How To Make Dinner in 33 Easy-ish Steps

1. Put children #s 2 and 3 down for nap. Set child #1 up in front of laptop open to page full of math games.
2. Listen to child #2 calling from her crib: No nap! Up now! No nap! Up now!
3. Remove child #2 from her crib, with promises to play quietly without waking child #3 while Mommy cooks.
4. Wonder why you are attempting to extract promises from a one year old when you already know for certain she has no intention of keeping them.
5. Drink afternoon coffee (without which no cooking of dinner shall occur).
6. Go into kitchen. Dig through fridge. No meat.
7. Realize meat has not been thawed.
8. Retrieve from freezer; defrost meat in microwave.
9. Child #2 will be running in circles -yelling loudly and with great zeal- by this point, while child #3 sleeps next door. Shush her. She won't shush, but it's always worth a shot. (Optimism is important both in life and in the cooking of dinner.)
10. Continue digging in fridge. Realize there is no spinach.
11. Scavenge kitchen. Find partially rotting zucchini squash, halfway decent yellow squash, green and yellow peppers only slightly beginning to wrinkle and shrivel.
12. Good enough. Chop 'em. (Toss rotting parts.)
13. Heat meat in pan. 
14. Add veggies, 3 teaspoons of husband-made taco seasoning, half-cup of water.
15. Dig through cupboards. Realize you are out of black beans.
16. Continue digging through cupboards until you find a can of refried beans.
17. Good enough. Add 'em. 
18. Child #2 will by now have stripped down to a saggy, baggy diaper, and will still be running in circles, yelling: NAYKEE!
19. Wrestle child into bedroom. Change diaper. Re-clothe.
20. Attempt to impress upon child the need for quiet.
21. Futile. Child will grin winningly and yell at maximum volume in response.
22. Return to kitchen to find mexi-slop burning and sticking to bottom of pan.
23. Mutter a curse word under your breath. Scrape mexi-slop from bottom of pan (but not too much--best to leave bottom layer of burned mexi-slop as a further-burn-barrier; this has been learned from experience). 
24. Reduce heat, and cover.
25. Child #2 will -of course- hear the muttered curse word, and begin yelling it loudly while running in circles.
26. Child #3 will wake up.
27. Go get child #3 from crib; change diaper.
28. Child #1 -attracted to the sounds of chaos- will close laptop and race to join children #s 2 and 3.
29. They will run in circles, yelling loudly (at least the muttered curse has been forgotten)(recall the importance of optimism), until child #3 is retrieved by his mother, arriving to pick him up after work.
30. Husband will arrive home from work. He has 2 important steps to complete.
31. Make homemade guacamole to transform this dinner from mexi-slop to mexi-slop with delicious guacamole on top.
32. The final step is of utmost importance to the success of both the dinner, and the evening.
33. Send husband to store for beer.

I Want to Tell the Truth When I Grow Up

Studying early childhood education as an undergrad, I attended a conference where the following question was posed.

What do you say to parents or administrators who ask what you're doing to "prepare young children for school"?

 When I heard the answer the speaker gave, I gasped, and knew what I wanted to be when I grew up.

I like to say: If you knew that, in a year or so from now, there would be a famine across the entire earth, and there wouldn't be enough to eat ...

... would you start starving yourself now?

I want to be someone who can say things like this out loud, in a professional setting. Getting paid for it will just be the icing on the cake.

The Clubhouse

Way back in high school, I had a friend named Luke. We graduated; years passed; we lost touch. And then facebook came along, and we reconnected there. I began blogging in November of 2009 (hey, happy 3 years to me!), and -to my surprise- got a comment on the second post I wrote. It was from Luke's wife, Michelle.

I followed her comment back to her website, and found out she was some sort of ... career coach? I wasn't sure exactly what that was, but it looked like fun. In any case, my career was humming along happily at that time, but I still visited her blog occasionally, and enjoyed reading about entrepreneurship and all the possibilities people discovered in a world wide open and full of opportunities.

