(Hi Heather!)

I grow weary and tired waiting for Dooce. My mind is numb and I’ve stopped counting the days. Why do I care so much you ask? The simple answer is, I don’t remember.

 Dooce you have inspired and entertained me for years now. All I ask in return is a visit to my site -my simple, humble, little site (with a newly designed custom header! yeah!).

Readers, if you care at all about my little quest… go to www.dooce.com and plead my case.

new header! new header! I made a new header!

(thanks Kevie!)

Amazing what a year can do. This was actually taken in my office in January but I came across it today and couldn’t resist posting it.

I want you to notice two things about this picture. First, as I mentioned, it was January and I am in short sleeves. My husband told me that I kept our house so cold last winter (hormones) that his nose was constantly frozen. He said he would wait for me to go to bed and then go put an extra blanket on Isaac so he didn’t become a toddler popsicle overnight.

Second, I am turned away from the camera and it is definitely on purpose. I felt so gross being this large that I didn’t want my picture taken. In retrospect, that was silly. Pregnant is beautiful- no matter what. Your body is not your own for a glorious and miraculous reason - mostly because you are just getting a taste of the personal sacrifice that is parenting.

I can’t believe Joshua is now 9 months old and that being pregnant with him seems like a lifetime ago. I am not sure if motherhood changes your sense of time or just your understanding of it - either way, my life feels unbelievably different than it did this time last year.

I am stronger, older, more weathered (read: wrinkled) and more peaceful. Joshua entered this world and showed me that God can and will provide, just in His time…not mine.

be patient here folks I am working on a new site theme and it actually requires some technical skill.

Stay tuned,

THE MANAGEMENT

When I was 8 I marched my little butt into a modeling agency and asked for a job. They gave me one.

The above pictures serve as a few pieces of proof. I show you all these pictures not because of how fantastic I think I am but because of what I great experience it was. I am proud that I had the courage to do this and I think it is part of what made me the person I am today. Let the laughing commence…

P.S. How do ya like that 80’s hair? So hot.

Sometimes in our lives we are faced with decisions that can paralyze us. These decisions become lines of demarcation in our hearts, like emotional tattoos. I recently went through a decision process that felt like a marathon for my soul. It really wasn’t even a decision that would cause the average person much angst but it was, I think, cosmically created to be difficult for me. Let me explain…

There is a saying that “perfection is the enemy of the good.” It is used often in the context of public policy and business decisions. The idea is that we often get so caught up in the machinations of making something perfect, that we could have produced a product that would’ve been “good” in the time we’ve spent fighting about the details of perfection. I hate to admit it but I spend a decent portion of my life in search of perfection. In my flawed mind, “good” is the easy way out, it is not pushing quite hard enough. Essentially “good” is painting your toes with one coat of polish instead of two….the color is there but it isn’t as brilliant or long lasting as it could be.

As I embarked upon this decision, I was tossed from mountain top to valley floor in the span of a few minutes. The opportunity presented itself and I was so flattered. However, by the time I got in the car and drove 5 miles I had come up with an extensive list of pros and cons. I had begun the process of self doubt and it sucked me into my own head like a giant vacuum. A Dyson vacuum.

This decision had all the elements - family, friends, kids, work, home, finances, spirituality, etc. It touched every part of my life. As I wrestled with the decision, I found myself asking several people for advice. With each conversation my mind was changed. With each conversation a little part of me was taken out of the decision making process and the other person’s opinion was put in its’ place. This was making my mind a patchwork quilt of other peoples reasoning. I am not saying that getting advice from others isn’t good, it just isn’t always healthy.

As I reached a full fever pitch, I called my sister and began the process of unloading all of the pros and cons once again. She wisely suggested that I stop talking about this. No really, just stop talking. This was a novel idea. So I took her up on her suggestion and vowed not to talk to anyone about this issue for 48 hours and just ask God and my heart to do some communicating of the non-verbal sort.

