The Running Man and The Starfish

Something has to give here, I thought. I glanced at the clock: 2:30am. I am scrunched into a tiny ball in the upper left had corner of my king sized bed. My right hand is clutching about five square inches of pillow, upon which one ear and some of my forehead is resting. I am shivering, only the small of my back covered by a small corner of sheet.

I can't roll over - there isn't room - so I try to crane my neck to the right. My head won't move properly, and I realize the cat is curled up around the top of my head, monopolizing most of the pillow. Pressed up to my side is Finn - blanket stuffed in his mouth - his arms and legs flung out like a starfish. Next to him is Greta, sleeping in what we affectionately call the "running man" position: on her side, arms bent, and one leg kicked forward, one back, like an open pair of scissors. My husband is but a distant bump on the far side of the bed - he has scored the comforter (my kids always kick their covers off) and is wrapped up in it like a mummy. He is perched dangerously on the far edge of the bed - one false move and he would be on the floor. I go to stretch my legs - I have lost feeling in my feet - and am met with a loud "hrumph" from the dog splayed along the entire foot of the bed.

I realize there are five heartbeats in our bed. Five living creatures.

"THAT. IS. IT!!!" I bellow, hoping to jar everyone awake. Finn doesn't flinch, Greta rolls over, and my husband pulls the comforter around him tighter.

I grab the pillow out from under the cat - he just slides happily off onto the mattress, barely stirring - and stomp into the kids' room. I curl up alone on Greta's twin bed, and settle grumpily back to sleep.

I wake up an hour later with a kid pressed against me on both sides, and the cat curled up by my neck. My husband and the dog are snoozing away on the king sized bed.

Too tired to fight, too tired to move, I lie awake in the twin with my sleeping children and try to come up with a plan.

The thing is, the whole situation is our fault. We broke the number one rule of parenting -Consistency.

When Finn graduated from his crib into a toddler bed, the kids decided they wanted to sleep in the same room together, even though they didn't have to. We thought this was cute, knew it wouldn't last forever, so we set up his toddler bed in her room.

Greta and Finn soon took to sleeping in her twin bed together. One kid would toss, or turn, and wake the other one up, prompting the woken-up kid to climb into our bed instead. Most of the time were were so zonked out we didn't even notice. Eventually, the other kid would wake up, see they were alone, and follow suit. Which is how I would find myself - two or three times a week - relegated to the far corner of my bed, shivering and resentful.

But we didn't stop it - we were too damn tired. Then, when I'd wake up angry and cold, I felt too guilty to make a big thing of it during the night, and would resolve to deal with it the next day. The next days came and went. Important sidebar: I have nothing against co-sleeping. I realize the whole sleeping thing is kind of a loaded issue. I think whatever works for the kids and parents is just great - but what we had here was a situation that clearly wasn't working.

So, as I've learned over the past couple of years - nothing changes if nothing changes. The other night I decided something had to change - be a catalyst to get us on the right track again. And I think we may have found it:

They can be in the same room, even kind of in the same bed. They are excited by the idea of bunk beds (instead of, say, two boring old twin beds). We told them to keep the bunk beds, they have to stay in their bed all night. We added a belt and suspenders around this by copying an idea a good friend of mine came up with: Gold Coins. You know, those plastic coins in the pirate section of the party store? Every night they sleep in their own bed all night, they get a gold coin. If they don't, we take a gold coin away. When they get to three coins, they get a small treat. When they get to 10 coins, they can cash them in for toy that is $10 or under.

So far, so good. Finn does get up during the night and come into our room to ask for water, or help going potty, or to tell me about a dream. But each time he goes right back into his room, saying "I going to get a gold coin, right?"

I don't care if it is bribery, or wrong on some level. The kids feel like they are earning something - working towards a goal. And I am rested. Hopefully, we will only have to keep this up for a few cycles before they get the idea. But even if it goes on for a while, it is totally worth it.

Although, every genius idea has a pitfall. I just went upstairs to check on them, and I found this:

The Running Man and the Starfish, together again.

Maybe I'll just give the gold coins to the dog and the cat and hope for the best.

Ready, Fire, Aim

My more experienced Mom friends smiled knowingly when I told them I was pregnant with a boy. "Just be ready," they said, "girls will wreck your head but boys will wreck your house."

But, like with a lot of things, I didn't understand what they meant until I experienced it myself. Now I'm starting to get the idea.

I have never been a fan of gender stereotyping. I can't stand that when you go to the big online toy stores they divvy everything up between "boys" and "girls" - as if girls can only want to play Suzy Homemaker and boys only like trucks and cars. My kids seem interested in all manner of things - toys don't run along gender lines in our house. So I don't notice the difference so much in what they play with, as much as how they play. How they approach the world.

