Bellwether

Summer is coming to a close, and I'm nesting.

At the end of June I had burnt out, disenchanted with my jewelry business in particular.  

It took my husband to point out that my physical space was a manifestation of my mental state.  Now, of course, I wish I had taken a picture, but at the time I didn't want to immortalize just how out-of-control my studio space had become. 

So I took July off - completely - to clear out my head.  

August was all about rehabbing my physical space.  When we moved into this house, the front part of the house, the one that would become my studio and store, had a liver-brown nappy carpet, and we swore we would redo the floors in the first two years.

That was eight years ago. 

Refreshed and renewed from my break in July, I was finally ready to tackle the dank-ish space where I spend the majority of the day. 

The first step was to take everything out of both rooms and pile is precariously around the rest of the house... all the furniture and jewelry/Arbonne supplies and displays.  The front part of our house looked like something straight out of an episode of Hoarders.  For over three weeks we wound our way around boxes, furniture piled hither and yon - carving little paths to get to the playroom, our TV room and the kitchen. 

We all wore the shin bruises to prove how old this got, and quickly.

Redoing the floors was supposed to take a week and a half, but as these things do it stretched into two, then three weeks.  

I was grateful for the emotional respite of July, because I was down to my last tiny nerve by the time the floors were declared suitable to move in.  

I spent the last two days feverishly organizing and decorating, vowing NOT to put anything back that I didn't love or need. 

Here is my studio space before (I didn't even take a shot of the whole room because the carpet was so bad): 

This was right after I organized it, back in 2011.  It never looked this neat again.

Here is my studio space now: 

My in-home store also needed a face lift.  Here it is before: 

And now: 

I have written about this before, but in rehab I learned about the expression "messy bed, messy head".  The counselors made us make our beds and tidy up our space every morning before we did anything else .

Of course I scoffed at this idea at the time, but I know now they are dead right.  As my physical space deteriorated, I told myself it was "an organized mess", or that it was a result of my "artistic brain".  There is some truth to both statements, but there is a fine line between artsy and out-of-control.  

As I begin this new year (I always think of September as a new year) I feel such gratitude for my new space - both mental and physical. I am blessed that my "commute" consists of walking down a flight of stairs and into a place that relaxes and soothes me.  

I am going to pay more attention to my physical surroundings, having gained a new appreciation for the fact that they are a bellwether to my overall mental state. 

Ladies and gentlemen - the World Headquarters of Shining Strong/Two Little Birds/One Crafty Mother: 

How My Life Changed In Five Months

We are taking a quick break from our regularly scheduled writing for a word from our sponsor ... that would be me, sponsoring myself.... :)

Even though I'm trying not to make this blog too Arbonne-y (totally a word) I had to share this. Arbonne's products have changed my life - physically, emotionally and financially.

I used to spend SO MUCH MONEY on skin care products (really, it was a problem) that didn't work and were full of hazardous chemicals, mineral oils and/or animal by-products.

I used to struggle with a healthy eating plan, controlling calories without looking hard at WHAT was in the foods I was eating.

I knew I had to do something to earn additional money, but REALLY didn't want to go back to an office job.

The skin care products have utterly transformed my skin.  Just the other day a couple of (very handsome) twenty-five year old young men guessed my age as 34.  I'm 44.

I have been able to maintain a healthy weight for months now with little effort, even during the summer months (which have always been hard for me).

I am able to stay home and work - Arbonne fits seamlessly into the other work I do with jewelry and non-profit outreach.

It's funny, because when it comes to shouting from the hilltops about my non-profit work (including my jewelry which funds my non-profit) I have no trouble spreading the word.  I'm getting used to the idea that Arbonne is the SAME.  It changes lives, and it isn't about vanity, or a desperate struggle to look younger, or thinner.  It's about self-care - using safe, pure products that help us feel good from the inside out.

Check out the final results from my two week Genius challenge (Genius is a patented new product from Arbonne and it's going to revolutionize skin care):

Arbonne's RE9 Anti-Aging skin care regime and the new Genius product combined make it so I don't feel like I have to wear makeup to cover dark circles, puffiness and wrinkles.  Let's face it (no pun intended) - how we feel about our skin does impact our self-confidence.  At least it does for me.

And the results from the 30 day fit kit I did in the spring - not only have I been able to maintain these results for over four months now, I learned so much about my eating habits, addictions (hello, sugar) and how toxins (anything our body can't convert to energy) store fat and reduce our energy. I eat CLEANER, and it's made all the difference.

Got rid of stomach/waist fat by ridding my body of toxins.Increased my energy, slept better, went down two clothes sizes and have been able to maintain this lifestyle.

The only way I can show how Arbonne has changed my life from a financial perspective - while maintaining healthy balance - is this way:

Happy kids and the ability to be with them during the summer, after school, at sports - anywhere.

If any of this interests you - healthier eating, your best looking skin, financial independence and security - please ask me about Arbonne ... either the products, the opportunity or both.  My email is onecraftyellie@gmail.com.

I say this not to put a big sales pitch on you, but because it has quite literally changed my life.  I don't ever, ever write about things I can't back up, or that I don't believe in, and I believe in this with all my heart.

We will now return to our regularly scheduled programming - thank you for taking the time to listen and (hopefully) not un-follow me.

What Is Your Relationship With Food?

Being out at our beach cottage makes me contemplative.

It's hard not to be - surrounded by water, sun and sand with no electricity.  Everything runs on solar, propane or a generator.  Each night the kids fall into bed exhausted from full days of running around in the fresh air

The nights are getting cooler now, the first wisps of fall are in the air.

I love it.

Fall is like my New Year's.  I'm academically programed, and each September along with the crisp air I start thinking about what this new year is going to bring.

The arrival of that big yellow school bus marks the beginning of the kids' new school year, and return of some structure to my life.

This morning I woke early, wrapped up in a cozy sweater and headed up to the lighthouse next to our cottage.  As the sun's rays poked up over the horizon, pushing away the night's darkness, I thought about new beginnings.

Each day is a chance for a new start.

The lack of structure during the summer can be tough. Especially for stay-at-home Moms.  All too often our needs take a back burner to the constant pace of summer.   It can be a tough time for healthy eating, even though in theory the opposite should be true, what with the abundance of fresh fruit and vegetables.

Exercise regimes are interrupted, or put on hold.  Healthy eating is abandoned (with glee, I hope) during vacations and barbeques.

I don't know about you, but summer is typically my most challenging month in terms of self-care.

I can't wait for a fresh start in September.  I can't wait to get back to my routine - my yoga classes, my support groups.

One thing that wasn't as tough for me this summer as in years past is healthier eating.  I've talked about the Arbonne fitness plan here before. It's hard not to talk about it all the time, to be honest.

As many of you know, I hosted and participated in an Arbonne 30 day fitness challenge in the spring, losing 14 lbs and 2 inches off my waist. 

But most importantly, for me it was a jump start to a healthier lifestyle. As the fat melted off my waistline and my energy returned, I was able to flip that Internal Eating Switch from "what does it matter" to "I matter".  Losing weight and looking better is great, don't get me wrong, but this isn't meant to be a get-thin-quick fad diet.  It's an entire system of healthier eating.

