This is a post I'd hoped never to write, because to me, it symbolizes--in a way--my failure as a mother.

When I was in high school, I dreamed about my college days. In college, I dreamed about what my career would be like. When I was working, I dreamed about a life as a stay at home mom. Never--or to be fair to myself, rarely--did I stop to "smell the roses," so to speak. I had a hard time pausing wherever I currently was in life to appreciate the world around me: to take it all in, to thank God for what he had given me in the here and now, rather than days, months, or even years down the road.

I have been working to slow down and enjoy today recently, but apparently, I haven't been working hard enough.

Last night, on the way home from the grocery store, G and I drove through some neighborhoods looking for what she calls "Halloween stuff"--be it pumpkins, orange lights, or ghosts hanging from the trees (if this is a foreshadowing of the Christmas season, I'm going to be logging a lot of miles in the car, scouting out decorations!). Literally the minute we passed one house, G would say, "I don't see more Halloween stuff!" and proceed to pout until we came upon another festively decorated house.

After a few minutes, I pulled over to the curb, turned on my hazards, and looked at her in the rearview mirror. Then I told her, "G, just appreciate the decorations you have seen; don't worry about what's coming next."

"I no apetiate [her way of saying "appreciate"] it. I want more!" she fired back.
I was crushed. I've never liked my focus on the future. I've realized over the years that I haven't been present in what's currently going on around me, and as a result, I've missed out on truly living some of my best moments to the fullest. I hoped it's something I wouldn't pass on to G, but whether by my actions, feelings, or pure genetics, I have.

What is your "least favorite personality trait" regarding yourself? Or, what is the trait you most want to AVOID passing on to your children?

I have now been sick-as-a-dog-taking-a-regimen-of-anti-nausea-and-antacid-medications for 7 weeks... meaning I'm 12 weeks pregnant! (Actually, let's round up-- as of tomorrow, I'm 13 weeks, just days away from the end of what has felt like the longest first trimester in history). I had another OB appointment this week; here is the update:

Gestation: 12 weeks 6 days

Weight: 147 lbs (+7 from conception, no change since 8 week appointment)

Fetal Heartbeat: 165-170 bpm (easily found with a handheld doppler in the OB's office)

Health Concerns: Still dealing with morning all day sickness(Taking Vitamin B6 and 1/2 dose of Unisom nightly), new issues with heartburn/sour stomach (Taking Mylanta between meals; will move on to Prilosec OTC if condition persists)

Other Concerns: How I'm going to avoid maternity clothes for the next six months. I am still (stubbornly) wearing my regular clothes, even though they are a little tight in the stomach. All my pregnancy clothes with G were geared toward warmer weather; the bulk of this pregnancy will be during the winter months. If anybody has size medium maternity clothes they want to send me, let me know! I'll gladly take a donation :)

Next Appointment: November 23rd

Have you ever had those days when you just feel down? That despite all the wonderful things happening in your world, you get bogged down in the minutae, the little things that can seem overwhelming?

Then I read something like this, and everything changes. Because that link in the previous sentence isn't to some anonymous blog. It's to a friend's blog.

Gloria is one of the most amazing women I've ever met. She was president of our class at Duke, graduating near the top of our class; then, she and her boyfriend (how cute are they, meeting in their freshman dorm?) went on to thrive at Stanford law. In fact, I don't know if Gloria has ever not succeeded at anything.

And I know cancer is no exception...

That's right, you heard correctly: cancer.

Gloria is facing a Stage 4 colon cancer diagnosis. How's that for real life? How's that for bring-you-down, defeating, debilitating news? But Gloria is vowing to "Kick Cancer's A$$", and is going to write about it on her brand new blog. When I read her news (first last month on Facebook, then again last week on her new blog), my first thought was, "What can I do?" I'm on the opposite side of the country from her. We haven't really spoken since our college days. How can I help?

So, my plea to you is to take care of your own health. Have you been putting off your yearly pap smear? Get it down now. Is your mother due for a mammogram? Urge her to make an appointment. Is your husband avoiding a colonoscopy? It can't wait.

I'm sharing her website with you, in hopes that you will think of her, pray for her, be a champion for her. Even if she never knows you're out there, I believe that your support will make the difference for her. Gloria's a fighter, and she can and will beat this terrible disease... and hopefully, our help will make her just that much stronger.