Amazingly enough, after only about 12 hours of silence a peace started to settle over me and the Bible verse “Everything is permissible but not everything is beneficial” came to my mind. I wondered why and what it might mean. I spent the next 12 hours meditating on that verse and then it hit me. I have the freedom to walk through this door. My life probably won’t fall apart if I do. In fact, it could be great. However, just because it is permissible to do so, doesn’t mean that in the long run it will be beneficial.

As young women, we learn at a young age that there are times to say “no.” Sometimes it’s easy, like when the dessert put in front of you involves absolutely no chocolate…what a waste! Other times it’s hard, like when the dessert is warm brownies… a la mode.  The level of temptation rises like a jet airliner when the “something” we are trying to resist is really irresistible. Like how girls almost all learn the hard way that, yes you can go out with the “bad boy” and it might be awesome for a week but it doesn’t mean it won’t end poorly.

As adults, bigger “desserts” get dangled in front of us, like jobs. Desserts with six figures and a good pension plan. It is almost as hard to say “no” to good pension plans as it is to warm chocolate. When these issues present themselves, we have two options, one is to run headlong into the great unknown. The second is to take stock of what you already have in front of you before you jump. As I attempted this exercise, amidst an unfortunate degree of emotionalism, I found a few things out.  First of all, my life is amazing. Seriously. I have the best of both worlds. I am a committed mother and a career woman. I can do both. I am doing both. I have a beautiful family and network of friends that support me. I have a husband that would walk across hot coals for me…which is, I suspect, what he felt like he did this week watching me flip and flop like a carp on beach.

I learned something else from this decision. The tattoo etched on my psyche this week was the value of free will. I am free. Really free to do as I please. I can run naked through town. I can sleep with the cable guy. I can shoplift. I can base jump. I can have 6 kids. I can eat warm brownies a la mode every day. It just doesn’t mean that I won’t get arrested, come down with a VD, pay high life insurance rates and need a tummy tuck. Freedom doesn’t mean free from.

So, for me, the best decision is going to be staying put. I am going to enjoy what I have and know that I am free to choose differently at any time…and that, is almost as good as warm chocolate.

I flew to Palm Springs yesterday for work. As I left home in the morning, it was raining and the roads were crammed with commuters. I was almost late for my flight and I was soaking wet because I had to walk really far from my parking space to the shuttle.

Needless to say, my attitude was not the best by the time I got through security. I hate leaving my family for travel but I don’t have to do it that often so I try really hard not to freak out about it. Today I wasn’t managing so well. I was missing my boys and feeling distracted by some big decisions I am currently wrestling with. I sat down at the gate to wait for boarding and looked around at my fellow passengers.  I hate flying. I always check out who might be meeting Jesus with me on this fine day, should the plane explode. I have issues.

I notice at this point that the plane I am boarding has propellers. This bothers me for some reason I can not explain in any rational mechanical way, it just seems more dangerous.

Anyway, I call a friend of mine who knows that I hate to fly and I leave a voicemail message about the plane having propellers and the preponderance of elderly people on the flight. I joked that this didn’t seem to bode well for my survival chances, given that 80% of the passengers were in the “oh well, he/she lived a full life” category.

So between the stress of my morning commute and the anxiety over the impending plane crash, I was pretty worked up. As I board the plane, I notice that I have a seat mate who is, maybe the oldest person on the whole flight.  Her face was rimmed with age and her movements were slower, more calculated than mine. She asked that I get the blanket down for her from the overhead compartment and I, of course, comply.

I am still so caught up in my own world at this point that I am oblivious to her warm smile and lively eyes. If I would have paid attention, I might have noticed more quickly how much she was desiring conversation with another person. It wouldn’t be until after the flight was over that I would wonder how on earth I didn’t immediately see her dynamic personality, even behind all those years.

