Parenting since May 18, 1997

Chicken Soup has a call out for stories.  The title of this one is Parenthood.  Sounds like a no-brainer for me, seeing as I've been at it since 1997.  And speaking of 1997, that's the year my first baby was born.  May 18, 1997 to be exact.  Which means that today is that baby's birthday.  Happy 15th Connor!  I know I say this every year, but, seriously!  Where does the time go?  I can NOT believe you are 15!

I remember when...

Age 2

Age 9...with a broken left wrist

Age 15... with a broken left wrist.

But I digress.

At the twice-monthly meeting of the WWWP's this past Wednesday night, we were reminded by oh-so-responsible Sioux that we needed to hurry up already and get our Parenting stories submitted.  How, she wanted to know, would we fall over in fits of laughter all the way through our book tour if all five of us did not submit to the book.  Not once did she say "if all 5 of us don't get published in" the book.  No, the thought didn't even cross her mind!  She of the comfy shoes and quick smile, sidelong glances and scribbled notes of dirty humor on fellow WWWPs' papers.  Hmphh.

A few of us are struggling with this particular submission.  We're all parents.  In fact, each of them has been doing it much longer than I.  Hell, I'm a newbie compared to their "adult children, empty nest" selves.  They must have thousands of stories to tell!  But me... well, I've started a few, but something stopped me about halfway with each of them.  Linda hit it on the head last night when she explained that she just hadn't found the "perfect parent" story to tell.  Oh, geez, if that's a requirement, I'm screwed.  No such perfect stories here.

Let me digress again.  Because I know that most of you would say that it's harder to parent than to write about parenting.  And certainly you would have every right to say so.  And if I think back to my own household last night, I'd be highly inclined to agree with you.  But, it's difficult to write a true story about parenting with a neatly wrapped up ending.  Because the truth is, this parenting thing?  There is no neatly wrapped up ending.  It's an ongoing tug-of-war, of learning, screwing up, praying, hoping, and most of all loving.  What I will try to do is take one moment in time.  One tiny segment of this long journey and tell a story that speaks to all parents.  That reminds us that none of us is perfect.  None of us has written the Parenting Bible (although there are some good books on the topic out there).  Remember when you gazed down at that perfect infant in your arms for the first time? That first smile? That first sleep over, first day of school... The truth is that there are so many moments, so many firsts.  Maybe it's difficult to write a story of parenting in a way that does the role justice.

But I will try.  Because I want to be on that book tour with my fellow WWWPs.  We're a wicked bunch, and God, would we have fun!

But, back to today...

Happy Birthday Connor!  I'm so very proud of the young man you have become, the grown man I envision you becoming - one of great character and quiet strength, with a fantastic, intelligent sense of humor.  Raising you is a privilege and an honor that I will always, always cherish.

And another big BIRTHDAY SHOUT OUT to my dear friend, Rose, who begins the last year of her thirties today.  I cherish this friendship of ours that goes back 34 years.  May this year be your best yet.  I love you!



Whether you're a writer or not... I'm sure you've got stories of your own.  And if you're a parent, why not try writing one down and submitting it to this Chicken Soup for the Soul book?  Click for more info.

Three Cheers for the corner table by the window

I met two dear friends for dinner this past Friday night.  Nothing untoward about that.  And normally I wouldn't write a blog post about it.  But, something happened at that little establishment that was so out of the ordinary, so... unheard of these days, that I felt it earned a spot on my blog this month.

Pull up a chair.

I walked in to meet KM & KT (not their real names) and spotted them at - you guessed it - the corner table by the window.  There they were, sitting across from each other, smiling, talking, laughing.  Dare I say...holding hands.  Nothing outlandish there either.  Anyway, I greeted them with big hugs, sat next to KM and was immediately approached by a darling waiter from whom I kindly ordered a pomegranate martini, please (thank you very much).

