Today, everybody is a writer --- especially with the plethora of blogs and self-publishing venues. I've been in communications for many years --- some as a journalist, some as a corporate marketing professional, and some as a freelance writer/consultant. Through the years one thing that has never changed is that inevitable writer's block that we all face from time to time. It's the demon "white page" and it stalks us when we least expect it.
How to overcome it? My answer might sound absurdly simple (and it certainly has been said before) but most often it works: When you can't write, just write. That's right (honestly, no pun intended.) Just pull out the keyboard or pick up a pen and WRITE. Write anything even if it's jibberish. Give yourself a time limit of 10 minutes and one of two things will happen. Your thoughts will start to flow and you'll continue to write for more than 10 minutes, possibly with some good results. Or, you'll end up with some jibberish. More likely, the former will happen. If not, at least you've tried. There is some satisfaction in that. See? I've just written for 10 minutes and I have a post! Happy writing.....
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Dinning Al Fresco Again
After reading Boston Magazine's suggested outdoor eating spots, I had to repost this!! Go to http://www.bostonmagazine.com/restaurants/display/bite_to_eat/ for their suggestions!
I just finished reading Mitch Ablom's article in PARADE magazine about dining outdoors. And I am howling. Or, rather, my husband and my 10-year-old are howling, because, Mitch sounds so much like me. Like Mitch, I, too, head outdoors to dine as soon as the icicles melt.
That’s when the search for places to eat al fresco begins, and becomes nothing short of an obsession. My family sighs in exasperation as I ponder where to have our spring/summer lunch, dinner, or breakfast. When at home, it's easy. The choice is either the patio or the porch. Short of a hail storm, we are eating at one or the other location. In fact, in my mind, it is a sacrilege to dine indoors after March 15. And, yes, like the Abloms, we have our fair share of pests: mosquitoes, flies, and the occasional bee. But, it does not deter us. Or, rather, me.
When we venture out to a restaurant, other obstacles come into play. Like the weather, which, again, rarely deters me, unless it’s pouring rain. My sister reminds me of the experience a few years back when I forced her to sit outside at a popular Newbury Street restaurant even though the thermometer plunged to a chilly 40 degrees. It was, after all, April 30 and officially spring.
For those who aren't as passionate as I am about dining in the elements, it's difficult to understand the appeal when the view is anything less than rolling hills or ocean waves. Most often the view or lack thereof doesn’t affect the experience for me. Although, sometimes even I have to admit when the vista is less than best dining outside can lose a bit of its cache. Especially when it consists of the side of a produce truck touting Vinne’s plumbing services or a flashing neon sign extolling the virtues of Dawn’s Donuts. Not to mention the unpleasant background noise of, say a 1970 Chevy whose muffler has seen better days, or the whoops and hollers of the local pre-teens as they rollerblade up and down the sidewalk in front of our table. Still, I tell my family, taking a deep breath that is mixed with car exhaust, it’s May and it’s warm out and there’s just something so special about eating outside.
Back on the home front, I have to agree with Mitch again. There isn’t a meal when we haven’t forgotten the napkins, or the forks, or the water, or the drinks. So after three or four trips to the kitchen, when my husband --- the designated runner --- finally sits down, my daughter and I are pretty much finished with our food.
Still, I persist in my quest for that perfect outdoor dining experience. I sometimes wonder if I have that light deficit disorder. Or, perhaps it has something to do with my childhood upbringing. I remember as a kid I spent every waking moment outside in the woods, in the trees, or in the sun, craving the air and brightness.
Whatever the reason, my need to eat outside is something I truly enjoy and look forward to as a rite of spring. Rest assured, with or without my family, I’ll be outside until the first snow. Or, at least until the leaves fall. I’m sure Mitch will be, too.
I just finished reading Mitch Ablom's article in PARADE magazine about dining outdoors. And I am howling. Or, rather, my husband and my 10-year-old are howling, because, Mitch sounds so much like me. Like Mitch, I, too, head outdoors to dine as soon as the icicles melt.
That’s when the search for places to eat al fresco begins, and becomes nothing short of an obsession. My family sighs in exasperation as I ponder where to have our spring/summer lunch, dinner, or breakfast. When at home, it's easy. The choice is either the patio or the porch. Short of a hail storm, we are eating at one or the other location. In fact, in my mind, it is a sacrilege to dine indoors after March 15. And, yes, like the Abloms, we have our fair share of pests: mosquitoes, flies, and the occasional bee. But, it does not deter us. Or, rather, me.