One of the first "mommy friends" I made when G was born is a woman I'll call Angela. We actually met when G was only 4 days old and still in NICU. I was feeling very overwhelmed by the idea of being a mother, and I think God sent Angela into my life for that purpose.

Over the years, Angela has been one of the most honest friends I've ever had. She's not only honest about our friendship (a few weeks ago, she cried when I mentioned the possibility of moving for DH's job... two years from now), but she's also honest about herself as a mother.

Example A: Angela is a very earth-conscious consumer. She had planned to use cloth diapers for her first daughter, L, who is 3 months older than G. But when L started having extreme bowel movements that made cloth diapering all but impossible, Angela was realistic. She organized a cloth diaper sale in our area, giving her a place to sell what was left of her pricey supply of diapers at a fair price, then used the money to stock up on store brand disposables.

Example B: When I first met Angela, she and her husband only subscribed to cable TV in the winter, so they could watch their favorite college basketball team's games (I hate to say it, but Angela and her hubby do not cheer for Duke... shame on them!). Talk about thrifty; Angela has taught me almost everything I know about couponing and saving money. And while she will cut out coupons from the Sunday paper for me and the rest of her friends, or organize a carpool for the annual fall consignment sales, she isn't one of those preachy types who is obsessed with money.

Example C: Angela is the epitome of flexible. It is not uncommon for her to host a playdate, even with both her daughters are napping. She has no problem with my child tearing her house apart; as long as she isn't directly responsible for watching a child, she is able to relax while the rest of us chase toddlers.

Example D: The thing I love most about Angela is how darn real she is. She doesn't hold any punches, and she tells it like it is. And she's the MOST honest about herself as a mother. In fact, just this morning, she told me she put her youngest daughter down to bed last night just after the sun had set (6:40pm around these parts these days), because she was-- and I quote-- "Done." So many moms I know pretend to be perfect; they get all dolled up to go to the grocery store, they always have a clean house when I come over, and they tell fabulous stories about every aspect of their lives. But Angela doesn't put on any airs (or make-up, yet she's always glowing; she obviously has good genes). She is as real as they come, and that is so refreshing.

What personality traits do YOUR friends have that make them super-special to you? What do you think makes a good friend and a good friendship?

An adult today will change jobs an average of 11 times in his or her lifetime.

11 times!?!?!?!
That's 11 anxiety-ridden first days as "the new girl". Potentially 11 moves, either to different office buildings around your city or to different states on opposite sides of the country. 11 periods of life where you can still use "learning the ropes" as a viable excuse (if only for a few days). 11 chances to make a first impression.

If I'm being completely honest, I didn't make a very good first impression at my job.

Oh sure, I fulfilled the job title. I never let my newscast dip into "black" (this-- other than allowing someone to say one of the seven "deadly" words live on air-- is one of the top offenses in television news; you'll know it's happening when see no picture and hear no sound in the middle of a local newscast, even though your television is still on... and trust me, it happens more than you think!). I showed up on time. I never left early.

But I was inflexible. I was stubborn. Despite the fact that it was only my second job in the industry (and my fourth overall, which leaves me with seven more jobs ahead of me), I was undoubtedly sure that my judgment was fail-safe (of course, it wasn't). I never managed to erase those first impressions I created in the early weeks of my job, more than four years ago; it's really true that you "never get a second chance to make a first impression."

Now, I'm trying to do something totally different: I'm trying to leave a lasting impression.

Today is officially my last day as a "working" mom (I say use the "quotation marks" there because after reading the comments on my last post, I know I really am moving on to a fifth job). By the time the clock strikes midnight, my job, much like Cinderella's pumpkin-coach, will be no more.

I told my bosses more than 10 weeks ago that I would be leaving the TV station, so my departure is no longer a surprise to anyone. What is a surprise-- I think to myself, more than anybody else-- is how much I've managed to care about the quality of my work, right down to the bitter end. I expected, somewhere along the way, to develop a severe case of "senioritis"-- you know, the affliction that affects last semester high school and college seniors who know graduation is in sight and can afford to coast the rest of the way.