Greta and her girl friends create these imaginary worlds, pretend-play games, and the rules of the game seem almost more important than the game itself - it is all about the planning. Listening to her play with a friend the other day, they spent a good 45 minutes plotting their strategy: "you're the princess, and you live in a cottage alone by a lake and you miss your family. I'll be the sister looking for you everywhere, I ride a brown horse. You're singing and washing your clothes in the lake, and I'll come rescue you." They spend all of five minutes playing, before altering the story line and setting the stage all over again. Very little is spontaneous.

Finn is like a mad scientist. He is all about cause and effect. He'll smash things open, mix them together, or take things apart, and his rationale is always the same: "I just wanted to see what happens!" I marvel at how he barrels headlong through life - setting things into motion just to see what will come of it. Even when he is doing something he knows is wrong, he can't always help himself. He doesn't try to cover it up, either. The other day I saw him sneaking up to the sleeping cat, carrying a pair of scissors.

"Don't, Finn" I said. "Don't go near the kitty with the scissors."

"It's okay, Momma!" he says, smiling. "I just going to give him a haircut!"

"No, its dangerous. Put the scissors down."

"It's sewiously okay. I just want to see if it hurts the kitty to cut his hair," he explains.

"Why would you want to hurt the kitty? Just STOP."

He creeps closer to the unsuspecting cat. "It's okay, Momma. I just want to see what happens."

He was obsessed with flushing things down the toilet for a while. I kept explaining that he can't do that, that it could clog the toilet, and he kept doing it. It took me a while to realize the potential of clogging the toilet was precisely why he wanted to do it.

He will sit and do an activity like painting for all of five minutes, and then he'll wonder what would happen if he put the paintbrush up his nose, or smear the paint all over his belly, or splatter the paint on the wall. It is exhausting, trying to anticipate all the ways he could become curious about something as innocent as painting.

I do my best not to compare, not to think "your sister would never have done this." I adore his innate curiosity, how interested he is in interacting with his environment. But it is challenging, when I come in the room and catch him pouring a glass of milk down his pants just, you know, to see what happens.

I notice the differences the most with potty training. Greta was logical and stubborn about the whole process. She completely understood what was required of her, but was going to make up her own mind about when she was ready. One day she decided to use the potty only, and that was that. She was out of pull-ups day and night within five days.

Potty training is proving to be more challenging with Finn. He, too, understands what is required, and started using the potty regularly pretty much as soon as it was introduced. A whole new world was opened up, though. What happens when you pee on a flower? the cat? the rug? a potty for sale at a store? (that was a bad day). Going in hia pants isn't the problem. It is not going on everything else that is difficult. Ready, Fire, Aim.

Some New Stuff!

I spent the summer slowly and steadily aquiring some cool new stones, pearls and crystals, and creating some new pieces of jewelry. I finally got a chance to list a few of them in my Etsy shop. I'm having a 15% off sale on all my newly listed items through September 21st! Click on a picture to see more photos in my shop. To check out all the sale items, click here.

I have fallen in love with simple wire wrapped circle pendants - circles are all the rage, and I decided to try a few styles with a contemporary twist. Here are two pieces:

Delicate light blue semi-precious quartz beads and lucious black raspberry swarovski pearls create contrasting effects in the same style pendant.


I found these gorgeous Grade AA turquoise semi-precious stone chips at a local supplier, and created these:



Left: double strands of perfect turquoise chips, both contrast and blend with a hard-to-find pale blue larimar pendant.



Right: the bright blue hues of the turquoise make the dramatic red of the coral just POP. And I'm totally in love with the sand dollar clasp.



The huge hydrangea blooms in my front yard inspired this piece:

I've been playing around with some wire wrapping techniques, including this bracelet and a Tree of Life pendant - both made entirely of wire, using no other components:

And, of course, a couple of new wire wrapped rings:

A Memory Wire wraparound bracelet made from Chinese Turquoise Chips. Memory Wire is durable and comfortable, and fits nearly every wrist size:


Thanks for taking the time to check out some of my new pieces! I appreciate it!

An Explanation

I suppose it is inevitable, really, what has been going on this week. I have been getting some strong reactions to posting about recovery. It is a slippery slope, this talking about addiction thing. There are a couple of fundamental principles that are important to adhere to, and some recent events, that I won't go into, have got me thinking.

Facing up to the fact that you may be an alcoholic, or addict, is an intensely personal decision. If you decide you have a problem, then it is up to you to decide if, or how, you want to get help. A person has to believe in their heart that they have a problem in order for recovery to successfully begin. It is an inside job.