It's a gateway to freedom from self-sabotaging thoughts about food, and yourself.

I used to get uncomfortable blogging about Arbonne.  I don't like feeling like I'm using this place to be salesy.  But I have witnessed this plan change lives, and so I'm not apologetic about talking about it here.

Since the spring challenge, my clients who did the 30 day fit kit and then stayed on basic maintenance and stuck with the healthier eating habits have been able to not only maintain their weight loss, but continue to build muscle and gain energy.  Their skin is clearer.  They sleep better.

By digging down and examining their eating habits, they feel back in control of their relationship to food.

Amanda - my best friend since we were ten years old - did the spring challenge.  Her goal was to get control of her sugar and dairy intake (read: ICE CREAM) and stop her late afternoon energy crash.   While she is very active, she isn't an exerciser.  She has always been naturally slim (good genes) but knew there was a healthier, toner, more energetic person waiting to come out.

She has now been on maintenance for almost three months.  I saw her yesterday for the first time in a couple of months.  She is radiant.  Sure, she's ten pounds thinner and toned, but it's more than that.  There is a lightness about her spirit, too. 

When she took those before pictures she could never, ever have imagined letting someone take her picture in a bikini.  And posting it on the INTERNET. (You are such a good sport, Amanda. Thank you)!

This summer I wasn't able to exercise like I wanted to, but being on the Arbonne fitness plan made me feel like I was in control of food, instead of the other way around.  I understand the nature of my relationship to food, now - in particular to sugar.  There isn't any "cheating", only choices.

I'm hosting another 30 Day Fitness Challenge (along with several others in my incredible Arbonne team) starting September 1st.  We chose September because it's a fantastic time for new beginnings.  The return of structure.  The crisp, clear fall days where long walks are a treat.

Put yourself back in the driver's seat when it comes to food.  This 30 day fitness challenge is great for weight loss, to be sure, but it's so much more than that.  It's your new beginning. It's your fresh start.  You are so totally worth it.

For the cost of one week's groceries for the average family of four, you can flip your "what's the point" switch to "I AM THE POINT".

This challenge is open to both existing and new clients, and in order to participate you need to purchase your kit by August 21st.  I know that isn't much time.  That is on purpose.  Don't over think this ... jump in with both feet.  I did, and it's one of the best decisions I ever made.

I won't go into all the details here - this post is long enough - but if you are interested send me an email at ellieandsteve@verizon.net and I will send you more information about the fit kit and the challenge.  To learn more you can also go to my Arbonne page by clicking HERE.

It's YOUR time.  You can do this.

Roots

We're limping over the finish line - school finally ends today.  Greta is no longer in elementary school - this fall she heads to middle school.  Finn is reading chapter books and eager to start second grade. 

They are growing up.

I usually feel ambivalent about the last day of school - carrying a nervous pit in my stomach about how on earth I'm going to keep up my hectic work schedule with them home full time.

Not this year.

I'm tired.  I have so many exciting things happening with my non-profit, with my jewelry businesses, with my Arbonne business.  But I'm stretched too thin, and everything is suffering. 

The things I usually do to tend to the soil beneath my own feet - yoga, exercise, meetings, cancer group - have taken a back seat to my schedule.  We all know if you don't care for the roots of a plant it starts to wilt, and my flower is wilting.

I can't imagine giving up any of the things I'm doing - I love them all, and they all fulfill important needs for me financially and spiritually.  But I can't keep this up.

I have decided to put my Etsy shop - Shining Stones - in hiatus for the summer.  If you are still waiting on an order, no worries, I'll get it to you.  But once I have cleared my decks there I'm putting it in vacation mode for two months.  I have to, and I even kind of want to.

I'll keep Two Little Birds Studio open, with the caveat that it may take a couple of weeks to complete any orders. 

I need a break.

Really exciting things are happening for Shining Strong - we're partnering with a world-class addiction rehabilitation center here in the Northesast.  Gosnold on Cape Cod, where I got sober as did two of my very best friends and countless others that mean so much to me. If you go to their website (follow the link) and scroll down you'll see Shining Strong is listed as a partner.   We have big ideas, big plans, to bring the stigma of addiction out into the light and help people know they aren't alone.

I want to focus on that.

My Arbonne business is growing by leaps and bounds - I'm building a team of incredible women who are changing their lives by building their own Arbonne businesses, and it's exciting. I want to be there to help them, too.

I need to be able to exercise, go to yoga, go to recovery and cancer support group meetings.  Those things fill my soul, make it possible for me to make it through the tougher times.

And things haven't been all that easy this month.  I miss my Dad so very much.  June 11th was the anniversary of his death, two years now, and as these exciting things happen I find myself thinking "oh, I can't wait to tell Dad!" only to have the heart stopping realization that he isn't here to tell.  I still have a lot of processing to do.

My anxiety is back.  Not constantly, but enough that it's sapping my energy.  I know it is because I'm not tending to my roots. 

I want to throw myself into this summer without feeling pulled in ten different directions - physically here but mentally absent.  My kids deserve that.  I deserve that.

We have trips planned for most of July - visits to see family, a trip to the Florida Keys, and then I'm going to Chicago for the blogging conference BlogHer.   I want to be present for these things.  I am beginning to understand the affliction of workaholism.   I know my scales are not balanced. 

I will take the summer to regroup, re-prioritize.  I have to.  

It's hard, though, when all the dreams you've had start to gain momentum at the same time.  I don't mean "poor me" hard, I just wish I could space it out more, so I didn't have to pick and choose.

It's only been a year since my last major surgery - the neck dissection that removed 23 lymph nodes and hopefully the last of my cancer.  

I think I'm overdosing on feeling good.  I'm SUCH an addict.  If a little is good, more is better, right?

Wrong.

Back to basics for me: family, self-care, longer stretches of time (heck, ANY stretches of time) where nothing is planned.  Lazy summer days burying my toes in the sand with nothing on my mind but what to read next.

I hope.

I hope I can do this.  If I struggle with a more balanced pace, I know I will have to do some serious re-evaluating of whether I'm running towards, or running from. 

I'm calling myself out, here, for those days when I'd rather manically check emails than go to the beach with my kids.  For the times I drag my laptop with me on vacation and spend more than a few minutes checking in.  For when I am in the middle of a perfectly good summer day and my mind is anywhere but in the present moment.

I want to be in the present moment.  I am concerned I may have forgotten how.

We will do The Bubble Hour podcast every other week during the summer, so my co-hosts and I can have some breathing room.  We don't want the quality of the shows to suffer simply because we feel the world will stop revolving if we aren't live on the air every week.  Of course it won't. In between live shows we will air re-broadcasts of some of our most popular or helpful shows.

I hope you are enjoying a peaceful summer - even if you work full time, I hope you're able to find that breathing space, and time to tend to your roots. 

-Ellie

An Arena. A Skeptic. A Paradigm Shift.

The arena is humming with energy, pulsing with camaraderie, entrepreneurship and hope.

I feel a little bewildered, like a six year old going into her first candy shop.