Fast forward to early March of 2011. I found out, while home on maternity leave, that when I returned to work I would only have 5 months of employment left before our federal funding ran out. The program I worked for had been eliminated, nationally, for the 2011-2012 school year by a newly conservative Congress following the 2010 midterm elections. I wrote about it and Michelle popped up in the comments again, offering support.

The truth is, I wasn't ready for any support yet, at least in the career arena. I had a new baby, and I immediately knew I would do in-home childcare. It was the quickest, easiest shift I could make, and had the added bonus of allowing me to be with my young children.

As my first year at home passed, I realized I was still -in my heart of hearts- a teacher. My work is important to me, integral to who I am. I missed many things about my old job, even as I got better at new parts of the work I do. And as that first year came to an end, I realized I was ready for a new plan. But doing it alone, in the confines of my own head, was really hard. Now I was ready for some support. I e-mailed Michelle and she responded with some options. I thought it over, and decided to join her Clubhouse.

I have never regretted that decision.

Every time I have a question, a concern, a late-night fear freakout, a desire for some you go girl energy, or just a place to brag: I go to the Clubhouse. It's full of other smart, interesting, entrepreneurs and entrepreneurs-to-be. Between the whole group, it seems like all the knowledge in the world is available there! From legal, to financial, to web-savviness, to artistic, to managing self-care in an entrepreneurial world gone mad!

The truth is, in my day-to-day, tangible, career-building world, I am still alone. I don't have colleagues or staff to help me. I'm only beginning to build clientele, and that takes time and care. I never thought I'd be an entrepreneur. It's terrifying a lot of the time.

But I no longer feel alone. I have a place to go when I want to talk shop, get kudos, complain, or learn more. I've been able to support other people doing things in areas far outside my expertise, because they wonder about things I know, or need exactly the type of support I feel comfortable and happy to give.

It's a good place to be, this Clubhouse.

There will be some more openings there, starting in January of the new year. Check it out if it sounds like it might be your cup of tea.

Flying

After the pain: the legs pushing harder, breath sharp and ragged, muscles that beg me to quit, after the pain that seems interminable ends, there is something else.

There is flight.

My legs rotate like pedals attached to a wheel racing down a steep hill; they circle faster and faster without effort. I pass over the ground like a helicopter, legs whirring like a blade as I finish that final lap.

My arms pump by my sides, backandforthbackandforthbackandforth, my hands open up, loose fists leftover from a slower pace releasing, fingers reaching toward the future, my whole body stretching forward into space.

I tuck my head down and my breath comes quickly now hoowhoohoowhoohoowhoo. I'm not cold anymore.

I am effortless.

There is pain. But then there is flight.

Running Faster

My feel hit the gravel shushshushshushshush. My breath comes hard and rough through a layer of fleece wrapped around my face and neck. When I inhale, the air is cold and sharp, slapping the back of my throat on it's way to my lungs.

Studying health & phys ed as an undergrad, I learned the definitional difference between walking and running: the flight phase. I think about this as I push my legs further through strides, try to catch more air in the moments between sneaker smacking earth.

My legs hurt: the muscles in my thighs ache, sharp pain moves up each shin when that foot hits the ground. My lungs hate the cold air rushing down into my chest. Somewhere in the vicinity of my right shoulder blade, a knot begins to form.

Still running, I pull my iphone from the pocket of my husband's down vest, and sneak a peek at the time. Shit. I speed up.

Everything hurts.

I keep going.

Snapshots of Learning

The year before the wedding, my future-husband and I lived in Prescott, Arizona. We attended a few yoga classes together. The year after the wedding, we lived in Niagara Falls, NY. We attended a few more yoga classes together.

Talking about a pose one night, he said: Well, you'll always do *this* with your back, and demonstrated drawing his shoulder blades together and down.