Because of the intensely personal nature of deciding you have a problem, and the stigma surrounding addictions of any kind, protecting people's privacy is essential. It is hard enough to face up to the fact that you need help. As you progress down the path of recovery, your privacy becomes even more paramount - you will be facing feelings, emotions, and actions that are frightening, oftentimes shameful, and you are very vulnerable. The fear of this vulnerability, of being exposed at any point, keeps a lot of people stuck in the cycle of addiction.

I have made a personal choice to be public about my own experience in addiction and recovery. It is a balancing act of sorts, talking about this, because the only things I know to be true are the things that I have felt and experienced myself. Everyone has their own journey, their own story, their own belief system. There are several ways to get help, many ways to recover. In my opinion, whatever way works for you, helps you stop and begin to live a fuller life, is a good way.

But it is a hornet's nest. People feel strongly about recovery, and for good reason. It is a sacred process, talking about it, and trying to get well. How people do this, what they say, how they feel, is not for public consumption. Perhaps, by sharing my story, I am overstepping these boundaries a bit, because I can't share my experience without providing some details of how I stay sober. It is this process that people wish to protect. I understand this, and I will strive harder to respect the sanctity of this.

So what to do? Do I stop talking about it? I have been doing serious soul searching about this. Again, I can only relate my own experience, and what I remember about my decision to get help. Once I finally, finally realized I had a problem, the next question was, of course, how? It is rare to know if someone is in recovery, until you are in the recovery community yourself. I didn't have anyone to call that I knew would understand how I felt. But I had read a book, ten years prior, called Drinking, A Love Story, by Caroline Knapp. Even a decade earlier, her struggles, her emotions and her story resonated with me. She reminded me of me in many ways, not just because she drank too much. She didn't match my mind's eye view of what an alcoholic looked like. I identified with her. So when I decided to get help, I turned to her story once again. I read about how she felt, what she did, and what recovery was like for her. I thought to myself: if she got sober, I can try, too. I will always be grateful to her for this gift.

Taking these first tentative steps towards recovery - the admission to yourself, and then to someone else, someone safe - be it a doctor, a spiritual advisor, another addict - is the most critical, and the most difficult. Sometimes people know someone in recovery - a family member or friend, but more often they don't. I decided to put myself out there, to share my story, in the hopes that something I said resonated with someone who is struggling. Not to provide answers, or a blueprint to the recovery process.

I don't think I can stop talking about it, and when I speak about recovery I wish to convey what my experience - and mine alone - is like on the other side of addiction. Just one email from someone who says: I've never admitted this out loud to anyone, but I think I have a problem - that is enough for me. I do not wish to tell them how to do it, where to go, what they should believe. I feel there is a veil of silence, shame and secrecy that keeps people stuck in addiction. I speak my truth in the hopes that it breaks down that veil, just a little, for another person.

The Present

I have always loved back-to-school time. As a kid, I was at my happiest organizing new school supplies - Trapper Keeper, pencil case, new folders. Life felt full of promise - an opportunity for a fresh start. September has always felt like New Year's to me - even at 40 I am still programmed for the academic year.

The crisp fall air gets my mind going - I get nostalgic, wistful. I think about where I am in life, all the things I thought I would have done by 40. It is laughable, really, how little my life resembles where I thought I'd be at this point. At 30, if I had seen a snapshot of my life today I wouldn't have believed it. Jewelry designer? Recovering Alcoholic? Stay-at-home mother? No way. At 30 I was still chock full of dreams of success in Corporate America. On the verge of getting married, I looked forward to becoming a mother and working full time - enjoying, in my mind's eye, the best both of those worlds had to offer. I marvel at my confidence back then, my belief that I had it all figured out.

But life, of course, has a way of giving you what you need, not necessarily what you want. Working in Corporate America and being a Mother completely overwhelmed me - I felt inadequate in every way - an under performing employee and a negligent mother. I chose to stay home full-time, imagining instead a life out of a Norman Rockwell painting. Wrong again. Tripped up by my own unrealistic notions, I slipped deeper and deeper into the despair of addiction. Looking back, it is easy to see how I set myself up for failure. Dreams are wonderful. Expectations? Not so much.

Greta loves to look for the first star she can find at night and make a wish. Then she turns to me and asks what I wished for. Each time I say, "I wished for my family to be healthy and happy."

"But don't you want stuff? Like maybe all the beads in the world? I wished I could have every Webkinz. And if I can't have that, I want every Littlest Pet Shop. In the whole world."

I smile, thinking of all the things I would have wished for when I was younger - heck, even last year - and how off track I would have been.

