and even what she's watching on TV.  

Before that long drive home, as I got ready to leave her house, my mom slipped me ten bucks. "It's for the gas," she said. "Mom, I don't want this," I replied. But she insisted, so I put it in my pocket. You aren't supposed to say no to your mother, right? I will find a way to slide it back to her. I know it's her way of paying me back for those two hours. But I don't want her money and I wouldn't trade those two hours for anything. Two hours is not such a long time.

Life (or something like it)

We've decided that on the day we leave for vacation, we won't rush to get out the door. Being in a rush does no one any good, it just makes us more stressed out than we need to be. So, now we have a leisurely breakfast and take our time packing up the car. The girls help put clothes into their suitcase. They choose books and stuffed animals to bring with them. And I don't freak out that the house isn't spotless for our ten year old neighbor who watches the cats while we are gone. These small changes have helped us to ease into vacation.

So, this was the state of things on the Monday in July when we started off for our week at the RI shore. I had dumped the compost before I left, but I completely forgot to deal with the bunch of parsley I'd stuck in a glass of water while I was cooking over the weekend. It stayed on the table all week, the glass now drained of water, the parsley getting yellower and yellower until our return on Saturday.

As the spouse was unpacking the car, I noticed the parsley and was about to dispose of it when a brilliant splash of green with speckles of black and gold caught my eye. There was a big caterpillar among the dried out leaves. I immediately called Nina over to see it. She's very fond of caterpillars, having adopted Jimmy last Memorial Day. She was thrilled at my discovery and went to go get her bug house.

We put the caterpillar inside and I went out to the garden to get some fresh parsley leaves. Nina named this caterpillar Jimmy 2 and we made it as comfortable as we could. I thought it might be a butterfly caterpillar but I wasn't sure what variety. We really had no idea what might happen with this creature that found its way into our house. We've never had good luck keeping fish, so who knew what to expect. We replenished the leaves and cleaned out the poop (and this little guy pooped a lot!) for almost two weeks, at which point we noticed that Jimmy 2 was spending a lot of time hanging out upside down on the top of the bug house.

One morning as we were getting ready for our day, I noticed that Jimmy 2 had entered the chrysalis stage. I was truly surprised when this happened, despite reading Eric Carle's Very Hungry Caterpillar on MANY occasions. I didn't have any idea how much time it might take for the beautiful butterfly to emerge but we were all eagerly waiting to see if it would actually happen.

It's amazing what will work out if you just let things be and don't try to rush them. After a week and a half it happened. I was at work, on the phone with Paul. He had just gotten home with the girls and we were probably talking about what to do about dinner when all of a sudden his voice changed. He sounded genuinely surprised and excited. He said, "Oh my god! There's a butterfly! It's right here on the counter. It's so pretty!"

Whenever I replay this conversation in my head, I smile. It's not often as adults that we let ourselves experience wonder in this way but there is almost no other response I can imagine after witnessing this miraculous transformation.

By the time I got home, the girls were really excited and wanted to help let Jimmy 2 go free. We went to get the neighbors so they could watch. We all gathered around the little bug house. I not-so-gingerly cracked the top off (since Jimmy 2 was now too big to go out through the corked entrance). The lovely black swallowtail butterfly had to be coaxed out of his house. He seemed a bit confused as he sat among the greenery.

Soon he figured it out, spread his wings, and was off into the neighbors' yard before we could even get a photo of him in flight. We watched him go and comforted Nina that we would see him again -- we do have a butterfly garden, after all -- and then we continued on with our lives, although we are not quite the same as before.

Lucky

This morning I cracked three eggs into a blue ceramic bowl and discovered that two of them had double yolks. Must be my lucky day.

As the girls and I ate breakfast, I told them they each could make a wish because of our lucky eggs. I tried to get Nina to tell me her wish but she knows better than that now. The last time she made a wish, it didn't come true and I told her that some people believe wishes don't work if you say them out loud. So, now she has a second chance and she’s not going to say a word to me about her wish.

This whole incident started me thinking about luck. What is luck and how do we get it? Do we make it for ourselves? Are we born with it? Or is it just about how we view the world?