Eight weeks ago Arbonne was a product I used and loved, and there I was sitting in Las Vegas at their annual conference.

How did that happen?

"You are not defined by your setbacks, but rather by your comebacks." says the inspiring keynote speaker, Cecilia Stoll, who came from quite literally nothing to become the top income earner at Arbonne.  The crowd explodes, 14,000 people leaping to their feet to thunderous applause.

I think about network marketing, as I clap and cheer right along with everyone else.  Prior to the past seven weeks to say network marketing made me skeptical would have been an understatement.  I just didn't get it, and nor did I want to.

It's got to be too good to be true, I thought.  There has got to be a catch.

All the promises of earning thousands of dollars a month or earning a brand new Mercedes just seemed - I don't know - seedy somehow.

I was very, very wrong.

What I witnessed at this conference was women (and men, too) that were empowered, self-confident, and helping each other succeed.   I love that I'm part of a company where a woman can stand on stage and announce to an arena full of her colleagues that her goal is to be the number one income earner and have everyone - and I mean everyone - explode into applause.

That never happens in Corporate America. Or Retail. Or Entertainment.  Pick any other business structure, and the only way to the top is to step on the heads of the people in front of you.

In network marketing - and especially at Arbonne - the more successful you are personally and financially, the more your colleagues benefit.  Not just financially but emotionally, and - this part surprised me - spiritually.

I expected the speakers at this conference to tell us how to sell, sell, sell.  They must be consummate salespeople, I thought before I arrived, to make that much money. 

I was wrong again.  They are storytellers, like me.

They shared their adversities, their challenges - each speaker told  very personal stories about their hardships, and their why.  Why they finally dropped the skepticism (because we're all skeptics when we start - nobody says as a child 'when I grow up I want to be in network marketing') and joined Arbonne.  Their why is what motivates them to each and every day.  They talked about how their self-esteem blossomed as their incomes did, too. And not just because they are making more money - or any money - but because they are introducing clients to products that improve health inside and out, all while stretching and growing themselves as they face fears and do it anyway.

Women, in particular, are sheepish about talking about money when it comes to working, I think.  Or about advocating to make more money, or something.  Not all women, of course, but many women. I know I am.

But here is my reality: both my kids are in school, my jewelry business helps to support my non-profit endeavors, but I need to make money. I want more financial independence, but I don't want to go back to an office job.

And I'm SO not a salesperson.  SO. NOT.

I've been chasing heart dreams so long that I worried I'd never find something that could increase my income AND blend with my heart song of empowering women, sharing story, and improving the world.

I never, ever,  thought that would come in the form of a network marketing company.  EVER.  I've learned a lot about it in seven short weeks, though, and it IS the wave of the future.  I want my efforts - my talents - to benefit me and my clients.  Not some Corporate Muckity-Muck in a corner office.

I want to choose when I work and how I work. I want to be surrounded by interesting, funny, talented and compassionate people. I want to make a difference in the world.  I want to make more money.

I get ALL of that - literally EVERYTHING on my list - with Arbonne.

These women are not ashamed of their success.  They give so much back in the form of charitable donations and in helping other women succeed - whatever their definition of success may be.

I don't need to make thousands of dollars more per month, but at Arbonne that is a possibility.  I'm only limited if my own vision for myself is limited.

One thing is very true - that first Arbonne check I received felt pretty damn good, considering I feel like I'm just out having a ton of fun.

"There is no illusion greater than fear".  Cecilia Stoll quoted Lao Tzu during her speech.

I had to overcome fear to join Arbonne. Fear of asking people to host workshops, to consider buying product, to consider joining Arbonne with me.  The only reason I can do it is I believe in this with my whole heart.

My body looks and feels great.  My skin looks and feels great.  I am having so much fun.  These products are incredible - safe, pure, beneficial - they are revolutionizing skin care and health and wellness.

It's not hard to ask someone if they want to be a part of that.

And, surprisingly, I'm okay with "no".  This doesn't have to be for everyone.  Networking marketing people used to scare me with their pop-eyed zeal.  I get it, now. I'm trying not to be too pop-eyed, but it's hard, because I feel part of something bigger than me, something that is putting control back into peoples' lives - how they spend their time, when they work, how they work, and even how much money they make - this business can shrink and expand to fit into your life, instead of you shrinking or expanding to fit into working life.

What's not to love?

"Courageous people get outrageous rewards", Cecilia said toward the end of her keynote.

I feel outrageous, sitting there in a huge arena in Vegas.  I feel the ground shake underneath me, a paradigm shift in my life.  Anything is possible.  Anything.

Everyone - and I do mean everyone - I have approached about this opportunity starts with the 'why-nots'.  We are so quick to do that - at least I am - to come up with all the "can'ts".  And they don't hesitate because they don't like the product, or because they don't like Arbonne.

They hesitate - like I did - because they don't think they can.

"I'm not a salesperson".  "I don't know very many people."  "I can't speak in front of people".  "I can't be out a lot".

I'm not interested in what you're not, or what you can't do.  Because you can.  The beauty of controlling your own working life is you play to your strengths, you do this in the way that suits you the best.

Courageous people DO get outrageous rewards.  You learn more from your comebacks than your setbacks.  When you stretch yourself - just a little - the world is yours.

You can.

A Text Changes My Life

I'm excited.

I have spent years building something one tiny step at a time. It started with my Etsy jewelry business, then this blog, then Crying Out Now, then The Bubble Hour, then Two Little Birds Studio.

So, I'm busy.

But I don't notice. I'm so passionate about all these endeavors - the art of creating is my meditation, my escape, and it fuels my soul.  Breaking down the stigma of alcoholism, particularly as it relates to women, bit by bit, gives me a sense of purposeful determination.   I do all of these things because I love them, and I have always followed the adage "do what you love and the money will follow".

There's a hitch, though. My Heart Projects are so interwoven into my life I can't imagine life without them - they are almost like children to me. They have brought so many incredible people into my life, such amazing community, that I could never put a price on what they mean to me.  I'm rich with friendship.  In the friendship category, I'm a badzillionaire, and I know how lucky I am.  But they don't make money.

My jewelry business has far surpassed anything I could have imagined, but in order to grow that business I would have to have a massive paradigm change: hire people to work for me, open a retail store, slog around to home parties - something - if that business is going to contribute meaningfully to our household income.  I like it the way it is, though.  It's mine, it's from my heart, and I don't want to change it. And I don't want to stop making jewelry.

Shining Strong - the umbrella organization for all my recovery sites - is coming along. I'm incorporating it as a non-profit, and hope to get 501(c)3 status by the end of the year.  It's my dream to have that be a self-sustaining organization, its mission is to break down the darkness and denial that surrounds addiction, and it's growing by leaps and bounds, in large part thanks to you - my readers - who help by spreading the word and donating. THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all your tweets, posts and donations.  Because of you Shining Strong will live another six months.

But it was never supposed to make money, either.

I found myself in a quandary.  My jewelry business has peaked - I work hard at this business because I LOVE it, but it's not going to be a major financial contributor to our income unless I make major changes I'm not willing to make.  My recovery projects fuel me, give me purpose and community - but they are never going to be money makers, either.

