Dear Hillary -

It is 2am on November 10, 2016 and I just stood in my 8 year-old daughter's room and watched her sleep. I envy her the innocence of that fathomless, sweaty sleep only children can attain. It is one of the few things left of her innocence to envy - for, as of today, she has been introduced to a societal culture I had assumed she would only learn in history books.

I mourn the loss of your leadership example for my daughter over the next four years, but I want you to know how much you have already taught me that I can share with her. That defeat does not diminish the effort you made. That everyone counts. That life can be cruelly unfair but that does not give you the right to be cruel. That we are all imperfect. That civility is worth maintaining. That to be considered, you must show up again and again and again.

I know you must be exhausted. And angry. Heaven knows I am angry - so very angry.

I'll tell you though, I am taking this personally. This is my child that is being impacted. This is her future that is being limited. These are her friends that are being maligned. These are her freedoms that are being curtailed. This is not the country we have brought her up to know. My voice in her ear must be loudest. My actions must be her clearest example. My future must be to ensure hers.

We asked so much of you. We asked you to be the embodiment of every woman's hopes and dreams and become the first female President. We asked you to turn the tide against hatred and bigotry and racism, on behalf of men and women, and safeguard our country's citizenry. You gave us so much. Now it is our turn to pick up the mantle and organize and regroup and regain.

I should try to get some sleep. In our house, we have been encouraging my daughter to embrace the mantra "tomorrow is a new day to start fresh" when things go wrong. So here I go.

Your devoted fan,

Katharine

Life is DIY

I have really struggled with whether or not to write this.

I haven’t had time to send thank you notes, check in on friends, reply to play date requests but here I am taking the time for a personal rant.

But I can’t let this go – and as with so much of my life, if I write about it, I will process it and get on with the important things in life like being thankful and keeping up with my friends.

Last week I picked up La C from school at the end of the school day. As she ran in to my arms, her teacher says to me –

“Wow, she seems very happy to see you. By the way what are your work hours? We hardly ever see you.”

This is true.

Juge does morning drop off because I am downtown at my desk at 7:30am.

A medical student, moonlighting as La C’s afterschool babysitter picks her up when school ends at 3:15pm. Me? Still at my desk.

I look at this woman and I want to say –

Well, a lot of things that don’t need to be repeated. And a lot of justifications. And a lot of issues I have with her and...none of it conveyed me - who I am raising this child.  

 

So, what I said was  –

"No, you don’t see a lot of me and that is okay – because I see a lot of La C, which is more important."

 

  

The Luck of the Draw

There was a thread I read on a local listserve this week that asked what was the meanest thing any one had said to you or about you.

I knew immediately what was the meanest thing anyone had ever said about me.

Someone who had known me a large chunk of my young adult to adult life said that I had been very lucky.

Said in the context of how my life had turned out.

In my estimation, pretty much the most insulting thing you can do is to discount someone's impact on their own life.

Yes, I count my blessings. I know that in the grand scheme of things that I live a life of comfort.

But I got up every day and earned it.

I studied for the grades I received in school. I cultivated the professional relationships. I saved my money. I made hard choices.

This is not to say that I did not have help - on the contrary I had a hell of a lot of help. Or to say that I was not sometimes in the right place at the right time.

Or even, that I was lucky.

Because I was.

I am.

But luck will only get you to the starting line.

The finish line way off in the yonder?

Well, that is all up to what YOU do to reach it.

Step One: Awareness

The lights were dim.

 

Waves of ambient music washed over me.

 

My body was nestled under a heated blanket.

 

A solid two minutes into the facial I realized my jaw was clenched, my teeth grinding, my neck stiff, my shoulders so hunched they melded with my ears.

 

I was reminded of a recent conversation I had with Big Sis as I had an emotional breakdown in the condiments aisle of the 7^th Street Giant. (However, that is a story for another day.)

 

She pointed out that I have a “hereditary” tendency to jackknife between dwelling on the past and worrying about the future. Meanwhile the present is a fly in my peripheral radar.

 

My problem is I do not live in the moment.

 

As I unclenched my fists under the warm, soft folds of the blanket, I allowed that perhaps Big Sis was on to something.

 

It had been an epically crappy day, preceded by several high stress, unpleasant weeks. But here I was in the lap of indulgent restoration. I should be embracing this moment. Move on from that which has passed. Let go of that which I cannot control. (That last one is a real toughie for me.)