Let's be honest: I'm leaving this job-- and the TV news industry as a whole-- because I don't like it. I never did. I begged my parents to let me drop out of my graduate program in journalism six weeks in. I knew it wasn't for me, but because in my family "you finish what you start," I muddled through. Here I am, six years later, finally doing what I suppose I should have done back in 2004.

So if I don't like the job, or the industry, and don't plan on ever coming back... why do I still care? I'm trying to figure that out. I'm trying to figure out why in a few hours, I'm going to plot out what I hope will be my best newscast ever. No one is expecting it to be my best; in fact, there are probably people who think I will mail it in and spend the night glad-handing around the newsroom. Maybe that's not my style (well, I'm a Type-A person, so it's definitely not my style). Maybe I care more about this business than I thought. Maybe I'm making a (gasp) mistake leaving it behind.

I don't think that last hypothesis is the case,
but the jury's still out.

I've spent the last six years trying to figure out how to make it in TV. In that time, I've created more than a thousand newscasts. I've been nominated for awards. My work has won some of those awards, including an Emmy last year for our funeral coverage of a fallen police officer. Yet I've never felt satisfied. Content. Whole. There has always been something lacking for me in this career.

Maybe that's why I'm working so hard to leave a good last impression... I'm trying to leave it all on the table, so I know when I look back in 20 years, I can know I gave it all I had and finally have no regrets.

The countdown is on: today is my last Monday as a "working" mom for the next six years or so (until Baby #2 heads off to kindergarten), at least, I hope!

As I think ahead to what my life is going to be like in the coming weeks, months, and years, I am confident in saying that I am completely, wholly, 100% delusional.

What do I mean?

Well, I spent a solid 45 minutes browsing the Halloween section of Walmart over the weekend, fantacizing about building a boo-themed treat tower, with cookies shaped like jack-o-lanterns and cupcakes that looked like spiders. I nearly dropped $75 (money we will most certainly not have after my final paycheck) on frosting, cupcake tins and fuzzy pipecleaners.

Verdict? Delusional.

I have signed up to be on not one, but two boards of directors. I was elected to be the secretary of our swim club last month (hooray for a free membership!), and was nominated to serve in the same capacity on our Homeowner's Association last week (boo for NOT getting a year of no dues with that position!). On top of that, I already serve on the board for our local Ronald McDonald House. I have three board meetings planned for Tuesday, October 19th. All at 7pm. All mandatory.

Verdict? Delusional.

When my alarm (aka G's calls to "get up") went off this morning, I spent a solid 3 minutes laying in bed, dreaming about a life without a schedule (by the way, this is the same "dream" that I also dread, as I am a rigid "Type-A" personality who needs boundaries and deadlines). I thought that it would be my last Monday morning with a wake up call. By this time next week, I luxuriated in the thought, I would be able to get up, stay in my PJs all day, and most likely eat bon-bons for lunch.

Verdict? Delusional.

Maybe "delusional" isn't the right word. Maybe "overwhelmed" or "overcommitted" (or maybe likely to be committed) is more like it. I'm struggling to find balance between having the freedom to do nothing and having the responsibilities of being a mother. I've never been a stay-at-home mother before, and I didn't really pay all that close attention to my mother when she occupied the same title 20-some years ago. This is new for me. I don't know what to expect. I don't know how to find balance. I suppose I'll have to learn "on the job."

For those moms who work, what "fantasies" would you have of a life at home?

And for stay-at-home moms, what advice would you have for me?

I had a really tough walk down the aisle on my wedding day...

In fact, my entire engagement had been less than peachy. It began with DH & I living in two different states, included a bout of severe seasonal affective disorder on my part, and ended with what DH would tell you is the longest holdout in premarital history.

The stress of planning a wedding--largely on my own--had gotten to me by the time I slipped on my gown (which by that time, 10 months after I'd purchsed it, I already hated). My parents, bless their hearts, paid for everything; but because my grandmother and aunts had basically planned every detail of my mother's wedding, she wanted to make sure I got to plan every detail of my own. And I did. I organized everything from the flowers to the menu to the music.

Ahhhh, the music. This is what leads me to today's post (because otherwise, it's relatively random, considering my anniversary was some four months ago). It was when I heard the song I'd chosen for walking down the aisle--The Sleeping Beaty Waltz, by Tchaikovsky--and saw the big, grand doors of the church open in front of me that I absolutely lost it.