I would quickly learn the following things:

Her name is Edith and she is from Southern California. She has two children and only one grandchild. She was born in 1926 and she would like to vote for Hillary, although she is concerned that the rest of the world isn’t ready for a woman President.  She raised her children in Europe, as her husband was in the Air Force and later the Civil Service. Her son was a CIA agent for a time after serving in Desert Storm. Her grandson is lazy and he lives with her. He has too many computers and stuff all over the house and he likes to eat frozen chimichangas. She wished he would eat her roast instead. She makes a really great roast.

Edith is amazing. She is 84 years young and her brain clearly hasn’t slowed even though her body has. She tells me tales of France and Germany and of vacationing on the coast of Spain. She says that she was one of few military wives who chose to work outside the home. Even though she wished she could’ve spent more time with her kids, she felt an obligation to work, simply because she could and it wasn’t an opportunity the world afforded her mother. She wanted to take advantage of her freedom to be a whole person.

We talk about children and jobs and family. I show her pictures of my kids and she declares that if she lived next door to me, I would have to beat her off with a stick to keep her from coming to spend time with them. We also talk about her life in Paris and Luxembourg and how they had enough money for a butler. Her eyes gleam with excitement as she recalls those times.

She seems lonely and unchallenged now. Clearly her mind is still so nimble, it seems unfair to keep this woman from the work world. She offers me great advice on life and work - she is patient with my lamenting about certain life decisions I may have to make soon.

As the plane ride gets bumpy with turbulence I start to wince and squirm in my seat. She notices that I am bothered by the bumps and purposely tries to keep me entertained so that I don’t notice the movement. Edith is so bright and lively and encouraging. She gives me the gift of perspective. She offers advice on everything from getting Joshua to sleep through the night to career decisions.

As the plane starts to loose altitude and prepare for landing I am already dreading saying goodbye to Edith. As I leave, I feel as though I should hug her because she has had such a profound impact on me.

The plane pulls up to the terminal and we de-plane outside in the warm desert sun. I meet up with some of the people I work with in the airport. I immediately put on my work “face” and begin chatting these people up about our industry. We head to the rental car and I get situated in the back seat. Just as I do, I look over and see Edith waiting for her grandson at the curb. I wave and smile one last time and so does she.  As we drive away I am compelled by how much I would rather be headed to her house for roast than on my way to this conference.

Edith reminded me that life may be made up of a series of mundane days strung together but the importance is the totality of your experience. What we really should be aiming for is the the summation of all of those mundane days to be a picture of grace, love and success

Wherever you are Edith, thank you for sharing with me. You are a testament to the independence and spirit of your generation. You have inspired me to think of not just what I want to do with my life 5 years from now but who I want to be 50 years from now. I hope that I am on a plane, 50 years from now and get the chance to tell some busy body 30 year old woman what life is really about.

1. You burp out loud in your office while working and the secretary around the corner says, “Oh Jenn, I didn’t know you were back from lunch.”

2. You announce at a meeting, “Hold on I have to go pee.”

3. You start to remove your belt when you are outside the bathroom door.

4. You call a co-worker at Bi-otch and she doesn’t take offense.

5. You take your shoes off  in your office and one of your co-workers walks by and without yet seeing you says… “Put your shoes back on Jenn.”

Kevin: Isaac, did you see Santa on Saturday?

Isaac: Yes! I saw Santa!!!!  he was on a firetruck with lots of lights.

Kevin: Did you tell him what you want for Christmas?

Isaac: No, I didn’t talk to him. He was waaaaaaaaaay up there. And loud.

Kevin: When you see him next time are you going to sit on his lap and tell him what you want for Christmas?

Isaac: I want a scooter.

Kevin: I know, but are you going to tell Santa that?

Isaac: (exasperated) Daddy, I am not going to sit on his lap. I will walk up to him and tell him I want a scooter but that is it. That is it Daddy.

Good to know that my three year old has established “boundaries” that would make a therapist proud…

Dooce log, day 3 and 4.

No Dooce activity has been reported. Am begining to think I am alone on this planet.

Stay tuned faithful readers. If you write it, she will come…