I hear that advocates of The Secret, that much-touted, Oprah’s list book, believe that if you merely think positively – if you just wish hard enough – then all of your desires will be realized. It’s like the ultimate get-rich-quick scheme (and it seems to be working for the book’s authors). At the same time, these people also believe that you can give yourself cancer with your negative thoughts.

If you want my opinion, this is just bunk. Luck is all a matter of perspective.

One of our family traditions each summer is to spend a weekend on the Cape. We head out towards the end of June when hopes for summer weather are high, but the hotel rates have not yet risen to match them. The girls really look forward to this trip and I’ve written about it before. We always leave our house with high expectations for our long weekend adventure but reality sets in about an hour into the journey. There is something about vacationing with small children that is very challenging. So while we are building really great memories with our kids, we are also trying to keep our sanity while driving four hours in our car and then sharing a small hotel room for three or four days.

Each year, as they get older, the trip will get a little easier. Perhaps one of these times, they won’t flop themselves into the ocean fully clothed within the first five minutes of seeing the beach. Maybe they will eventually learn to use an indoor voice in the hotel’s common breakfast room or maybe I will just ignore the looks I think I’m getting from other guests.

As the mother of these two lovely and rambunctious girls, I typically spend part of the weekend feeling annoyed and frustrated. But this year, just as I was beginning to feel unlucky, we met the family staying two doors down from us at the hotel. There was a single mother with two kids, a boy and a girl. It was clear that the son had some developmental issues and was hard to deal with. But this woman was doing it alone, smiling and patient the whole time. To me it seemed as if she had figured it out, even though you could tell it wasn't easy to deal with her energetic son. She was amazing to watch – calm and loving, where I would probably have been tense, anxious and cranky.

Maybe we do only get as much as we can handle in life. Maybe good luck and bad luck are just flip sides of the same coin. Maybe in those moments when I start to feel unlucky, I should remember to pay attention to the beauty around me.

Watching the girls as they run and play together on the beach, seeing the excitement in Nina’s face as she watches the waves (usually with her mouth open), and the wonder in Rita’s eyes when she figured out that the “statue” in downtown Provincetown was actually a real person (she couldn’t take her eyes away). These are the moments I need to pay attention to. I like to listen to them as they tell each other stories or play pretending games. They are much more relaxed and fun when we don't interfere with a correction or shushing. These two little girls are such a treasure and we are lucky that they look out for each other and love each other so much.

My work is in learning to let go of - or at least loosen - my expectations and be okay with the fact that things are not always going to go exactly as I think I want them to. I have to try to find the beauty in what comes instead of always trying to control it. And, I have to remember that I am lucky.

Snuggle Time

It's 7:15 a.m. There are dishes in the sink, unfolded laundry in a basket by the chair that we pile the folded clothes onto before we decide we want to wear them, and cat hair tumbleweeds blow freely across the floor. My husband is making the lunches but breakfast still needs to be prepared and I am sitting on the couch under the comfortable heft of my three-year old, while her older sister sits beside me, holding my arm in a vice-like grip. She's trying to train herself to stop pinching me but it's slow-going. They are drinking milk. It's our morning snuggle time. I try to forget about all of the things that aren't getting done around me as I sit, tethered to the couch. I try instead to inhale the smell of my daughter's hair and enjoy the cozy warmth of their little bodies.

This is how most days start at our house and I've learned that when we miss our morning snuggle time, things don't go quite as smoothly as when I surrender to it. Someone eventually starts screaming or refuses to get dressed or brush her hair. These are alternatives that I can do without. It's hard enough to get all of us out the door on time in the morning when things go well.

Despite my knowing that morning snuggle time is the key to peacefully starting our day, it is not in my nature to sit like this. I constantly work at it. I am a chronic putterer. I do my best thinking and problem-solving while meandering around the house putting things in order - doing dishes, folding laundry, sorting socks.