 

I can do this. I released my shoulders. I took a deep, cleansing breath.

 

The spa’s usual zen jungle soundtrack was, today, interspersed with instrumental versions of 1940’s movie scores. As the music from Gone with the Wind wafted over me, I was Vivian Leigh on the MGM soundstage. I pulled deep from within and as my eyes swelled with tears in harmony with the music swelling to a crescendo, I swore – “As god is my witness, I will live in the moment!”.

 

And I did.

 

Right up to the purifying face mask when I mentally reviewed the schedule for the coming weekend.

The Best Christmas Ever - Take #39

I think I probably write this every year but here it is again. If you read this blog you may also be a Facebook friend, follow me on Twitter or read my other blog, Styled by KDG, or hang out with me in real life and thus you are likely to have a front row seat to my unabashed holiday joy.

I will ---

1. Mix up Christianity, commercialism, Greek history (hey, where did you think St. Nicholas came from?!), and family traditions in one giant smeary, gooey, lovable glob.

2. Perpetuate the modern day Santa Claus. I will do so without guile. Without concern that I am lying to La C. I will wrap her Santa gifts in special wrapping paper. I will share the story of St. Nicholas as we bake cookies for Santa and Rudolph.

3. Help La C pick out assorted of her toys and books and wrap them up with bows and tinsel to gift anew to kids who may want them more.

4. Put out the Elf on the Shelf. Because one of my new fave holiday traditions is the game of the Love of My Life trying to outwit the very eagle-eyed La C by hiding the Elf in a new spot each day. After which, the newly found Elf is grilled by La C about his past night's travels.

5. Listen to Christmas music until I get a headache.

6. Light the Advent wreath and open each little door on the chocolate filled Advent calendar. For the past Christmases with La C we opened our Advent calendar with her to mark the days toward the universal day of Christmas. But now that she is old enough we will incorporate the lighting of the Advent candles to mark the progression of time to the birth of Christ.

7. Go to church and remember why I need to go more often.

8. Over-compensate in my gift giving. I am a little obssessed with creating an assortment of the "perfect" gifts for folks. I keep adding on...just in case.

9. Completely fail at baking holiday cookies for gifts. I try this every year. We still have gallons of Karo syrup from 2008 when I tried to make sugared jellies for holiday gift bags. I was convinced it was the Karo syrup. It wasn't.

10. Completely lose it at some point before midnight on Christmas Day that this is not the absolutely most picture perfect holiday for La C that it should be.

I completely own the inevitability of #10. I will find fault with everything from the too full schedule, to the spot on her fancy dress, to forgetting some must have stocking stuffer for Alaska that was left in DC, to the neighbor with his fully decorated Christmas tree berating me for my commercial symbols of Christmas rather than the true Christian meaning.

...and then I will forgive myself. After all, Christ has forgiven us for moving his birthday from the fall to December to align with the Winter Solstice festivals. And that is my point. We will all make of this holiday what we will. We will mix and mingle National Lampoon and Luke 2:7. We will give and take. We will celebrate and show mercy.

And we will believe in magic.

Yes we will.

It's called faith.

I have it, how 'bout you?

Sick Day

Being sick as an adult is not quite like it used to be.

Ranting & Raving

I would guess that the morning routine in our house is pretty similar to many families. 

I hit the shower while Love of My Life and La C trudge downstairs for breakfast accompanied by Disney music. (I actually downloaded the Tarzan soundtrack to my exercise playlist!). LOML dutifully makes our coffee and feeds the cat who hates him. La C settles in to her chew in a bowl with milk and a bib and a spoon. Basically Cinnamon Life cereal but it has been "chew" since she could first talk. And it is never just "chew". It is "chew in a bowl with milk and a bib and a spoon". And I love that.

Meanwhile, I am upstairs hollering at NPR.  

You see, NPR and I have many deep and meaningful conversations.  We have engaged in numerous debates. And sometimes, we disagree. Loudly.

Every morning I listen to NPR while I get dressed. And I am not afraid to give them a piece of my mind. I stick out my tongue. Stop mid-mascara and google a fact to rebut. I applaud. And sometimes I threaten to write a letter telling them what I really think.  I love it, I really do! 

LOML puts up with this every day, complacently shaving and eyeing me in the mirror while I rant and wave my toothbrush around in the air.

The other morning as I yelled "Ha! You have got to be kidding me!" I turned around to see two little eyes peering at me from under the covers of our bed. 