DH later told me that when he saw my face at the end of that long aisle, he thought for a moment he'd have to chase after me. I know he's not lying; I've seen the pictures (none of which made it into our wedding album). I look frightened and overwhelmed. In truth, the emotions of the day hit me like a ton of bricks the moment I stepped into the sanctuary. Up until that point, my wedding had been about dotting the "i"'s and crossing the "t"'s, not about the union of two people in love. The very idea that here was a man who wanted to love me, honor me, and cherish me all the days of my life was something that had gotten lost in the shuffle. Confronting the enormity of that love in just 100 feet was a daunting task.

As my father dragged me down the aisle--for that's what it felt like, as my feet had turned to stone the minute the first strains of my song began to play--I turned to him for comfort.

"Daddy," I whispered. "Tell me a joke."

He turned to me with moist eyes.

"I can't tell you anything right now," he replied. "The only words I have would make us both cry even harder."

My dad is not an emotional guy. I've only seen him cry once in his entire life, when he learned his mother had died (four days after she'd been cremated, but that is another story). So seeing him on the brink of tears was wholly foreign to me.

Over the past five years, I've asked him multiple times what he couldn't say to me on that walk-- the last time he was the most important man in my life. He claims he doesn't remember, and maybe that's the truth. There's a lot I don't remember from that overwhelming, frantic day either. But I wish I knew. Because instead of being words he's never been able to remember, they'd be words I know I'd never want to forget.

The only surviving picture of me and my dad walking down the aisle... I didn't put it in my album, but I kept a copy just to prove how terrified I really looked!
What is your favorite memory of your wedding day?

Last weekend, DH & I finally got to take G to the fair... it was a day I'd been waiting for, but not just because of all the food. Nope, I was looking forward to putting G in a brand new outfit I'd gotten just for the occasion:


This gorgeous outfit (I didn't put her in the matching pants, because it was a little chilly out and I thought jeans would keep her warmer) came to us courtesy of Shannon at My Baby Clothes Boutique. The style of clothes on this site are--to me at least--reminiscent of what you'd find at Matilda Jane... but they are a fraction of the price. We're talking trendy, custom-made clothes for babies and toddlers.

Normally, this is the part of the review where I'd tell you how to buy this outfit... but guess what? It was seasonal, and My Baby Clothes Boutique isn't making it anymore. So instead, I thought I'd share some of my other favorite outfits currently up for grabs. Just click on the picture for a link to the product webpage.)

This adorable Giraffe Tunic and Legging set reminds me of something I'd wear... well, if it came in my size, that is! I love how "high fashion" the whole ensemble is, but I also adore the fact that you can take the two pieces and wear them separately with different tops and bottoms (much like the outfit I reviewed for G). And if this isn't enough, you can get matching boots to go with it!

BUY IT!
Tunic & Legging Set: $32
Matching Boots: $24.99

Another outfit I fell in love with over at My Baby Clothes Boutique was the "Sadie Set". Really, if G had seen this outfit online, I think she would have insisted I get it for her, because my daughter is all about tutus and anything princess-y. Your little one will definitely love this outfit, which comes with a separate top and bottom (more mixing and matching-- yay!). Of course, like with just about everything over at MBCB, you can also add on matching slippers and a headband.


BUY IT!
The Sadie Set: $32.99

I had to add this set to my list of "must haves", even though I don't have a little boy (but if baby #2 is a boy, you better believe he will be getting this!). This football 3-piece set comes with an adorable top, cute bottoms and (my favorite!) little football socks... since there are two socks, I guess that technically makes it a 4-piece set? I like the versatility of this outfit; the pants are drawstring (that makes sizing a snap!) and I think your little guy could wear this to playdates, to play around the house, or even to bed. How's that for bang for your buck?

BUY IT!
Football Three Piece Set: $25

Disclaimer: I received the above purchase from My Baby Clothes Boutique free of charge for the purpose of this review. The total price of the items received was $48.99 plus tax. The opinions expressed in this review are my own, and were in no way biased by the sponsor company.

When I was in college, one of my classmates wrote an editorial for the school newspaper titled, "The Quest For Effortless Perfection." It was an accusation, vehemently made towards the Greek (as in sorority, not the nation) community, basically calling us self-centered *itches who cared more about our outward appearance-- and what everyone else thought of us-- than what we thought about ourselves.