To the casual observer, it may appear that I am simply performing mundane tasks, but in reality, I am solving the world's problems. Okay, that's not true, but I am considering the various predicaments under my jurisdiction at home and at work. My puttering time is typically when creative solutions pop into my head, so I relish it. Besides, when I spend time this way, there are definitely fewer cat hair tumbleweeds in the house.

However, I also know just how important is to make sure that I take the time to really be present for these strong-willed, bright, funny girls. Making space for them to talk and letting them lounge on me without my being distracted is the best gift I can give them, but sometimes I find it so difficult to do. My mind will be racing along at top speed, working on who knows what, and I'll abruptly be pulled back to the present and realize that I have two kids climbing all over me. When I do give them all of my attention, the payoff is so great. Everyone feels happy, heard and valued. Isn't this what we all crave? Why do I struggle so much with giving this gift to my girls? Each day, I have to set an intention to do this small thing because I know it is what really matters for them in the long run.

Sensitive

The bruise on my forehead is an ugly patchwork of blues and yellows. It will be a week old tomorrow but it's still sensitive to the touch. I try to hide it behind my hair because otherwise people tend to gape and ask questions.

I almost wish I had a more dramatic story to explain what happened because the truth is a bit humiliating. It was raining. I was at the store and wanted to get into the car quickly. I whacked myself in the head with the corner of the car door. Instant swelling. Ugh.

By the time I got home, I had a bump the size of a small hen's egg over my left eye. I'll never forget the look on my husband's face. He was horrified. "Just get me the ice pack," I said. I didn't want the girls to see it because I knew I looked like a monster. But really, how was I going to hide it from them?

At dinner both of my girls had to see the "boo-boo" on my head. Rita, who's three, looked up at it with her mouth wide open. "I can kiss it, Mama," she said. She looked so scared that I had gotten hurt. It was upsetting to see her this worried, and it brought me back to a time when I saw my own mother get hurt and I was equally afraid.

I was probably 12 or 13 at the time. My mother had decided that she wanted to start exercising more regularly, so she took a ride on my sister's ten-speed. Only five minutes later she was back and it was clear that she was hurt. She had been riding along the side of the busy road that ran close to our house. For some reason she was looking over her shoulder and she rode right into a telephone pole. She hit it full force with the side of her face. It was swollen and bruised and she was crying.

I remember feeling very scared and worried. What if she had really done damage? Should we bring her to the hospital? I called my friends down the street and spoke with their mom. I told her what happened and I fully expected her to come down and make everything right, but instead she laughed at me. "She'll be fine," she said. In hindsight, I’m sure she was right but at the time I was really angry at her reaction. My mother was crying and I needed someone to fix it.

Maybe it was because my mother has always been so careful about not showing her emotions, but I was totally freaked out to see her so hurt and upset. It was out of the ordinary and I didn't know what to do with it. I was convinced that she needed to seek immediate medical attention.

So, now I know where my first instinct came from, the one that said that I shouldn’t show my girls the giant bump on my head. It's ingrained in me not to show my kids things that may make them uncomfortable. In the end, it was probably better that they did see it. And, they saw me put ice on it to bring the swelling down.

It seems that the lesson for me here is that it's okay for my kids to see that occasionally one of the grownups in their life may be hurt - physically or emotionally - but that we can (and do) make it through the pain to be okay again. God, who would have thought it would take 40+ years to figure out something that seems so simple?

Going Round and Round

Work! I'm doing work right now. What is the matter with me? It's my writing night but because I won't be in the office for the next two days, I'm tidying up a bunch of email. This is not what writing night is all about. I am supposed to be sitting here, thinking about witty things that I can write short essays about. And, truth be told, I have a backlog of unfinished posts that I am having trouble finishing. I'm not sure why this is.

My semester as a grad student is finished and most of my big events at work are wrapped up until the fall, but I seem to be spinning my wheels here. I was hoping to spend time this summer writing for fun and maybe trying to publish something (while trying not to get my hopes up on this - plus, I that means I would actually have to finish something and submit it). I have set aside one night a week as writing night where I get together with a friend who is on deadline to finish her dissertation. I also get up early to write three pages of whatever comes to me in the morning.