They were just finishing their dinner and so we ordered a (delicious) dessert and continued with our conversation.  When finally the waiter came over to drop off the check, he stopped and said to us, "I just have to tell you guys how awesome you were." (umm, yes, we know, but...huh?)

He proceeded to tell us that he loved waiting on us because we talked to each other, laughed...basically were engaged, rather than texting, talking, posting and/or tweeting on our respective phones.  Wow.  This guy must see a lot of that.  Sad.

It could be that he was just gunning for a good tip (he got one), but I think he meant it.

I am thankful for great friends, silent phones at restaurants...and good service : )


Have a fabulous weekend all.  And Happy Mother's Day to all us Mamas!

Raising Jackson: The Talk

Jack has always been a "lady's man."  Let me tell you a little story.

When Jack was three years old, he attended a darling, little preschool called Love N Laughter, an old house converted into a school many years ago.  At that time, I happened to be working at the school, teaching the two-year olds.  It was a warm, spring day and the kids were headed outside to play.  As I led my little ones out to the playground, I saw Jack standing in the middle of the yard, transfixed on something in the near distance.  I called to him once.  Twice.  Nothing.  I walked towards him, following his line of sight to an "older" four year old girl.  Long blond hair, blue-green eyes, wearing a summer dress over which was a jean jacket, the collar turned up, like she was a "Pink Lady" in training.  As she walked from the swing set to the slide, she pulled a tube of chap stick out of her pocket, applied it to her little, bow-shaped mouth, smiled at my little Romeo and kept walking.

I cleared my throat.  "Jack?"

"Mooooooomm," Jack sighed as she passed him, "did you see those lips?"

True story.


One night, when Jack was in the fourth grade, we were driving (just he and I) in the car and got on the subject of girls.  He wanted to know if it was okay to kiss them.  The great thing about Jack is that he really will talk about it with me. He might be uncomfortable, he might roll his eyes or sigh, but he will talk with me.  A good sign.  So we talked.  And decided that maybe he wasn't quite ready for that.  Yet.


Last night, the subject of girls came up again (definitely one of Jack's favorite topics).  Now, at 12 1/2 years old, Jack is finishing up his first year of middle school.  So, the talk is changing.  His older brother, just days away from his 15th birthday, was in the room, too.  Anyway, Jack told me that he and his friends saw "a used condom" on the parking lot outside of school.  Oh, Dear Lord.  At the middle school?  Are you kidding me?  Should I take some comfort in the fact that at the very least there was a condom?  Ugh.

(Author's 1st side note: Can you understand that this single mom has much to impart to her two wonderful boys, and that she needs to tread carefully?  And that these two boys still require different conversations as it relates to this topic?)


I've always told Jack that he should treat a girl just like he would want a future boyfriend to treat his little sister.  And last night, I added two ideas to that:

#1 Any girl he dates is someone's sister.  Someone's daughter.  And someday, she is going to be someone else's husband.  Respect that.

and #2  Somewhere out there is Jack's future wife.  And until he meets her, she will date other boys.  How does he want those guys to treat HIS future wife?  Something to think about.

Jack looked at me and said "I know mom.  Keep it in the fireplace."  This is what they were taught in PSR - that sex is an act of intimacy between a husband and a wife.  Meant for them alone.  His older brother and I both nodded, liking Jack's analogy.

After his brother left the room, I told Jack that he is most likely going to hear different information from different sources - namely his peers.  And that if he has any questions, he should just ask me.  He might be embarrassed, I said, but I'll be a little embarrassed, too.  And that's okay, we'll just be embarrassed together.  At least we'll be talking, and he'll get the right information.  He promptly informed me that he'd just ask  his brother.  Oh, Geez.  Please, Jack, I said to him, just ask me.

"Okay," he said.  Then, he smiled and added, "I'm gonna go on Facebook and tell my friends that you just attempted to have 'the talk' with me."   (Geez, is nothing sacred?)

(Author's 2nd side note:  I then gave Jack the really bad news:  We're not done.  This is an ongoing conversation.  Like, ongoing for the next six years.  Good times!)