Uh-oh. 

I went over to La C and said "Boo, you know Mommy is not mad or upset, right? I am just talking to the radio."

"Okay.", she said. "If you are not mad, what is wrong?"

"Nothing. Mommy's just passionate!".

Beats telling her I'm a raving lunatic. 

My Instagram Daylight Savings Weekend

My Instagram Weekend

A Sunday Walk

Last Sunday we took a family walk through the Franciscan Monastery of the Holy Land in America. The Monastery is three blocks from our house and is a beautiful place to spend an afternoon exploring, laughing, running, snuggling and general family bonding.

The Color of Shame

In the months leading up to La C's birth, after we found out she was a girl, I told the Love of My Life (LOML) that I planned to talk to La C about Planned Parenthood.

Explain what a resource it was to her, to her friends who may need it, to women she did not know in cities and towns around the country.

"Yep." said the LOML.

By now we all know that Susan G. Komen Foundation pulled their funding support from Planned Parenthood.

A good deal of the response to this decision is calling foul. That the Komen Foundation is merely bending to the will of the pro-life movement.

Every fiber in my being is tingling with the assumption that this was indeed a dastardly move.

The official statement from the Komen Foundation is that they cannot support organizations under federal investigation. There were no political overtones to the decision.

Fine.

Then the Komen Foundation could suspend their funding pending the results of the federal investigation.

The fact that they pulled out completely does not help the Komen Foundation's story.

Pro-life or pro-choice, we are women whose access to health resources are usually the last to be addressed. We all deserve what support we can get.

After all on the Komen Foundation's own website they state ---

As the world's largest grassroots network of breast cancer survivors and activists, we're working together to save lives, empower people, ensure quality care for all and energize science to find the cures.

I imagine those women in the 19 Planned Parenthood locations around the country now no longer supported by the Komen Foundation, are wondering what exactly is the Komen Foundation's definintion of "all."

* Photo by Joseph Allen Photography

Good job! I Knew We'd Ace That Interview!

In addition to checking my four letter word habit, shutting down the "I get a toy every time we hit Target"expectation, I am supposed to stop praising my daughter.

At least that is the new parenting admonishment.

"Good job" is now a taboo phrase in the world of childrearing.

Apparently "good job!", "way to go!" "I knew you could do it!" and other seemingly innocuous phrases, tend to build expectations of constant commendation when used in excess.

For the toddler and school-age set.

Instead, it is recommended that I, as an astute parent [insert laugh track here], when handed the daily artwork, look my 3 1/2 year old in the eye and say ---

Not - "What a beautiful picture!"

Rather - "I see you used green in the corner. Can you tell me why you did that?"

Hogwash.

Let me tell you from my oh so uninformed point of view that the entitled generation that is taking its first tentative steps in to the real world of jobs and rent and relationships are not hindered by the fact that their parents told them they were fantastic little beings far too regularly.

No, my money is on the fact that the parents went several steps further. Stormed in to parent-teacher conferences demanding their precious biddums get an A rather than the earned B+. That these same parents wrote their kids college application essays, and likely their resumes and cover letters.

I am sadly old enough to have managed a few of these "winners" in my professional life.

And winners they think they are too. Because we have created a culture where every kid must succeed.

Even the losing team gets a trophy.

No. They. Don't.

They lost!!

Life has winners and losers.

That is reality. At least the reality that most of us grew up with and are, frankly, the stronger for it. By denying our kids the ability to experience the natural highs and lows of life, we are creating losers. Because these kids are not going to have the tools and coping mechanisms to weather the inevitable storms that come their way when they step out from the over-extended parental shelter.

When La C makes the soccer or whatever team, I am going to whoop and holler. And when she loses the science fair or spelling bee I will hug her and tell her that's the way the cookie crumbles but she gave it her all (if that is so).

And when she gets ready to apply for college I will support her 100% and give her a nice cushion for the desk chair as she writes her essays.

"Good job" is not the culprit. And engaging in a philosophical discussion with your child about how they feel about their newly minted baseball player status is great. But a hug and a "Way to go kiddo" is also important.

It is when we take away their opportunity to fail that we create the expectation for commendation. Subvert their ability to define themselves. Deny them the rush of overcoming an obstacle.

I tell La C she is beautiful and smart, pretty much every day. I also tell her to pick up her toys, stop slurping, don't interrupt, say pardon and excuse me, far more times during the day.