For the past two weeks, I have been unable to complete anything concrete. I scribble in my notebook or I surf the web. Maybe I am still coming down from a very intense time and I just need to give myself a break. But at some point, I think I just have to write and finish something - and here I was about to go on to say, "or give up on this dream" but then I literally stopped myself and deleted those words before they were finished. I mean, who cares if I don't finish a thing? If I don't create a single, coherent written piece? I just like the act of writing, of choosing words and phrases that go together and linger in my head for a while, that I can see on the screen or on the page.

The act of writing helps me to process things differently than I do when I am just in my head without pen and paper or keyboard. I often end up in a very different place than I imagined I would when I started. It's like somewhere in my brain there's a path I have to follow and it feels comfortable and familiar but I don't know where it leads until I get there - and then when I do get there, I realize that there is still a lot more path ahead. I guess this is my roundabout manifesto on why I need to keep pursuing this act of writing, without judging how or where it's going.

Weaning Myself off Distraction

I'm trying something new and it may take me a while to get it right...

Between my job and my doctoral program, my workload is at a tipping point. I feel like if I add one more project I will be completely paralyzed and not be able get anything done. At the end of the day, I joke to a colleague, "Well, I'm going to put this wedge under the boulder I've been pushing uphill all day and just come back to it tomorrow." I know that if I miss one day, or lose even an hour or two, it might destabilize the pile of work that I imagine is balancing precariously on the very corner of my desk. One wrong move and it will spill to the floor in a heap.

Thank god I'm not dealing with matters of life and death in my work. I mean, I hope that I'm making some kind of impact, but honestly, if I disappeared tomorrow, things would go on (but I think people would be really pissed that I wasn't there to finish what I started).

Anyway, I digress... The problem here is that I have to modify my work style. For too long I have been able to work more-or-less effectively by multi-tasking my way through the day. I constantly have my email open so that I can respond quickly to any messages. I might be chatting online with someone while proofreading a report, or checking the local news while reading scholarship applications. People constantly stop by my office to gossip or chat about our latest crisis. When I am home reading for class or writing a paper, I always have email and Facebook open. This is no longer working for me. The truth is that I have to get rid of some of these distractions and start tuning out unnecessary things out so I that I can focus on what matters.

First, I dumped Twitter. I hardly ever used it anyway, so this was easy to do. My next step will be to close my email and limit myself to checking it only a few times a day - I know this will be very difficult for me. I am addicted to being online and reachable. Facebook is another distraction and it is one of those things that I know I could live without but I would miss hearing what my punk-rock friends in Providence are up to. I know I can't completely abandon it, but at least I can have rules around when I am on.

Keeping these distractions to a minimum is much harder than I ever thought. I have become used to the instant gratification that comes with our digital lives. I need to know now who is sending me email and who is commenting on my post. When did this happen? It makes me wonder whether I have always had a short attention span or if this is a side effect of trying to do too many things in this life.

I know that if I want to be more thoughtful in my work and with my family, I have to find a way to focus on what is really important. I'm trying to see if I can use my online distractions as a "reward" for staying focused for longer periods of time. But really, this is a slippery slope. It's so easy just to spend half an hour or an hour surfing through the latest non-news posted by my closest 300 friends, leaving witty comments here and there. I've tried to narrow down my friend list but it's harder than you'd think. So, here I am back to square one, trying to find a way to focus on what is important while simultaneously justifying my online addiction...

Perhaps I'll give myself a month to try cutting back on the online distractions. If at the end of March I am still just as sidetracked by the virtual world, I may just give it up in favor of live-only interactions. Of course, I'll still have to keep email, you know, for work...

Sit with it

Here's a little nugget of wisdom that I need to remember. When events are not going my way or I'm upset, angry or uncomfortable, I have to be able to sit with that experience.

Just like New England weather, if I give it enough time, it will change.

I have difficulty with stillness. I should sit with that...