Drummers & Writers, Take Note

I took my son, Jack, to a drum clinic the other night.  Jack has been taking drum lessons weekly since January.  He also plays percussion in his school's band class.  He is musically inclined.  Loves to dance, sing, write music, play the drums.  So, when his drum instructor (the very talented Joe Buerger) told him that Todd Sucherman, the drummer of STYX (you know: Babe, Renegade, The Best of Times...) would be in town to hold a drum clinic, he begged me to attend.  Now, seeing as I grew up in the 70s and 80s, he didn't have to beg too hard to get me to take him.  I believe I saw STYX at Six Flags once upon a time.

But I digress.  Jack and I joined about 50 other drummers (and parents of drummers) last night to meet Todd, listen to him play, and talk about the instrument and his career, and answer questions.

I knew Jack would love it.  And knowing my own love for drummers (my favorite instrument in any band), I assumed I would enjoy it enough.  What I didn't know is that this guy would speak to me - to my heart.  Not in the romantic sense, mind you.  This is about a shared love of the arts.  Everything he said about music, I related directly to writing.  If you are an artist in any sense of the word, I think you might appreciate a few of his comments:

1. Having enthusiasm - passion - for anything, comes across to others.  The origin of the word Enthusiasm comes from the greek word "Entheos" which means "the God within" - Whether that's a love of music, the written word, painting - whatever.  Artists who are 100% focused on their art seem to radiate it from within.  It is their passion - their light within.  The best of the best are so good because they show us that passion.
There is an intimacy in these artists.  It's almost as though we - the audience - are a bit like voyeurs.  Peeking into their innermost private thoughts and emotions.  They let go, pour themselves into their art, and not only do we see it, but we feel it.  It's incredibly powerful.

2. The time we spend working on, practicing and perfecting our art is not about quantity, but quality.  While I think it's true that to be good at something, you must spend time doing it (writers must, for example, read, in order to become better writers.  They must also write, write, write.).  However, while spending three hours writing might keep our skills up to speed, it won't necessarily make us better at our craft.  We must push ourselves, step outside our comfort zone, stretch our own limits, in order to grow.  This reminds me of my boot camp instructor/trainer, who always says that an hour of focused, hard work in the studio does more than three hours just going through the motions of working out.  Todd said the same last night.  FOCUS is KEY.

3. There are musicians who play simply to impress.  They play the loudest, biggest notes all the time in order to make the biggest impression.  But sometimes it's the quiet notes that move an audience.  And when the big notes are played around the quieter ones, they tend to have much greater impact.  I was nodding my head as he talked about this.  Because it's the same with writing.  There are writers who just adore big words.  They use them constantly, seemingly in an effort to sound smart, or talented.  Look at me!  It screams, I know all the big words!  And I can use them in a sentence!  
But, for me, it's the simplest language that has the greatest impact.  And most times, makes the most sense.

4. Artists love their gear.  Really.  Any artist who is truly passionate about what they do loves the STUFF they use to create their art.  Todd is in love with the drums. Last night, he said that since he was in diapers he's had a love affair with the instrument.  Drums both terrified and excited him before he could walk.  He began playing at age 3, and has never stopped.

I feel the same way about words. Although for me, it's not the words that terrify me so much as the absence of them on the page.

It's true though about the gear.  I LOVE everything to do with writing.  I've said it before, but I am in love with writing - much more so than it is with me.  I cherish old typewriters, fountain pens, journals, favorite books, bookmarks, even my dog eared dictionary and battered copy of The Elements of Style.  I love the process, I love the ideas, the pain, the pursuit, the joy of seeing my words in print, even a rejection letter that makes me feel a part of it in some twisted way.  Yes, I know that dictionary.com might be faster and even have more info.  But there is a romance in pulling out my well-used dictionary, flipping through the yellowed pages and looking up a word.  I still do it.