When we venture out to a restaurant, other obstacles come into play. Like the weather, which, again, rarely deters me, unless it’s pouring rain. My sister reminds me of the experience a few years back when I forced her to sit outside at a popular Newbury Street restaurant even though the thermometer plunged to a chilly 40 degrees. It was, after all, April 30 and officially spring.
For those who aren't as passionate as I am about dining in the elements, it's difficult to understand the appeal when the view is anything less than rolling hills or ocean waves. Most often the view or lack thereof doesn’t affect the experience for me. Although, sometimes even I have to admit when the vista is less than best dining outside can lose a bit of its cache. Especially when it consists of the side of a produce truck touting Vinne’s plumbing services or a flashing neon sign extolling the virtues of Dawn’s Donuts. Not to mention the unpleasant background noise of, say a 1970 Chevy whose muffler has seen better days, or the whoops and hollers of the local pre-teens as they rollerblade up and down the sidewalk in front of our table. Still, I tell my family, taking a deep breath that is mixed with car exhaust, it’s May and it’s warm out and there’s just something so special about eating outside.
Back on the home front, I have to agree with Mitch again. There isn’t a meal when we haven’t forgotten the napkins, or the forks, or the water, or the drinks. So after three or four trips to the kitchen, when my husband --- the designated runner --- finally sits down, my daughter and I are pretty much finished with our food.
Still, I persist in my quest for that perfect outdoor dining experience. I sometimes wonder if I have that light deficit disorder. Or, perhaps it has something to do with my childhood upbringing. I remember as a kid I spent every waking moment outside in the woods, in the trees, or in the sun, craving the air and brightness.
Whatever the reason, my need to eat outside is something I truly enjoy and look forward to as a rite of spring. Rest assured, with or without my family, I’ll be outside until the first snow. Or, at least until the leaves fall. I’m sure Mitch will be, too.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Ty Tremblay: on a collision course with robotics engineering
As a freshman at Prospect Mountain High School in Alton, New Hampshire, Ty Tremblay says he had his heart set on becoming an executive chef in the restaurant business and was heading in the right direction ─ until he was knocked off course, literally, by FIRST.
Tremblay didn’t know what hit him when, on his way to catch the bus to his culinary classes one day, he passed the industrial arts classroom and collided with a rogue robot. Once “Big Bad Bob” was subdued and Tremblay was back on his feet, curiosity replaced surprise. After asking about the robot, the program, and FIRST, Tremblay was hooked. The following day, he joined FIRST Robotics Competition (FRC) Team 319, enrolled in the industrial arts program, and never thought twice about trading a spatula for a slide rule.
Tremblay sometimes muses that he could have taken several different paths to get to his destination that day. Why he chose the one that brought him past the industrial arts area, he’s not sure. But it was a path that eventually changed his life forever.
“Some say that choosing the right path in life takes careful deliberation and decision making. I used to be a firm believer in that school of thought. Then one day, it just hit me,” jokes Tremblay.
That was seven years ago, and today, Tremblay is pursuing a bachelor’s of science degree, as well as a master’s degree in robotics engineering at Worcester Polytechnic Institute (WPI) in Massachusetts. A member of Team 319 during his high school years, Tremblay continues his involvement with FIRST today by mentoring Team 190 “Gompei and the H.E.R.D.,” a WPI-sponsored team made up of students from the Massachusetts Academy of Math and Science, a junior/senior high school on campus.
Lessons learned on the chosen path
The college junior says there are plenty of lessons learned from his experiences with FIRST. “Teamwork is the key to any project’s success. If you don’t work as a team, you’ll never be able to build a robot in six weeks,” says Tremblay, who adds that learning how to work on a large team to solve a complex problem was one of the best lessons from his time spent with FIRST. And, doing it within the context of Gracious Professionalism™ was a bonus.
Another important “take away” from FIRST? A passion for science and technology. Tremblay says, “If you’re passionate about something, it never seems like work. During my four years as a team member of 319, I regularly put in 30 hours a week in addition to my school work, but I never grew tired of it. My involvement with FIRST has given me my passion; for the rest of my life, I’ll have fun mentoring FIRST teams and working on side projects. I can’t get enough of robotics.”