Overcoming Inertia

I took some time out this week to go away overnight with a couple of my girlfriends. These are women that I have known for most of my life -- my oldest and dearest friends. We had been thinking about going away for a while and it just worked out that we could all meet for a couple of days during the week between Christmas and New Year's. We all had the same thought that if we had a good time, we'd try to make it an annual adventure. The funny thing is that we all were hesitant to announce this until it was clear that we were going to have a good time -- and we did. I can't remember when I've laughed so much.

So, what does this have to do with inertia?
This adventure with my friends was an example of letting go and being in the present moment. Particularly when you have small children, it can be difficult to feel that you fully live in the world. At least for me, a lot of time is spent worrying -- worrying that they will get hurt, that I am not doing the right thing, that they are being somehow ruined by something that I am doing as a crap parent.

Recently it occurred to me that I have not really been present much in my own life. I've been hovering on the edges, going through the motions and spending time in my head thinking about what could go wrong without really feeling fully integrated in things. I had forgotten how to listen to music. I was afraid of stupid things - like driving into Boston or letting my kids walk on the sidewalk without having to hold my hand. These are little things. I don't want to be afraid of life and I certainly don't want to raise girls who are afraid to live.

Anxiety and fear hold us back. They cause suffering that could be avoided if we could just let go of them. This is what I'd like to try for the new year. I want to be brave and embrace life more fully. I want to live.

But, it's never that simple, is it? We go along in life, following these well-worn grooves that we are accustomed to -- despite the fact that they might feel bad or uncomfortable. We do the same things over and over again because it's what we know. There's a great poem by Portia Nelson, called "Autobiography in Five Short Chapters" that talks about finding a new way. I think I'm on Chapter Three. My goal is to get to Chapter Five sometime in the future.

But, until I am able to find that other street, I am going to focus on living more, moving more, singing more and trying to let joy happen without focusing on doubts and fears.

The Christmas spirit is flagging...

"Can we try to be thrifty for Christmas this year?" I asked my spouse as he thumbed through the Red Envelope catalog. The truth is I don't know if I can work up the energy to do much in the way of shopping. I'd much rather spend a whole day baking Christmas cookies with the kids than go to the god-awful mall to look for yet another piece of plastic crap that has no meaning.

I usually love Christmas, especially now that I have kids. But, for some reason, this year I am having trouble getting into the spirit of the holidays. Personally, I don't need or want anything. In fact, I'd prefer to get rid of things this year. I've been thinking a lot about how to live life more simply. I would like to subscribe to my friend BJ's philosophy of the gift of nothing but I have a feeling that most of the other people in my life won't understand why I'd want to do this.

I'm not a total scrooge. Santa will visit my house. My daughters have already made their lists. Rita says she wants, "some toys." and Nina tells me, "I placed an order with Santa for a My Little Pony movie." I had no idea that was possible. But, still, I'm going to try to do a little less this year. They are so young and will get so many gifts from all of our extended family, they won't notice if Santa doesn't bring a ton of presents. I hope they will only remember the joy.

A few years ago, when I only had one child, I found the energy to make a bunch of my dad's favorite meals, which I then froze in individual serving containers and presented to him in a big cooler with a bow on it. That was one of the best gifts I've ever given. How can I compete with that this year, when I am exhausted from finishing up all of my course work for the semester on top of everything else?

Maybe I'll get some of that energy and spirit back -- and maybe I won't. Maybe it's time for a change of holiday traditions. If it were entirely up to me, I'd focus more on spending time with the people I love instead of purchasing stuff that they probably don't need or want. Maybe I'll broach this subject with my family on Christmas this year. There's a chance they might feel the same way, right? There's a chance that we can all consider embracing the gift of nothing.

Balance is an illusion

I know that probably sounds like a cliché by now - a forty-something year old woman complaining that the work-life balance goal is just a fantasy. But, here I sit, at the kitchen table with Rita next to me, playing with Playdoh, while I slog through a stack of reading for my class on Monday night.

It's official, I now work full-time, go to school part-time and try to manage a household containing two little girls and a spouse. There's no 50-50. There are no breaks. It's hard as hell but, at least on some days, I am excited to make it work.