I would have denied it at the time, but 10 years later, I know the writer was right.

I was confronted by the same type of bold charges last week, when I read a post called "The Disease Called Perfection", written by a blogger dubbed Single Dad Laughing. If you haven't heard of him, I highly encourage you visit his site. He wrote a post that has so opened my eyes, I've jumped on the bandwagon-- literally a quarter-million strong-- to share my own imperfections.

You see, for years, I have been crippled by what other people think of me. Notice I used the word think in that last sentence, not the past tense, thought. I wish I could claim otherwise, but this is a problem I still struggle with today. And I know I'm not the only one.

The author of that magnanimous post called out all of us who have been living a false life. The women who think their husbands are God's gift, but don't know he's sleeping with half a dozen women behind her back. The men who beat their wives, then stand up as a pillar of their community. The children who steal from their parents, then deflect the blame to another sibling.

So what is my crime?

It's my ability to make people think that I make a decision, act on it, and move on without looking back.

What do I mean? Well, to avoid any confusion, I'm talking expressly about my decision to leave my job at the TV station. I am now 9 days away from jumping off the proverbial "career cliff". October 14th is my last day in the news industry, and for a while, I pretended like I couldn't wait to leave. Like I was making the perfect decision for myself and my family, and that I had no qualms or doubts about it. But that is far from the truth.

At first, I thought it was the truth. At first, I thought I was completely confident in my choice. I thought I could walk out of that building--out of that professional life--without a second thought. What was I leaving behind? I thought I was leaving behind a demanding boss, an embarrassingly low salary for someone with a Masters degree, working nights, holidays, and weekends, and, most of all, the ridiculous politics that I know are pervasive at just about every office in the world. I thought I was moving towards a life of zoo trips with G, keeping the perfect home, finally learning how to cook, and operating my own little den of domesticity with the same precision that I've operated a newsroom for the past five years.

But when I was on vacation (yeah, remember those two weeks in September when I didn't post anything? I was at the beach with my family; we've had MAJOR computer issues and I can't seem to upload anything, which is why you haven't seen pictures), I started to see things a little differently...

I realized I would be leaving behind a group of people who have made me smile every day, even at times when I all I wanted to do was complain...

I realized I would be leaving behind my sense of financial security; apart from what DH makes, it's always been empowering to bring in my own money, and feel free to spend it as I saw fit...

I realized I would be leaving behind my chief way of expressing myself through words, something I hadn't thought was that vital to my sense of self...

I realized I was scared of a life with no set parameters, of a life where no one would be there to monitor my successes and failures, of a life that wasn't controlled by the second hand of the clock.

Yet, I kept up this hard shell. I kept letting the people I was leaving behind think I was happy to be doing so. (And it's not that I'm unhappy; I realize that I am blessed to have a husband who is willing to make sacrifices for the greater good of our family. Heck, I'm blessed to have a husband who thinks what constitutes "the greater good" is the same thing I do!) And in keeping up that guise of leading a perfect little life, I was alienating some of the people I cared for the most. It wasn't my intention, but it was the result of my vanity, my ego, my pride, and my desire to keep up a perfect image of a woman who was completely fine with NOT having it all.

Yesterday--in preparation for today's post--I finally told some of my coworkers how bittersweet these last weeks on the job were to me. That as much as I looked forward to more time with my family, I wasn't looking forward to less time with my friends at work. That they had been such an important part of my life. That the work we do every day is crucial to our community, whether we always realize it or not. They no longer think I'm perfect, a hardened shell of a person, devoid of real emotion. No, instead, now they simply think I'm human.

What I know now is, allowing people to think you live a charmed, perfect life when the reality is far more, well, realistic not only hurts us-- it can hurt those around us too. It can damage relationships. And it's not worth it. I'm not saying you should air your dirty laundry to anyone who will listen (even though that's what I'm doing now; it is, I will admit, highly cathartic). I'm just saying that to really live a perfect life, you have to live a really honest life.

I hope you'll visit Single Laughing Dad's blog and read his amazing post on the damages of perfection. I hope his words will inspire you to come clean about something that's been troubling you, as they've inspired me. And I hope they'll stay with you far beyond today, to make you a better person.