The soon-to-be engineer also maintains that if it wasn’t for FIRST, he would “never have found WPI.” During his freshman year, Tremblay mentored Team 190 and helped to design a sub-system of the team’s robot. Thanks to his efforts, the following year Tremblay was elected director of operations by the team, which meant he was in charge of organizing the design, construction, and completion of the team’s 2009 robot.
The Rogue Robot that led him to FIRST
What does the future hold for the man who once had dreams of becoming the next Emeril Lagasse? Tremblay says he plans to be involved with FIRST for the rest of his life.
“My experience with FIRST has given me a wealth of opportunities. I hope that I can help to do the same for other high school students,” says Tremblay, whose future plans include pursuing a doctorate in robotics engineering, after which he hopes to find a position working in the industry.
“Frankly, if ‘Big Bad Bob’ hadn’t hit me, I never would have joined FIRST. I never would have discovered WPI. And, I wouldn’t be where I am today,” says Tremblay.
Despite the initial collision course, it looks like there are no wrong turns on the road Tremblay has chosen.
Tremblay didn’t know what hit him when, on his way to catch the bus to his culinary classes one day, he passed the industrial arts classroom and collided with a rogue robot. Once “Big Bad Bob” was subdued and Tremblay was back on his feet, curiosity replaced surprise. After asking about the robot, the program, and FIRST, Tremblay was hooked. The following day, he joined FIRST Robotics Competition (FRC) Team 319, enrolled in the industrial arts program, and never thought twice about trading a spatula for a slide rule.
Tremblay sometimes muses that he could have taken several different paths to get to his destination that day. Why he chose the one that brought him past the industrial arts area, he’s not sure. But it was a path that eventually changed his life forever.
“Some say that choosing the right path in life takes careful deliberation and decision making. I used to be a firm believer in that school of thought. Then one day, it just hit me,” jokes Tremblay.
That was seven years ago, and today, Tremblay is pursuing a bachelor’s of science degree, as well as a master’s degree in robotics engineering at Worcester Polytechnic Institute (WPI) in Massachusetts. A member of Team 319 during his high school years, Tremblay continues his involvement with FIRST today by mentoring Team 190 “Gompei and the H.E.R.D.,” a WPI-sponsored team made up of students from the Massachusetts Academy of Math and Science, a junior/senior high school on campus.
Lessons learned on the chosen path
The college junior says there are plenty of lessons learned from his experiences with FIRST. “Teamwork is the key to any project’s success. If you don’t work as a team, you’ll never be able to build a robot in six weeks,” says Tremblay, who adds that learning how to work on a large team to solve a complex problem was one of the best lessons from his time spent with FIRST. And, doing it within the context of Gracious Professionalism™ was a bonus.
Another important “take away” from FIRST? A passion for science and technology. Tremblay says, “If you’re passionate about something, it never seems like work. During my four years as a team member of 319, I regularly put in 30 hours a week in addition to my school work, but I never grew tired of it. My involvement with FIRST has given me my passion; for the rest of my life, I’ll have fun mentoring FIRST teams and working on side projects. I can’t get enough of robotics.”
The soon-to-be engineer also maintains that if it wasn’t for FIRST, he would “never have found WPI.” During his freshman year, Tremblay mentored Team 190 and helped to design a sub-system of the team’s robot. Thanks to his efforts, the following year Tremblay was elected director of operations by the team, which meant he was in charge of organizing the design, construction, and completion of the team’s 2009 robot.
The Rogue Robot that led him to FIRST
What does the future hold for the man who once had dreams of becoming the next Emeril Lagasse? Tremblay says he plans to be involved with FIRST for the rest of his life.
“My experience with FIRST has given me a wealth of opportunities. I hope that I can help to do the same for other high school students,” says Tremblay, whose future plans include pursuing a doctorate in robotics engineering, after which he hopes to find a position working in the industry.
“Frankly, if ‘Big Bad Bob’ hadn’t hit me, I never would have joined FIRST. I never would have discovered WPI. And, I wouldn’t be where I am today,” says Tremblay.
Despite the initial collision course, it looks like there are no wrong turns on the road Tremblay has chosen.