My kids are in school full time, and my days are full.  BUT. And this is a big one - I need to earn more money. I did my taxes recently, and was so depressed to see how little I'm actually earning with the jewelry.  I work way too hard to make that little, I thought.  But it was never about money, was my next immediate thought. A pause, and then reality crashed through:  but now it needs to be. You can't continue like this. 

I was really down, because I was fearful I was going to have to give some, or all, of these projects up and get a "real" job.

I don't even know how to have a 'real' job anymore, because I've spent so much time being purpose driven.  I'm smart. I know if I applied myself I could go back to the corporate world, where I logged so many hours in my previous life. I'm good at it. I made a lot of money doing it.  I was miserable.

I was mulling all this over on my way to yoga last week, when my phone beeped with a text. It was my friend, Jen, who I was supposed to meet for coffee that morning but somehow never got into my calendar.  I drove into a Target parking lot and thought hard. I knew why she wanted to meet with me - she is an Arbonne consultant and I knew she wanted to ask me to sign on (officially - I'd been an unofficial consultant for months just to get the products at the consultant's discount) to sell Arbonne.

I stared at the text for a solid minute, and had my thumb hovering over the keys to tell her I couldn't meet her because I had yoga.  I don't have time to sell Arbonne, I thought. Even though I adore the product, I just don't have the time.  We had already rescheduled our coffee date three times, and I was starting to text sorry, can't make it, yoga ... when something stirred in my gut.

GO, that something said.

So I typed "on my way" instead, pulled out of the Target parking lot and went left to coffee instead of right to yoga.

That one little decision has already changed my life, and it was only one week ago.

I love it when the universe chucks you one, burrows down into your gut and whispers: stay open.

Over that two hour coffee date Jen explained all the reasons Arbonne does fit, for me.  It is a natural extension of what I'm already all about: self-care, building businesses, interacting with people, sharing things that have changed me for the better because I believe in them.  Not because I want to make money.

"I can't sell something just to make money," I told her. She smiled. That's okay, she said. Do as little or as much as you want. You're already telling everyone you know about Arbonne, why not make it official?

"I won't do parties," I said.

She smiled again.  That's okay, too.  Find whatever way works for you.

"I'm not sales-y," I said.   Thank goodness, was her reply.  You can't cram anything down someone's throat. Just keep doing what you're doing - tell your story, about how it's changed your skin, your health, and see what happens.

"I don't have time," I said.  Well, why not give it a try? she said. If it doesn't work out you can stay a consultant and get your favorite product at a discount. What do you have to lose? 

As I drove home from our coffee date I thought about what Jen said and the Universe's message to me:  stay open. And, while the Universe was on a roll, it said: what's wrong with making money? It will allow you to keep your Heart Projects going, and then some.

So here I am, writing about it, because since that coffee date I feel alive again. I've already earned more in this week than I usually do in a month of jewelry making, and I haven't had to sell anyone anything. Jen was right - I'm out there talking about it anyway, and people are interested in what I've learned.  I'm a story teller, not a salesperson, and that's totally okay. More than okay.

Arbonne rolls right into everything I've been building.  Cancer taught me so much about the scary chemicals we put on our faces bodies every day in make-up and skin care products.  I shudder to think of what my kids had been putting on their bodies. There are so many known carcinogens out there in everything we use, and the public doesn't hear enough about it.  In Europe the standards are MUCH more stringent. It makes me mad.

Because we're so uneducated about this stuff, we don't give these chemicals a moment's thought. I think about the gallons of lipstick (I've always been mad for lipstick) I have ingested over the years. And I ended up with cancer in my throat.  Even if they aren't causally related - I'll never know - I've changed our lifestyle - no more aluminum, no more sodium lauryl sulfate in this household (SLS is known to be one of the most dangerous chemicals in health care products and it's everywhere).  No more anything harsh or harmful.

Most importantly?  Being healthy and taking care of my skin and body makes me feel good.  I have spent years writing about how women struggle with self-esteem, self-confidence, self-love -- and how these issues feed addiction like gasoline feeds a fire.   Learning to put myself first was a years-long battle.  Arbonne fits right into that - I look better, I feel great, and I want to tell people that they deserve this.

The upside earning potential in Arbonne is mind-blowing. I don't know if I'll get that far. I'm not really thinking about it.  Just like with everything else, I'm taking it one step at a time.

And I'm writing about it. This won't become a "please buy Arbonne website".  I won't peddle product here.  But I may write about how it's changing my life, now and again.  If this much can happen in one week, it makes me very excited for the future.

And I gotta say  it - if you want to learn more?  Email me at ellieandsteve@verizon.net.  I won't sales you to death. I won't pressure you to do a thing.

I'll just share my story, like I always do.

Shame On You, Katie Couric

What's the big deal about Moms who drink?

I want there to be more discussion about this, and not for the reason you may suspect.  Many people think that because I'm an alcoholic, I'm cynical about the press drinking Moms seem to be getting these days.

That's not actually true.

My friend Stefanie Wilder-Taylor was on Katie Couric's talk show recently, so of course I watched with interest.  Stefanie is a pioneer in getting the word out about women, moms and drinking, and a pro at handling media appearances (you may have seen her on Good Morning America, Larry King Live and/or 20/20, among others).  She has helped countless women with her brave, funny and approachable spirit, and I'm very grateful she is putting herself out there with such grace.

I'm especially grateful Stefanie is a seasoned media veteran, because I was taken aback by the tone of Katie Couric's interview with Stefanie and other brave Moms coming forward to have a frank discussion about motherhood, drinking and drug use.

Here is a five minute excerpt of Stefanie's portion of the show:

 "Marile Borden is a Boston mom of two who organized a Facebook page called, “Moms Who Need Wine,” which currently has more than 650,500 followers. Stefanie Wilder-Taylor is a mom from Los Angeles who used to enjoy a drink or two at play dates, but gave up alcohol after a big wake-up call."



I recently heard Katie Couric speak at a blogging conference, and I was impressed. She was savvy, down-to-earth, accessible and funny.

I'm not a fan of the talk-show-host Katie. I realize she needs ratings, but I'm chagrined (but not surprised) that to get them she is sharpening her elbows and playing dirty, trying to pit Marile and Stefanie against each other (unsuccessfully, I'm happy to say, because of both of their professionalism and poise) like some Jerry Springer knock-off.

This show was a great opportunity for informed dialogue. Instead we get Katie mimicking swigging wine from a juice-box shaped wine container and badgering BOTH guests.  Katie Couric is trying to create sides in the issue of drinking Moms, and that gets us exactly nowhere.

Despite the middle-school-playground way this show was handled by the Katie Couric show, it raises some important issues.

Is it odd to have a Facebook page called "Moms Who Need Wine" with so many followers?  Is there something wrong with this?

My answer?  Absolutely not.

I would like to believe we live in a world where grown women (and men) can make their own informed, educated decisions about how to handle alcohol responsibly. Does the entire world have to curb their own behaviors because alcoholics exist?  I don't believe so.