Because she may be beautiful and smart (a mother's perogative to say that) but she also has to grow up and live responsibly just like everyone else.

A Presidential Evening

Last night, the Love of My Life (LOML) was inducted as President of the St. Andrew's Society of Washington, DC.

The annual Burns Night Dinner provided the occasion for the ceremony.

It was an evening of pipers, haggis, furry knees peeking out from kilts, amazing fiddling by Bonnie Rideout, and odes to Robert Burns.

Several times throughout the evening there was mention of my "new role" as "first lady". Hadn't really gone there. Hadn't really given it much thought - this was LOML's thing in my eyes.

But as they say, beside every great man is his partner. ;)

So as the room rose in unison to clasp hands for Auld Lang Syne and LOML closed the evening with the benediction from our own wedding; it struck me how fortunate we were and how much we could learn from this opportunity.

Both of us.

The presidential "armor".

Congratulatory black Tahitian pearl & handcrafted gold cufflinks gifted to LOML by me.

The presentation of the haggis.

For the occasion.

Happy Moments from My Very Happy Birthday!

Best birthday gifts!

Birthday dinner at Dino's!

Lovelies from my love.

Fettuccine with wild boar's meat & chocolate ice cream make La C a very happy girl!

A very content birthday girl.

My Year of the Dragon

On the eve of my 39th birthday..or…as the love of my life so charmingly put it – ‘the last birthday in my 30’s’…I have a lot to say.

Shocking, I know.

A running theme in my life is my aversion to change. Amusing given that the latter half of my 38th year has seen not only change but down right upheaval.

Friends moved away, La C started school prompting untold lifestyle change including the departure of Marta my parenting rock, there was the untimely loss of someone dear to my heart, a change of address that reconstituted my day to day compass and an uptick in workload amid uncertainty.

And age.

With its slow and almost imperceptible hammering at us, age crafts us into its own puppet.

And we are impervious.

Until one day we move forward and feel the tug of the string.

We are told to eat right, exercise regularly, refrain from this or that and take our daily vitamins. This will keep age at bay.

Or at least minimize its damage.

I agree. But I also believe there is one more piece to the equation.

We must change.

I must change. There, I’ve said it.

Hear that flapping? It is the pigs.

Flying.

And I do not mean change my hair color or change my eating habits.

I am changing my intention to fight age.

Rather, I intend to accommodate it.

Take it in, breathe it out, ask for help, give up the ghost and be satisfied with what level of happiness I manage to achieve.

True, at 39 true aging is on the horizon, but for me a few querulous impacts of a life well lived have made themselves known to me and made me acutely aware of what we all face.

Life is a very long time, if we are so blessed. Why spend the time trying to beat the clock to the finish?

I’m in it for the long haul.

Wrinkles, love handles, arthritis and all.

And completely decked out for the occasion.

La C and the Bad Hat

It has become a rather insidious affair.

In the morning La C tromps off to school the hat jauntily perched on her head.

In the evening after a lengthy search by all hands on deck of the school from top to bottom La C returns home.

Hatless.

First to go was the Old Navy Outlet pink jester hat with white polka dots.

Next went the hand knit white cap with ear flaps.

The hardest loss was the red danish knit hat that was actually mine but we were getting desperate as the hat pile waned.

The kicker here is that every day we lost a hat the set of mittens came home in tact.

How does that happen??

We still have both of the matching pink and polka dot mittens.

And the white hand knit mittens.

And the pink ski mittens that accompanied the danish knit cap.

I am...flummoxed.

It has been a particularly trying couple of weeks for me on all fronts. The situation of the bad hat has allowed me to focus my frustrations.

And highlights the complexity and inanity of child rearing.

This was a week of multiple bathroom timing accidents, a fall during aftercare, and a biting incident (La C was the recipient of the bite).

A week of bureacracy, deadlines, and professional biting.

But what has consumed the household is the situation of the bad hat.

Night to Day

If the view from my office could talk.

So long, farewell...time to clock out for the day...erm, night.

And we're back -- good morning!

Monday of My Dreams

Every Monday should be required to have the following---

Prelude to a Nap

Cleo the Cat

Night cap.

My Day in Snapshots

Rise and shine.

Play date aftermath.

Lunch @ the Star and Shamrock.

Some more work.

Slow Cooker Dinner a la Love of My Life

Saturday

Mom works.

La C plays.