It's true that you have to let some things go when you are trying to do too many things. So, friends, if you were offended by my messy house before, you may want to avoid dropping by now. My Monday babysitter took pity on me last week and folded all the clean laundry that had piled up - now all I have to do is put it away - HAH! - more likely, we'll just pick out what we want to wear from the neat pile on the chair and put it on.

A couple of weeks ago, I felt such dread at the thought of having to finish a paper before class the next day that I told my husband I was going to quit the program. "Okay," he said. This was not a helpful response but he was probably just tired of hearing my gripes. Luckily, I have other friends, those in my doctoral program and others who have finished already and they remind me that I can do it. That it's best not to take things too seriously, to get as much done as you can without freaking out (and papers do get done better that way). To them I say, "Thanks!" To the spouse, I say, "Put away your own underwear!"

Sadness and Love

The other night I was putting the girls to bed and I was singing them a song I had made up. I sang about how cute and sweet they are and how much I love them. Then I added a line about how sad I'd be if they ever went away. Nina asked me to keep singing to her, so I did. After a few minutes, she looked over at me with her eyes full of tears and her face about to crumple. I stopped singing and asked what she was feeling. She said, "When you sang about how sad you'd be if we went away, it made me so sad. Why did it make me so sad?"

We talked about how sometimes when we love someone so much, it makes us sad to think about not being together. We also talked about the fact that we don't cry just when we are sad but sometimes we even cry when we are happy or because we love someone so much.

This kid is getting so big and she asks these questions that are difficult even for grown ups to understand. All I can do is look on with love (and usually with tears in my eyes), answer her questions as best as I can, and hope that she never questions how much I love her.

56° and raining

Since March I had been planning a family getaway to the Cape. We were to spend a long weekend in mid-June enjoying the sun and the beach - before it got overrun with tourists. Everything started off well, we began our trip at Edaville Railroad in Carver, MA, where we took a ride on Thomas the Tank Engine. This is the third year in a row that we've done this and it's always fun. We had a great day for it, the sun was shining and the girls were happy and well-behaved. We rode the train then went on some of the other rides at the park. Just as the sky started to darken, we decided to head out for the rest of our weekend on the Cape.

As planned, Rita slept in the car on the drive to the outer reaches of the Cape. We had booked a hotel room in Provincetown for the next three nights. Once we arrived, we decided not to tempt fate by walking around town with two tired kids after an already-full day, so we ordered a pizza and ate it in our hotel room.

The next morning we woke up to gray skies and cool weather. Luckily, I had packed coats and long pants. After breakfast, we spent time wandering around in Provincetown, checking out the shops. We took a walk down to the water just as it started to mist. We were lucky to make it back to the hotel before the heavy rains started.

While the two-year old took a nap with her Papa, Nina and I spent an hour and a half at a coffee shop in town, where I taught her to play bingo, checkers and crazy eights. I was so glad I decided to bring that 7-in-1 game pack along!

The next day we weren't so lucky, it felt cold and it was definitely raining -- not just misty -- and the wind threatened to turn our umbrella inside out. Paul and I joked that the thermometer in the car was broken since it had read 56° since sometime the day before. Still, we were determined to do something with our day; the idea of being stuck in a small hotel room with two little kids was unbearable. So, we struck out for Pilgrim Monument. Completed in 1910, the 252 foot tower marks the spot where the pilgrims (those of the Mayflower) first stopped in their trek to the New World. As we all know, they quickly decided to move on to Plymouth instead, where they are commemorated with a much less impressive ROCK instead of a tower, but there you have it.

Paul and Nina decided to climb all the way to the top of the tower while Rita and I waited in the relative comfort of the museum and gift shop. At first, we did try to go up with them but the wind was howling and blowing rain in through the open windows and Rita put on her best fierce face and said, "No!" I couldn't agree with her more, so down we went. When they got back from their climb, both Paul and Nina said that the wind was so strong at the top that the rain was coming in sideways and Paul had to hold onto Nina so she wouldn't fly out the window.

We also visited the Whydah Pirate Museum for a little while. It's interesting but not enough to hold the attention of two little ones. Although, Nina was fascinated by the rotting pirate in the cage that had been previously hung over the side of the ship. Okay, this one was a reproduction but still, it does capture the imagination.