Perhaps a better title for "Moms Who Need Wine" would be "Moms Who Want Wine" - but then, of course, it wouldn't be as catchy (or garner as much media attention - props to Marile for the name .. and I'm not being facetious... it's marketing genius).  I have a good friend who writes for their website, and it's not all about drinking.  It's also about the demands, joys, trials and small victories of motherhood.


Other guests on the show included Moms who take Adderall (an ADHD medication), anti-depressants or anti-anxiety drugs, including one Mom who went from Adderall to meth.

These are ALL serious and important issues: anxiety, depression, addiction.  But what was the title of the show?

"Mommy's Little Helper", with the byline: "What Would You Do To Become A Better Mom?"

And we wonder why women are so concerned with stigma?  About any of these issues?

People say they are tired of hearing about whether or not it's okay for Moms to drink.  I'm tired of it, too.  Do we get up in arms if a man (or woman) has a glass of wine or two over a business lunch?  Sure, they may not be as productive or focused when they get back to work, but are they a danger to themselves or others?  Full time Moms (notice I didn't say stay-at-home?) are, to over-simplify a bit, at work all the time.  I don't believe having a glass of wine or two - responsibly - at home or at a play date is any different than anyone having a drink with colleagues.

Can we please stop the media hype on this issue and focus on where the line gets blurred?  When Moms (or anyone, for that matter) get dependent - emotionally or physically - on a drink or a drug to "get them through the day".  When that relaxing glass of wine (or pill) starts to erode your ability to function? Or your peace of mind?

A Mom who is drinking, or taking needed medication, is not automatically putting her kids in danger, and the media hype about this issue only drives the people with a real problem deeper into the shadows.  Katie Couric's line of questioning for each guest seemed to be: "well, couldn't your 'symptoms' just be the normal stresses of life? I feel those things and I'm not popping pills/drinking".

Can we drop the "Better Mom" wars?  Shame on Katie Couric and her producers for exacerbating this Quixotic phenomenon.  Should a Mom with post-partum depression think she should just "buck-up"?  Should a Mom with crippling anxiety feel she's weak if she needs medication to cope?  Should a Mom who likes to have a glass of wine with friends feel judged?

No.

Not anymore than an addict or alcoholic should feel shame about the disease of addiction.  Being a "better Mom" has NOTHING to do with responsible recreational use, anymore than addiction makes someone a bad mom.  Addicts and alcoholics have a disease - we don't set out to ruin our lives or put our children in danger.

Having said that - and this is important - it IS the responsibility of an addict or alcoholic to get help and get well, once the problem is apparent. Any and all measures should be taken - as drastic as needed - to help someone stop abusing drugs and/or alcohol.  A disease does not give anyone the right to shirk getting well.

 So how do you know? How do you figure out if you're heading for trouble with drinking?  From my own experience - and the shared experiences of many other women - there are some things to look out for:

• Drinking every day at around the same time.
• Thinking about your nightly drink(s) earlier in the day.
• Planning activities around drinking/avoiding friends who don't drink "enough" or activities where there won't be any drinking.
• Sneaking sips/glasses.
• Lying about how much you're drinking.
• Drinking alone more than occasionally.
• Feeling shame about your drinking.
• Having memory lapses or "grey-outs" (where you can only remember parts of things).
• Increased anxiety, sleeplessness or irritability when you can't (or don't drink).
• Always finishing your drink, and noticing others' drinking - comparing your drinking to others.

This is by no means a comprehensive list, but it is a start. Even one of these symptoms could be an indication that drinking is becoming a problem. There is a school of thought that if you're an alcoholic you can't stop drinking without help, and this may be true.  But there is no harm is helping people understand early warning signs. 

Without informed, judgment-free discourse about difficult topics like depression, anxiety, alcoholism and addiction, we don't have a chance of healing. 

And, please, in the name of all that's sane, can we please leave Perfect Motherhood out of this discussion? 

While we're at it, can we leave it out of ALL discussions?

Real Life Seeps Back In

I'm feeling a little better day by day.  Each week brings a new milestone, something else I can eat, a little more energy.

I hope to have the feeding tube out at the end of the month. After that, I don't have to see a doctor for three months.

It is sinking in that I'm really, truly on the other side of this tough stretch.  I'm not a cancer patient anymore, although I'm still recovering from the after effects of the treatment.  I still get really tired at the end of the day, and I still have a fair amount of pain in my throat. I tend to be asleep by 8pm every night.  But I don't have cancer.

I don't have cancer.

I don't know why it's scary typing those words, but it is.  Having cancer has defined every breath I have taken for the past seven months.

Now regular life is starting to seep back in the cracks.  Shuffling the kids from activity to activity, helping with homework projects, watching sports games:  all the things I missed for so long.  It's such a gift to be able to do these things again.  I was humming as I folded laundry yesterday.  Humming.

Also seeping back in, though?  Worrying about money, my job, career.  There wasn't any room for this while I was sick.  But now we find ourselves on the other side of cancer with a pile of really scary bills.  Cancer, it turns out, is incredibly expensive.

One of my primary frustrations being sick was that I couldn't tend to my jewelry business the way I wanted. I kept up with orders - slowly - but I didn't have the energy to make new pieces, market the business, send out the monthly newsletter - in short, I didn't grow the business at all for more than half a year.

This makes me nervous, because I REALLY want Shining Stones to be what I do when Finn is finally in school full time next year.  Originally, this was to be the year of gang buster growth - of really spreading the words, participating in giveaways, blanketing the internet with cool new pieces, using Constant Contact and Pinterest and the blog to promote Shining Stones.

It didn't happen, because I was sick.

Now I'm worried, because if I can't get Shining Stones off the ground to be a meaningful financial contributor to our household income, I'm going to have to give up on that dream and go get a 'real' job.  One with hours and a boss and less time with my children.

Especially now, with the exorbitant cost of getting sick staring us in the face.

So I'm asking for your help.  When you can, can you help me promote my little business?  If you need a gift for someone, or if you know someone who does, can you spread the word about Shining Stones?

I'm making new stuff again, including these cool shamballa bracelets - they are one size fits all and make a GREAT gift:

Sparkling Shamballa Bracelet with Pave Beads (click on link to view in my shop)

Frost Glass Shamballa Bracelet (click on link or picture to see in my shop)

In fact, I have a whole section in my shop dedicated to these Shamballa bracelets, because I love them (and they are so trendy right now).

I also have a cool selection of customized teacher's gifts.

Here are a couple of the more popular styles (these can be customized with any message or word):

Customizable hand-stamped teacher's necklace

Customizable Teacher Necklace with two sterling silver discs and crystal adornment

I also have dozens more very affordable rings, earrings, necklaces , hand-stamped pieces, bracelets and recovery jewelry.

It makes me itchy to promote my business like this, but if I'm ever going to make it in this world, I'm going to have to get over that.  I don't write this blog to make money.  But I do write this blog, in part, to help spread the word about Shining Stones.

Plus, I was at a meeting last night, and the topic was asking for help.  I'm terrible at asking for help, whether it has to do with recovery, being ill (having cancer) or promoting my business.  But as someone said at the meeting - and it's so simple and obvious it's embarrassing - if you don't ask, people don't even have the opportunity to help you.  Some of you are already regular customers, and to you I give a hearty THANK YOU!