Friday, June 4, 2010
The Delights of Dining Al Fresco
I just finished reading Mitch Ablom's article in PARADE magazine about dining outdoors. And I am howling. Or, rather, my husband and my 10-year-old are howling, because, Mitch sounds so much like me. Like Mitch, I, too, head outdoors to dine as soon as the icicles melt.
That’s when the search for places to eat al fresco begins, and becomes nothing short of an obsession. My family sighs in exasperation as I ponder where to have our spring/summer lunch, dinner, or breakfast. When at home, it's easy. The choice is either the patio or the porch. Short of a hail storm, we are eating at one or the other location. In fact, in my mind, it is a sacrilege to dine indoors after March 15. And, yes, like the Abloms, we have our fair share of pests: mosquitoes, flies, and the occasional bee. But, it does not deter us. Or, rather, me.
When we venture out to a restaurant, other obstacles come into play. Like the weather, which, again, rarely deters me, unless it’s pouring rain. My sister reminds me of the experience a few years back when I forced her to sit outside at a popular Newbury Street restaurant even though the thermometer plunged to a chilly 40 degrees. It was, after all, April 30 and officially spring.
For those who aren't as passionate as I am about dining in the elements, it's difficult to understand the appeal when the view is anything less than rolling hills or ocean waves. Most often the view or lack thereof doesn’t affect the experience for me. Although, sometimes even I have to admit when the vista is less than best dining outside can lose a bit of its cache. Especially when it consists of the side of a produce truck touting Vinne’s plumbing services or a flashing neon sign extolling the virtues of Dawn’s Donuts. Not to mention the unpleasant background noise of, say a 1970 Chevy whose muffler has seen better days, or the whoops and hollers of the local pre-teens as they rollerblade up and down the sidewalk in front of our table. Still, I tell my family, taking a deep breath that is mixed with car exhaust, it’s May and it’s warm out and there’s just something so special about eating outside.
Back on the home front, I have to agree with Mitch again. There isn’t a meal when we haven’t forgotten the napkins, or the forks, or the water, or the drinks. So after three or four trips to the kitchen, when my husband --- the designated runner --- finally sits down, my daughter and I are pretty much finished with our food.
Still, I persist in my quest for that perfect outdoor dining experience. I sometimes wonder if I have that light deficit disorder. Or, perhaps it has something to do with my childhood upbringing. I remember as a kid I spent every waking moment outside in the woods, in the trees, or in the sun, craving the air and brightness.
Whatever the reason, my need to eat outside is something I truly enjoy and look forward to as a rite of spring. Rest assured, with or without my family, I’ll be outside until the first snow. Or, at least until the leaves fall. I’m sure Mitch will be, too.
That’s when the search for places to eat al fresco begins, and becomes nothing short of an obsession. My family sighs in exasperation as I ponder where to have our spring/summer lunch, dinner, or breakfast. When at home, it's easy. The choice is either the patio or the porch. Short of a hail storm, we are eating at one or the other location. In fact, in my mind, it is a sacrilege to dine indoors after March 15. And, yes, like the Abloms, we have our fair share of pests: mosquitoes, flies, and the occasional bee. But, it does not deter us. Or, rather, me.
When we venture out to a restaurant, other obstacles come into play. Like the weather, which, again, rarely deters me, unless it’s pouring rain. My sister reminds me of the experience a few years back when I forced her to sit outside at a popular Newbury Street restaurant even though the thermometer plunged to a chilly 40 degrees. It was, after all, April 30 and officially spring.
For those who aren't as passionate as I am about dining in the elements, it's difficult to understand the appeal when the view is anything less than rolling hills or ocean waves. Most often the view or lack thereof doesn’t affect the experience for me. Although, sometimes even I have to admit when the vista is less than best dining outside can lose a bit of its cache. Especially when it consists of the side of a produce truck touting Vinne’s plumbing services or a flashing neon sign extolling the virtues of Dawn’s Donuts. Not to mention the unpleasant background noise of, say a 1970 Chevy whose muffler has seen better days, or the whoops and hollers of the local pre-teens as they rollerblade up and down the sidewalk in front of our table. Still, I tell my family, taking a deep breath that is mixed with car exhaust, it’s May and it’s warm out and there’s just something so special about eating outside.