How do you know that? I asked. We only attended a few classes! You remember that pose?

No, but I remember the basic principles. How they felt in my body. You don't?

No, I replied, I remember a bunch of chanting in Sanskrit.

* * *

He came home from the grocery store tonight, began unpacking the bags while I packed my yoga mat and CDs to leave for work. Both of us running around our respective rooms while the kids sat at the dining room table eating greek yogurt, he says: I bought some C-H-E-E-S-E C-R-A-C-K-E-R-S at the grocery store tonight, for you to give the kids tomorrow.

I'm still visualizing the letters in my head when the four year old pipes up, with great excitement: Daddy, did you get CHEESY CRACKERS for us!?

* * *

When I began studying yoga, I read all the books I could find. I wanted to know everything there was to know. I learned to stand from this website. I read it, and read it, and read it. 

I read it aloud to myself, while standing.

I copied and pasted it into a word document. I bolded print. I cut excess verbiage, and added bullet points. I read it again, just the bullet points, while standing. I read it aloud during one of my classes, while students stood in tadasana, eyes closed.

My most difficult student interrupted me, to say scornfully: This is a bunch of shit.

I replied, zenlike: just try your best, and if the instructions are too much, tune them out and focus on your breath.

* * *

I remember our boy trying to learn to jump. He tried, and tried, and tried. He just could not clear the ground. The desire was there, but the flesh (or maybe it was the muscle) wasn't willing. It took months.

Our daughter was doing somersaults around 18 months.

How old are you supposed to be to do somersaults? the husband asked me, and I replied: Oh, I can't remember! It's one of those details I'll have to look up.

The first website that came up on google listed it as a 3-5 year old skill.

And then, last month, when she was 21 months old, my friend said: she puts on her own socks, boots and coat? I'll have to teach my 2 year old to do that!

I didn't teach her, I said, somewhat puzzled. I'm actually not sure when she started doing that.

* * *

We were talking one night, late, and quite possibly full of wine. I think we must have been grad students, both of us majoring in education. We'd been married a couple years at this point.

I like to know ALL the details, he said, hands drawing wavy lines through the air as they spread apart, as if to symbolize the potential exponential growth of detail.

My eyes got big. A lightbulb went on in my head. I HATE details! I told him enthusiastically, I want to know the BIG picture! Without it, the details make NO sense whatsoever! And even once I UNDERSTAND it, I prefer bullet points!

He stared back at me with eyes like saucers. I HATE bullet points! And if you give me the idea, without the details, it means, like, NOTHING! Give me the DETAILS! And I'll give YOU the big picture!

We stared at each other, like strangers who had only just met.

Everything about all of our conversations suddenly made so much more sense.

One Week In And It's a List

1. It's been a week, and I'm already like: Seriously? Blog? Again? For goodness sakes!
2. I work 9-10 hours a day.
3. That's my day job.
4. It's one of those unusual jobs that comes sans lunch or other breaks. I eat standing up (sometimes walking) and I listen through the bathroom door for sounds of potential mayhem while I pee.
5. When the day job ends, I have an hour to shower and change.
6. Next is my night job. More of an evening job, really
7. That one might be an hour; it might be 2.
8. There's another half hour, or 90 minute commute, depending on the day.
9. Then, depending on the night, or the hour, I help get the kids ready and down to bed.
10. And then, along with my equally exhausted husband, I collapse.
11. Today was my biggest playgroup so far, for the day job.
12. I had 7 kids here, all under 5, for 3 hours this morning. (Only need 8 for the nursery school, so this is good news!)
13. I had 4 kids for the rest of the 9-10 hour day.
14. The night job was 2 hours tonight.
15. The commute was 90 minutes.
16. The dinner was reheated leftovers.
17. The couch was (is) comfortable.
18. The blanket was (is) warm.
19. Can our exhausted protagonist make it to 20?
20. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz... 

                                   (goodnight!)