So here's me asking for help: if you could help me spread the word about Shining Stones, I'd be so very grateful.  I think there is a "share" bar at the bottom of each post?  By the comment section?  You can click on the icon for Twitter or Facebook and share that way, I think?  (I'm such a neophyte.  But I'm learning).

Thank you so much.

Caterpillars

I was doing okay until we hit the shoe section.

We're back-to-school shopping with the other procrastinators; school starts tomorrow.  We pick through the remains of school supplies, lunch-sized snacks and new outfits.

Greta had a growth spurt over the summer; she grew more than an inch in one month, and she needs
new shoes.  We steer the overflowing cart into the kids' shoe section, and begin hunting through pink sandals and glittery sneakers.

Not one pair of shoes fit.  Not the kid size 3.  Not even the 4s. 

We end up in the women's section - the women's section - and find a pair of size 5 1/2 clogs that fit just right.

Greta sashays up and down the aisle, a hand on one hip, a proud smile plastered across her face.

I feel like an old hand at this back-to-school stuff, so I didn't think I was going to be emotional about school this year.  But somehow, right under my nose, she has blossomed into a striking young woman. 

She flicks her hair over her shoulder and does a little spin.  "What do you think, Mom?"  When did she start calling me Mom?  What happened to Momma?

I manage a smile, and a quick nod. "Perfect," I choke. 

This long-legged beauty, with a hint of a womanly curve in her hip, is my little girl. 

In the car on the way home, she prattles on about the usual things, then grows quiet for a moment before saying, "I'm a little nervous about tomorrow.  Not a  LOT nervous, but I have the caterpillars-in-my-tummy feeling. It's kind of like a happy-nervous, I guess."

I tell her I remember the feeling so well, how the scent of a new pack of pencils made my stomach churn with nervous anticipation. 

We get home, unload the school supplies, and Greta sets about packing her backpack for tomorrow. 

Finn shuffles in the room, dragging his careworn blanket in one hand and his brand new backpack in the other.  "Will you help me wif my backpack too, Momma?"  

Oh my God, I think with a start, my baby is getting on the bus.  Somehow this milestone - my youngest starting Kindergarten - has been relegated to a mental back shelf, lost in the shuffle of Second Child Syndrome.  He curls up on my lap with a contented sigh, and rubs my arm distractedly.

"Are you excited to start big-kid school?" I ask. 

"Sure," he says. 

"Are you nervous?"

He is quiet a moment., "No," he says, "Sissy told me all about it.  And my fwiends will be there. And I have the same teacher Sissy had, and she's willy nice."

I rock him gently in my lap, and I think about how it's another beginning, having both my kids in school.  Sending Greta off to school every year was cushioned by Finn's presence, of having a child around most of the time.

When they were small, I pined for this moment, for the freedom of unencumbered days, for the chance to focus on me again - my goals, my career, my identity.

Now that it is here, I'm ambivalent.  What is this next chapter of life going to look like?  I am contemplating a job that would accommodate mother's hours but get my head back in the working game.  It hasn't been formally offered to me, yet, but the possibility exists that I will re-enter the work force sometime in the near future. 

Closing my arms around Finn, I inhale his earthy boy scent and think about how I feel about it all.

I have the happy-nervous, caterpillars-in-my-tummy feeling, too.  

ROAR

"No, you're the Twicewatops, Momma!" Finn yells.  "You're coming to get me!"

I form a low growl in my throat and stomp my feet, "Grrrrrrrr!!" I rumble, and curl my fingers into claws.

Tears spring into Finn's eyes. "Twicewatops don't growl, Momma!" he cries in frustration.  "They ROAR!  Like this!"  He screws up his face and lets out a mighty roar.

"RRRRAAAAAWWRRR!" I shout.  "I'm coming to GET YOU!!"

"NOOOOOOOO!" Finn says, and starts to cry in earnest.  "Twicewatops don't TALK!  You're not good at this at ALL!"

Tell me about it, kid, I think.   We've been going back and forth like this for over twenty minutes, as I struggle to adhere to the ever-changing rules of his imaginary game.

"How about we play a board game," I sigh, my body tense with frustration.  I try to keep my voice bright, but Finn hangs his head and sniffs loudly.

"Now you're mad at me," he says.  "It's not my fault you are so bad at Dinosaur."    He shuffles off, looking forlorn, leaving me with a stone of guilt in my chest.   I'm aching to get back to my studio, work on jewelry.    I cringe at the pang of excitement I feel that the game is over.

I hear the television click on in the next room as I plunk down at my work station.  My fingers mold the wire, and my body calms from the familiar repetition of doing, of creating, but my mind is reeling.

I hate imaginary play, I think.   It's not like I didn't offer to play with him.  

Twist, twist, twist.  My fingers fly over the wire, bending it into whimsical shapes.  I slide a bead on here and there, and hold my blossoming creation up to the light, admiring the way it is taking shape.

"Mooooooom!" I hear from the next room.   "When are we going to da big playgwound?"

"At eleven o'clock," I reply, striving to keep my voice chipper, acting as if I can't wait to go to the playground.   In anticipation of his next four questions I shout, "that's in one hour, which is sixty minutes, which isn't a long time; it's about as long as two television shows".  

Great, now I'm parceling out time in increments of television shows, I think, silently chastising myself.  

I finish the piece, attach it to some sturdy leather cording, and package it up to mail later this afternoon.   It's a logical time to stop and take Finn to the playground, but every cell in my body aches to keep going, to lose myself in creating.    I peek into the next room, where Finn sits on the floor, slack-jawed, watching Phineas and Ferb. 

I tiptoe away, hoping he doesn't turn around and see me and ask to go to the playground again.   I feel a twist of guilt in my gut, an old familiar ache.   I'm sneaking around my own house to avoid playing with my kid; the thoughts come, right on schedule.   What kind of mother does this?

I search for my Gentle Observer, the one who assures me that a busy mother sneaks around her own kid; a mother who is juggling a growing business with the demands of raising young kids.    But She is nowhere to be found.  Her silence unnerves me.

I pick up some more wire and search through a pile of colorful stones I keep in a bowl at my desk.  I run my fingers over their cool, smooth surfaces and marvel at the vast array of colors, of textures.    Under my skilled touch, they transform into art.   They always yield to my wishes.

"Ferb! I know what we're going to do today!" Phineas says from the television in the next room.   I think of Finn sitting cross-legged on the floor, bored, and the guilt comes again, stronger this time.  But he's quiet, I think.   Take advantage of his silence, and keep at it.

I select a pretty green stone, one that catches the light in such a way that it glows.   I begin wrapping it in gold wire, pleased at the contrast, and then I sigh and place it back down onto my desk. 

It's no use.  I face the cold reality that I'm never going to want to stop what I'm doing to play Dinosaur, go to the playground or play a board game.    Finally, my Gentle Observer shows up.   They won't be young forever, she reminds me.   The day is right around the corner when you will ache at the memory of your son's upturned face, asking you to play dinosaur.   You'd be wise not to lose sight of that.   