After lunch, we took a drive so the girls would take a nap. Then we decided that we'd try to go to the beach and at least look at the ocean that we weren't going to get to swim in. We pulled into the lot and parked alongside some other brave souls in rain slickers who just wanted to take a quick walk on the beach. We all got out of the car and started to head towards the path that leads to the shoreline. Once again, Rita decided that she was NOT going to be out in this awful weather. The rain was coming down and the wind whipped so hard that it elicited four-letter words from me unbidden. We headed back to the car. Paul and Nina made an attempt to get to the shore but they didn't get much farther. It was not a beach day.

By now we were beaten down. We had tried, really tried to make the most of a crappy-weather vacation. And, while finding this website was definitely helpful, we really did not have a restful vacation. I haven't even brought up the fact that every night we had a struggle to get the kids to sleep. Being out of our usual routine sends them to a wild and crazy place when it comes to bedtime. Each night, after PJs, brushing teeth and stories, Rita would continually get out of bed and go to the little fridge, open it, take a swig of the milk in her sippy cup, put the cup back and slam the door. She was so proud of herself for figuring out how to open the door. Now the image of our little refrigerator raider is hilarious but in the moment it was pretty infuriating.

We managed to salvage a few good moments during the trip. Playing games with Nina, having a laugh with Paul in the car while the kids were asleep (over I don't even remember what), mostly enjoying one really good meal (that wasn't pizza or hot dogs) while the girls were occupied at the table with crayons, and finishing a really good book in the spare moments I could find, are among the better memories. And, on our last day on the Cape, when we decided to go to the Cape Cod Children's Museum in Mashpee, I spent at least 30 minutes sitting quietly, watching Rita play all by herself with a toy farm. That is beauty and peace.

The Story of Jimmy

On Memorial Day we took the kids to the local parade where we joined some friends and their kids. While waiting for the parade to start, the kids were poking each other with sticks and running around - at least until they discovered the gypsy moth caterpillars. Nina adopted one and named it Jimmy. For her, it was better than the candy being tossed out at the parade.

On the walk home, Nina kept up a running commentary, "Look, Jimmy, there's the library. Hey, Jimmy, we're on the bridge." She was smitten. When we got home, I made Jimmy a house out of a plastic takeout container with some holes cut in the top. We lined it with a nice, fresh maple leaf.

Nina spent the afternoon helping me in the garden and of course, Jimmy was right there with us. Every so often she would take him out and pet his soft little body and coo at him. At one point, she dropped him in the grass and when she couldn't find him right away, she started to cry, "Mama, you must help me find Jimmy! Where is Jimmy!" Finally I did find him and she was so grateful.

Our neighbors were outside in their garden when we almost lost Jimmy and Nina had already gone over to show him off to them. They have a son who is ten or eleven so they understand the whole obsession with crawly things. The next thing I knew, they had presented Nina with an actual bug house for Jimmy. I really have the best neighbors.

For the next several days, Nina carried Jimmy around, showing him things, talking to him and narrating his activities, "Mama, Jimmy is eating. Shhhh, Mama, don't be so loud, Jimmy is taking a nap." She even brought him to day care for show and tell at circle time. Throughout the week, I kept explaining to her that her pet would not be able to become a moth unless he was able to go into a tree and build a cocoon. She understood this but the idea of his leaving was too painful for her to contemplate.

Finally, on Thursday night, on our way home from dinner - Jimmy came with us in the car, of course - Nina decided it was time to set him free. When we got home, it was starting to get dark and it was cold and rainy. I put on my serious face and went with Nina to the maple tree in our front yard. She slipped Jimmy out of his carrier and put him on the tree. She petted him and kissed him and told him goodbye. Just as we were giving him one last look, she decided she couldn't do it. She looked at me and said, "I'm not ready for him to go yet, Mama." Then she put him, and his chewed up maple leaves, back into the bug house and we went in to get ready for bed.