If you take away just two thoughts from this blog, let it be these:
1.  LOVE what you do.  And if you have a passion, feed it.
2. If you have kids, let them see you chasing your dreams (even failing is good - as long as they also see you get right back up again). And by all means, help them to follow their own.  Take 'em to a drum clinic, for example.  Introduce them to professionals who make a living doing what they love.  Who knows? Someday, they might be putting on a clinic of their own.

The other night, someone in the audience asked Todd when he first realized he wanted to be a drummer (in a rock band) for a living.  His answer?  Never.  He admitted that he'd never had that light bulb moment, never had that sudden realization.  He said music - playing drums - was such a huge part of his life from the very beginning that he never even considered doing anything else.  He did however name a few people who inspired him - namely his own father (who incidentally was a jazz drummer through the 50s, 60s and 70s).

I was originally inspired by authors of my favorite childhood books (Laura Ingalls' Little House series, Ann of Green Gables, Where the Sidewalk Ends, To Kill a Mockingbird), and later by my high school Creative Writing teacher, Julie Zipfel.  I am still inspired... By great writers, and by friends who floor me with their talent for the written word (namely Jennifer, Linda, Lynn, Tammy and Sioux).

But I digress (again)... What's your dream? Who's your inspiration? And when did that light bulb first go off in your head?

(Author's Note: Drummers & Writers aren't always made for each other.  But, they can make life-long friends, if they can realize their mistakes and remember what's really important.  But, that's a blog for another time.)

On Golf and Writing

Sometimes we just need a little push.  Some positive energy.  Take golf for example.  I can play 17 crappy holes, but that one great shot brings me back.  After the game, having a sub-par sandwich and an ice-cold beer, the conversation goes something like this:

What about number 5, huh?  That par 3?  What a shot over the water!  Yeah, okay, the first ball went in the drink, but still!  What a shot - right over and on the green!  30 feet from the pin, but still...pin high!  Unbelievable ball!


Oh, and how about that putt on 17!  Geez, that was what? 30? 40 feet?  What a line I had on that one!


God!  Can't wait to play next weekend!

Forget about the 16 holes of balls on the beach, balls in the drink, balls in the rough, chunked fairway shots and 3-putters.

For me, golf imitates writing.  I don't send out that many pieces -one or two essays or feature articles a month at most - but the feeling I get when I see an acceptance letter is always the same.  Feels like the very first time (to quote Foreigner).

This year, I've sent out a total of five pieces.  Three to Sasee Magazine, of which two have been published, and two to Chicken Soup for the Soul, of which one (so far - I'm optimistic) will be published.  I'm batting 500, which is pretty great.  Now, what would happen if I could bump up my submissions to three a month?  Could I keep those odds?  Maybe not.  But, the one thing I know for sure (Thanks Oprah), is that anything I don't send has a 0% chance of getting published.  So, better to keep writing.

If you have any interest, all my published articles are listed on the right side of this blog page.  Most of them you can get to with a click of the mouse.  The Chicken Soup stories...well, you'll have to buy the books, but they're worth it!  And while you're at it, check out their website...www.chickensoup.com.  They're always coming out with new titles, and looking for true stories from real people.  I'm sure you have a story to tell...why not get paid for it?

I also manage a blog for the marketing agency for which I work.  If you're in the industry, or a student hoping to be, you might find something of interest here:  www.sji-inc-blog.com.

Come to think of it, I also guest blog for an online industry blog called Beneath the Brand.  Those articles are listed on the right of this page, too (another one just got accepted today!).

But I digress, sometimes all it takes to drive us forward is a little taste of success.  What's your dream?  Have you given it a shot? Why the hell not?  It just might come true.  Then, of course, you'll be creating new dreams, bigger goals.  And there's nothing wrong with that.  In fact, I haven't hit par on one hole yet this year, so that's my next goal.  Hell, maybe I'll even keep score next time I'm out on the links.  Like, real numbers, and not just those stars and smiley faces I use now (you should see my score card sometime...).

Happy Dreaming!