I was rubbing Greta's back as she fell asleep the other night, and as she drifted off she whispered "Momma? I love my life." And I realized - I love my life, too. It is just that I forget to remember that sometimes. It seems so, I don't know, final? complacent? to just stop and look around and say yup, everything is just the way it should be.

So this year, instead of getting caught up in my usual Fall Frenzy, I am making only one resolution: No Resolutions. Life comes along at its own pace, and when I get caught up in all my "should haves" or "want tos" it is just me trying to wrench control of the inevitable passage of time. Here is another thing my jaded, cynical, sarcastic self wouldn't have said a few short years ago: Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, all you have is today - which is why it is called the Present.

Letting Go

She is wearing her new dress, with the little sunflowers on it. She smiles when I put her new black shoes on... "like a big girl, right?" she says. "Yes," I answer, "like a big girl."

It is the first day of preschool. We walk in, hand in hand, her pink backpack bouncing on her back. Her other arm wrapped tightly around my leg. "Don't worry," I say, "you'll have fun. It's okay to be a little nervous, but you'll make new friends, and your teacher is very nice."

She is silent, her eyes wide. We walk into her classroom, and her teacher smiles and kneels down to her level. "Hi Greta," she says gently, "welcome to Preschool."

Greta clutches my hand tighter and buries her face in my shirt. The teacher reaches out her hand. "Come with me, I'll show you your new cubby," she says.

Greta is three and a half, her tiny ponytails shining, adorned with little bows she picked out herself. She couldn't wait for this day, talked about it non-stop. Until the day came, and now she is scared.

I promise myself that if she doesn't want to go, I won't make her. "Come see!" the teacher says cheerfully, still holding out her hand. "Your cubby has your name on it and everything - we're so excited you're here!"

Greta hesitates, and looks up at me - her eyes are huge. I'm frozen, conflicted. I want to swoop her up in my arms and run out the door. I want to stop time, keep her little. I want her to be brave. I don't want her to be brave. I make a little bet with myself: if she doesn't reach for the teacher's hand I'll take her home and we'll try again another day.

"Momma?" she whispers. I bend down.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"You'll pick me up after rest time, right?" she nods bravely.

I smile, my heart breaking a little. "Yes, honey, when you wake up, I'll be here."

"Okay, Momma. Bye. I love you." She kisses my cheek, turns, and reaches for the teacher's hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The school hallway is noisy, bustling - full of kids, parents and teachers coming for the 1st grade open house. "C'mon, Mom!" Greta is impatient, pulling me by the hand. "I want to see my friends!" She is dragging me down the hall.

A squeal as she runs into a friend from her class last year. They hug and jump up and down. "Look, Mom!" Greta says. "That's the cafeteria, where I'll eat lunch every day! I can buy it if I want to, or bring my own lunch!" Her eyes are shining as she tugs me along. "And here is the auditorium, where we put on plays and see movies. And THAT was were I went to Kindergarten, down that hall. But I'm in FIRST GRADE now, so I don't go there anymore."

We find her classroom, the last one on the left. She hesitates for a moment, then finds her seat with her name tag on it. She sits right down, looking around expectantly.

"It's just a visit today," I begin, "tomorrow you'll -"

"MOM! I KNOW!" she says, rolling her eyes.

Another squeal - it is another friend from her class last year, they will be sitting right next to each other the whole year. "MOM!" she shouts. "Come see!" She rushes out into the hall, and points. "This is my locker!"

I stare, agape, at the big red metal locker with her name on it. A real, honest-to-goodness locker.

A big kid's locker.

She is running up to friends, hugging and chatting. I stand helplessly in the hall, until I catch the eye of a friend, and we chat for a bit. I look around for Greta - she is standing with a gaggle of girls, laughing.

"Ready to go, honey?" I ask. She peels away from her friends, and I reach for her hand as we make our way back to the car. She pulls it away and looks around self-consciously.

"Are you nervous about the first day of school tomorrow?" I ask in the car, berating myself a little, because I kind of want her to say yes.

"Nope," she answers without hesitation. "This is gonna be COOL!"

Twice Monthly Giveaway - Gift Certificate!

Congratulations to Kim H. who was the winner of the Thank You Bracelet!! Thank you to everyone who entered!

This time around I'm doing something a little different and offering a $35 gift certificate good towards any item (or items) in my shop! To go to my shop, click below, or go to www.shiningstones.etsy.com



To enter, please fill out the Contact Me form to the right of the screen, indicating you are entering the giveaway. The winner will be chosen at random (my daughter picks a name from a hat) on September 15th.

If you are the winner I will email you instructions on how to redeem the gift certificate.

Thank you!