I get down on my hands and knees, a low roar forming in my throat.   "rrrrrraaaaawwWWRRR!" I shout, and Finn flies around the corner, a broad smile on his face.

"MOMMA!!  You're a WEAL TWICEWATOPS!"  he shouts.   He giggles and runs in place.  "Now, COME GET ME!"

As I chase after him on my hands and knees, roaring at the top of my lungs, I watch his little bare feet fly across the floor.   He laughs, his head thrown back, arms waving madly, and I think:   Right now.  Right here.  This is good.

The Only Way Out Is Through

It's been a long couple of weeks.

Between snow days and sick kids we've been cooped up in our house for a loooong time. 

Last week, in particular, was trying.   Finn got Greta's strep throat, we were buffeted by snow storms and plunged into a deep freeze, and we were all sick of each other and being trapped inside.

For five days straight I left the house only to go to the doctor's office or the pharmacy.    By the end of the week I felt ready to peel off my own skin.

Every now and then, though, I'd remember that I'm going to Nashville to attend the Blissdom blogging conference.    My stomach would do a little flip-flop of excitement and nervous anticipation.

The idea of traveling to Nashville, speaking on a panel, networking, and attending events seemed very far away, given that I had been wearing sweatpants for days, showers were a rare luxury and my primary conversationalists for over two weeks had been an eight and five year old.

Now it's not far away, though.  I leave tomorrow.    Predictably, the butterflies in my stomach upped their game, and the ambivalent mother-guilt tugging began.

As I've talked about before, I have a phobia of flying.   I'm determined not to let it cripple me, so I'm not going to miss opportunities like this one just because of fear.   That doesn't make the irrational thoughts go away, however.    Rationally, I know flying isn't any more perilous than the myriad of other dangers we expose ourselves to every day, but the unwanted thoughts show up anyway.   The phobia of flying is at the root of all the guilt, too, because it creates of foundation of fear in my mind that is fertile ground for all the other negative thoughts:

Who are you to put yourself in danger just to go to a blogging conference?  my mother-guilt voice says.  What if the kids get sick while you're away?    How selfish of you to stay away so long.   You should have gone for three days, not six.  

I can't pretend the anxiety isn't there; I have to face it head on.   I do my best to counter-balance the fear with healthier thoughts:

Moms need time away, too.    This is an opportunity that doesn't come around very often, to get outside your comfort zone, learn a lot, meet new people and see old friends.   Your kids benefit from seeing that you try new things, have outlets and interests that don't revolve around them. 

It's a nearly constant tug-of-war in my mind.   I know this is something I need to go through, not around, so I let the thoughts come, and I sift through them one by one as I make my way to the other side of fear.

~~~~

This morning the kids were eating breakfast while I packed their lunches, and I was talking to them about the plan for while I'm away.

Greta grew quiet, pushing her waffles around on her plate with her fork. 

"What is it, hon?"  I asked.

"What if..." she paused for a moment.   "What if your plane falls out of the sky?"

My stomach twisted, but I put on my best poker face.    I wanted to tell her she was being silly, to stop awfulizing, but I didn't.   Oh, she's just like me, I thought, and my heart sank.    I have never talked about  my fear of flying in front of the kids.   I know this anxiety is just bubbling up from somewhere deep inside her, as she gains more understanding about the world.

"Oh honey,"  I said, "are you worrying about that?"

She nodded, and tears brimmed in her eyes.

"It's hard, sometimes, to stop the worry thoughts from coming, isn't it?"   I said, stroking her hair.

She nodded again.

"I understand,"  I said.   "But if I only thought about the bad things that could happen, I'd never do anything new.  I would never try something for the first time.   Life would be very small and boring."   

She gave me a weak smile.

"Think of all the things that made you nervous once, that you do now and love,"  I said.   "Like going on the school bus?   Remember how scared you were to go on the bus for the first time?   Now you LOVE the bus."

"Yeah," she said, "and remember how scared I was to do my first presentation in front of the class?    I didn't sleep for two nights!    Then two weeks ago we had another presentation due, and the teacher called me FIRST to do mine and I was a little nervous, but I wasn't really scared anymore."

I gave her a squeeze.   "Sometimes, when things make us scared or nervous, it's because we're about to learn something really cool about ourselves."

"Are you nervous about the conference, Mom?   About speaking in front of a bunch of people?   Of traveling by yourself?"

"Yes, a little," I said.  "Especially when I let my brain think about all the things that could go wrong... like if I get so nervous I forget what I want to say.    I try to give my brain other things to think about, too, like how cool it will be to do something for the first time, or how proud I'll be of myself that I did it... no matter how things go.   And I've traveled by myself before, so when I start to get nervous I remind myself that I can do it.   Just like you did with your presentation.   It really helps."

"Can I have some more waffles?"  she asked, grinning her sweet gap-toothed smile.

~~~~~~

As I prepare to leave, time seems to shift into slow motion;  moments snap into focus with crystalline clarity.   I feel my love for my family - really feel it - in ways I can't always access when I'm mired down in the daily grind.   This can provoke its own guilt-inducing twinges:   what's wrong with you that you can't access this love all the time?