She proceeded to have a complete melt down that night. She had somehow decided that if we didn't let Jimmy go right away, he was going to die during the night. She insisted that we go back out into the dark, rainy night and set him free. But at the same time, she didn't really want to let him go. This was truly an ordeal for her. She was sobbing and saying that she didn't want him to die and we had to set him free. Being the mean mom that I am, I did not let her go back outside in her PJs to set the caterpillar free. We did all manage to calm down and get some sleep.

At about 6:30 the next morning, Nina was wide awake and ready to go set Jimmy free. She had made her mind up during the night that it was okay to let him go. After we all had breakfast and got dressed, the entire family gathered around the maple tree in our front yard to say goodbye to Jimmy. Once again, Nina stroked him and kissed him goodbye, but this time she was able to let him begin the long crawl up the tree trunk. We all waved and Paul very seriously documented the whole thing on his iPhone. And, while Nina was happy with her decision, she still mourns Jimmy a little bit every day. She even started to cry out of the blue over the weekend and when I asked her what was wrong, she told me, "Mama, I miss Jimmy!"

What is unique?

This is still a work in progress:

Earlier this week I was asked to answer the question, "What is unique about you?" This was the third in a series of questions that I was asked to answer before attending an orientation session for the doctoral program I will start in the fall.

My first thought was, "I'm a forty year old, middle-class white woman with two kids - there's nothing unique about me," and I still stand by this initial gut response but in the end, I talked about a previous job I had and how it affected me - and still does to this day.

In my early twenties, I thought that I wanted to become a family therapist. In order to test this out, I took a job as direct care staff at a local mental health agency. I had two different positions. Part of the time, I worked one-on-one with teens and young adults who had mental health issues but were able to function in the world. I spent time helping them to have "normal" lives...

At the same time, I also worked at a respite facility. I joke that it's the place you go when you aren't crazy enough to be hospitalized or where you go when you are ready to leave the hospital but not quite ready to go home. I met a lot of different people through this work. It was often difficult to tell who was a client and who was an employee. The work brings interesting people to it - all of them trying to figure out who they are. Some succeeded better than others.

There are many memorable moments from those years, but there is one that sticks out in my mind as an example of the kind of pain people experience and also as an example of just how messed up this job was.

Lorraine came to the respite site one day. She was about my age, mid-twenties, a slender, blonde, lovely girl with an Irish accent. It was hard to figure out what was going on with her but it was evident that she was truly sad - the kind of deep sadness that transcends one's whole being. The only time we saw even a glimmer of light in her eyes was when she spoke about her brother.

Lorraine had attempted to kill herself before she came to us but she was judged to be relatively safe when she was admitted. No one would have guessed that she would take off out the door of the house just as soon as she had the chance, but that's what she did. The next thing I knew, my supervisor dumped a handful of change into my hand and said, "Follow her. And, call us when you can." So, without questioning this charge, that's what I did.

I quickly caught up to Lorraine as she headed down the street. I tried to talk to her but she refused. She quickly crossed the main thoroughfare and I followed (this was pretty scary). She wandered into downtown and I followed. The whole time I kept talking to her. Asking her anything that came into my mind - I don't even remember now what I was saying, I just kept up a steady stream of conversation. At one point, we stopped by this little park and I was sure she was going to talk to me but I think she was just getting tired and confused. Finally, we started heading back to where the respite house was and we found ourselves in front of a convenience store. Lorraine had finally realized that I wasn't leaving her side and she seemed to be ready to come back with me. I stopped at the pay phone to call in and was talking to the shift supervisor when I glanced over at Lorraine and saw that she was trying to cut her wrists with some broken glass she had found on the ground. I don't even have words to describe my dread at that sight.

We ended up in an ambulance, heading to the hospital. The rest of the day is a bit murky but I will never forget how awful it felt to see her cutting herself. Eventually, Lorraine seemed to stabilize, maybe with our help, but who really knows. She left the respite and we thought she went home to be well and live a long life. It came as a shock to me when, about a year later, I saw her obituary in the paper. We can never really know what is going on in someone else's head and how much pain they are in. I won't ever forget that sad young woman and I'll always wonder what else I could have done - although I know that there probably was nothing I could do.