But you know what?   It doesn't matter.   Sometimes it is easier to see all that I have when I view it from a distance, when I take time to gather myself around myself again.

~~~~~

As Greta waited for the bus this morning, she was kicking at a pile frozen of snow, lost in thought.

After a few minutes, she looked up at me with excitement flashing in her eyes.  "Will you bring Flat Greta with you?"  she asked.   Flat Greta is a school project; each second grader made a little paper doll in their own image.   Friends and family members travel with their Flat Doppelgangers, send pictures back, and create a little journal of their Flat Travels.

"Flat Greta and I are gonna rock Nashville,"  I grinned.
 
"Yeah," she grinned back.   "You ARE."



**Note:  something has been acting up with my comment section, and it randomly disappears sometimes.  If you want to leave a comment you can do so by clicking on the title/link to the post (so you're just viewing the one post) and the comment section will re-appear.   Where, or where, is my cracker-jack techie team?   Oh yeah.  I don't have one.

Finding the Magic

We're coming into the home stretch, now.    I have never experienced holiday craziness like this year.   It's good - so, so good - that my business is doing well, but I have barely a moment to breathe, let alone stop and reflect that this time of year isn't just about rushing around buying gifts, it's also a magical time.

This may be our last year with two Believers in the house.   Greta, who is 8, still firmly believes in Santa Claus.   I don't know that this will be the case next year, and I'm trying to wallow in their wide-eyed wonder at the miracle that is Christmas.

After the death of Rhino the Hamster, Steve and I decided to get them a new pet.  "No fur," was my only rule, which left lizards, snakes and fish.    So I amended my rule, "nothing that eats insects or other things with fur." 

That left fish.

We bought a 20 gallon fish tank, a filter and some special sand.   The kids gleefully ran up and down the fish aisle of the pet store, pointing to their favorites.   

"Well," said Steve.  "We can get the tank and the equipment, but we don't have enough money today to buy the fish.  You're going to have to ask Santa for those."

The kids nodded solemnly, and went home to ask our Elf on the Shelf to please pass along the news to Santa that they'd realllly like some fish for their empty tank.  

We set the tank up in their bedroom; it has a light that functions as a perfect night light, and the hum of the filter lulls them to sleep each night.    It's a little sad, this empty tank, but the kids aren't bothered.    "I hope Felix (the name of the Elf) 'members to tell Santa to bwing fish," Finn said last night.

Greta's response was a bit more practical.  "I'm trying to figure out how Santa will get the fish here without the water freezing," she said, her brow furrowed.   "I think I know.  Santa has a special pet compartment in his sleigh, and he'll keep them there.  And then he'll bring them down the chimney really carefully."

I smile and nod, and wonder how on earth we're going to sneak those fish into the tank Christmas Eve without waking them up.   We may be in over our heads, here.

"It's okay if Santa doesn't bwing da fish," says Finn.   "Da tank is willy beautiful anyway."

I love their undiluted faith in Christmas.   In this crazy-paced, instant gratification society we live in, it's refreshing to see them happily - and patiently - wait to see what will happen.

Yesterday as I rushed around making orders, cleaning the house and folding laundry, the kids got their snow gear on (all by themselves!) and went outside to play.   We have about five inches of pristine snow on the ground, and they were rolling around making snow angels.    I glanced at the clock:   3:30pm.    I still had several things to do before 5pm, but I dried my hands, slipped into my snow boots and headed outside.

"You know what this snow is perfect for?"  I asked.  "Making a snowman!"

"YAY!" they screamed.   "Let's make Frosty!"

So we rolled and packed and stacked, and made a snowman.  The kids foraged for sticks for arms and a nose, but we didn't have anything for eyes or buttons.   Greta's face lit up as she came up with an idea.  "Hold on a sec!" she said, and ran into the kitchen.   She came out a couple of minutes later with a smirky little grin. 

"This will be perfect," she said, as she stuck oreos into his face for eyes, and down his belly for buttons.

I can be cynical about Christmas.   The rampant consumerism, the pressure to have the perfect Christmas, makes me kind of insane.   But there is something magical underneath it all, if I remember to look.

And I've come up with a plan for the fish.   The Elf is going to deliver the fish before we head out to church.   The fish will be his present to the kids before he heads back up to the North Pole until next Christmas.   

Today I have a few more things to tick off my list, and then I'm going to stop, and sink into the beauty of it all.

Happy Holidays, everyone.  No matter what holiday you celebrate this time of year, I hope magic comes your way.

The Frustrated Song

The woman on the television pops the cork on a fresh bottle of red wine, smiles at the camera and says, "Oh, I just love that sound."

I sigh, change the channel, and see a close-up of a river of amber beer pouring into a frosty glass.

~~~~~

These days alcohol is everywhere.    In preparation for the holidays, television commercials, billboards and even newspapers are full of ads for booze.   I forgot how trying this can be, especially this time of year when by 5pm my shoulders are hunched and tense, the kids are jacked up on sugar and excitement and a pile of work waits for me each night.

I talk a lot about the gifts of sobriety, and they are ample, to be sure.   But the challenges seem louder these days, between my hectic schedule and the stress of the holidays, it is hard to find ways to unwind.    I don't want to drink, but I do want to escape.  

When I was newly sober I felt wistful about alcohol.  I pined for it like an ex-lover.  Then for a while I felt jealous; seeing someone slowly sipping a glass of red wine made me crazy with envy.  Then I got angry.   Why me?   Why do I have to be an alcoholic?  I stamped my existential feet at the unfairness of it all.

Now?   Now I mostly just long for a pause button - some way to just dial down the volume for an hour or two, especially at the end of the day.

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Today was a two steps forward and one step back kind of day.  Nothing bad happened, but every inch of today was inconvenient.   I had the day all planned out (mistake #1), but then Greta's cough took a scary turn and she stayed home from school.    Instead of the errands and work I had to do this morning, we headed off to the pediatrician's, only to wait in the ever-loving exam room for an hour and a half.   I sat in that little room, trying to keep Hurricane Finn from destroying everything in sight, while my day backed up on itself.   There was nothing I could do but sit and wait.

On the way home from the doctor's all the idiot lights on my car's dashboard came on simultaneously for a second, then blinked off.   They did this all the way home, while my hands gripped the wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white.  There was nothing I could do but hope it was a faulty wire, and not every major system in my car failing at once.

Next we waited in a huge line at the pharmacy to get Greta's antibiotics ("Oh look.  We're waiting.  THAT never happens,"  Greta declared, rolling her eyes). 

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The sun went down on today and nothing on my list of things to do was done.   I helped Greta with a pile of homework while Finn restlessly ran around the house.   Dinner, bath and bedtime for the kids, and then I dug into a pile of work.  

That's when I turned on the television, hoping to watch some mindless home decor show while I made jewelry, and it turns out to be Wine and Dine Night with the irritating Cork Popping Lady. 

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One sentence kept scrolling through my head today, on an endless loop:   the only way out is through. 

I've lost the ability to manufacture peace in a glass, so I have to talk myself through stressful times, endless waits in waiting rooms, and serpentining days.     Just wait it out, Ellie, says the Voice.   You can wait it out peacefully or you can simmer in irritation.   You choose. 

Half an hour into our wait in the exam room I felt like my head was going to explode.    Greta gave me a timid glance, and said, "You okay,  Momma?" while Finn wriggled in my lap like a spastic monkey.

No, I'm not okay.  I have eighty badzillion things to be doing and I'm STUCK here.   I am most certainly not okay, I thought.

"I'm just a little frustrated with this long wait,"  I tell her.   "Do you know what I do when I'm frustrated?"  I ask her.   I'm totally winging it.  I have no idea what I'm going to say next.

"I sing the Frustrated Song."  WTF? Where did that come from?

She raises her eyebrows expectantly.  

I made up a little ditty on the spot.  I had no idea what I was doing.  I was desperate. 

"Ohhhhh, we're stuck we're stuck and I don't give a ....  darn.    Some days don't go as planned, some days really should be banned.   When everything is going wrong, I sing my Frustrated Sooo-oo-ooong!"

Greta and Finn looked at me like I had lost my mind, and maybe I had, but then Greta chimed in:

"Ohhhh it's the Frustrated Song, it won't take long, not like this wait we're haaa-aa-ving.   So sing along, bang your gong, its the Frustrated Sooo-ooo-oong."

"I like the fwustwated song," said Finn.  "Sing it again!!'

~~~~

I have to work harder to find peace of mind these days.   Even sleep doesn't bring immediate solace, because when I lay my exhausted head down on the pillow at night the nocturnal, hyperactive squirrel who lives in my brain pops to life and starts burrowing around for Panic Acorns.

My thoughts turn to alcohol more often these days.   It's just the truth.   I don't feel sad, angry or wistful anymore.  I'm mostly just tired, and in need of a fast-acting solution.   There isn't time for meditation, or reading, or talking on the phone with recovery friends - all things I do when life is moving along at a more normal pace. 

So I sing the Frustrated Song.   And I wait.