Back on the home front, I have to agree with Mitch again. There isn’t a meal when we haven’t forgotten the napkins, or the forks, or the water, or the drinks. So after three or four trips to the kitchen, when my husband --- the designated runner --- finally sits down, my daughter and I are pretty much finished with our food.
Still, I persist in my quest for that perfect outdoor dining experience. I sometimes wonder if I have that light deficit disorder. Or, perhaps it has something to do with my childhood upbringing. I remember as a kid I spent every waking moment outside in the woods, in the trees, or in the sun, craving the air and brightness.
Whatever the reason, my need to eat outside is something I truly enjoy and look forward to as a rite of spring. Rest assured, with or without my family, I’ll be outside until the first snow. Or, at least until the leaves fall. I’m sure Mitch will be, too.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Almost done
So the kitchen is almost done and in a word it is --- wait for it --- anticlimactic! Who knew? After contemplating a kitchen redo for 10-plus years I thought I would feel something. Euphoric. Excited. At least pleased. But "anticlimactic" is not one of the words I thought would come to mind.
Understand, I am very pleased with the results. The kitchen looks great: the granite is perfect. The paint color is just right. The appliances are all shiny and new and clean. And it does all that we hoped it would do: the new wood floors don't show the dirt; the dishwasher actually cleans the dishes; and the new pantry is now stocked with food instead of unopened mail, last week's newspaper, and the occasional leftover bag of pretzels.
All is efficient and pleasant. So, what's wrong? Nothing. Maybe it's just the human condition rearing it's ugly head once again. We want and want. And get and get. And then we want more. Ahh the neverending consumer cycle!
Understand, I am very pleased with the results. The kitchen looks great: the granite is perfect. The paint color is just right. The appliances are all shiny and new and clean. And it does all that we hoped it would do: the new wood floors don't show the dirt; the dishwasher actually cleans the dishes; and the new pantry is now stocked with food instead of unopened mail, last week's newspaper, and the occasional leftover bag of pretzels.
All is efficient and pleasant. So, what's wrong? Nothing. Maybe it's just the human condition rearing it's ugly head once again. We want and want. And get and get. And then we want more. Ahh the neverending consumer cycle!
Thursday, April 8, 2010
The inevitable standstill
So, here we are at the inevitable standstill with the kitchen redo. Now we wait. And wait. And wait. Right now we are waiting for the granite to be cut, after finally having decided on a piece. And then undecided. And then decided again. Arrgh. I know every stone place along the East Coast now. And believe me, the granite is pretty ubiquitous. It's not like we've chosen something so out of the ordinary. At any rate, now we wait.
Interestingly enough, the same pattern is emerging in my work life. Fast and furious, in tandem with the kitchen stuff. So much so that I barely had a chance to notice the cabinets were installed and the floor was put down. "Yeah, yeah, do whatever. Can't you see I'm on a conference call?" The poor work crew. I haven't even offered them so much as a cup of coffee, I've been so overwhelmed with my work. Then again, I don't have a kitchen, so don't I have an excuse not to supply them with food and beverages? Hmmm, maybe that's why they've disappeared.
Interestingly enough, the same pattern is emerging in my work life. Fast and furious, in tandem with the kitchen stuff. So much so that I barely had a chance to notice the cabinets were installed and the floor was put down. "Yeah, yeah, do whatever. Can't you see I'm on a conference call?" The poor work crew. I haven't even offered them so much as a cup of coffee, I've been so overwhelmed with my work. Then again, I don't have a kitchen, so don't I have an excuse not to supply them with food and beverages? Hmmm, maybe that's why they've disappeared.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
And once again, the dust!
We are moving through the kitchen renovation process. It seemed quick and now it has slowed. The worst day was when they sanded and poly'd the floors. It seems I am never in the right place for whatever the crew is doing. I decided to use my basement office before I thought it through, forgetting that the kitchen floor was above my head. I almost asphixiated myself!! By the next day all was fine. Things are starting to shape up. The cabinets are in, the floor is done, and now we are waiting for the countertops and appliances. Living without a kitchen isn't too bad as we hardly ever cook. The most difficult part is living without water on the first floor. A lot of plastic and paper to get us through the next few weeks.....and the old TV dinners and take out!!
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Day 1: the dust settles....literally
It is the real first day of the kitchen redo, and by that I mean the first day of actual destruction. The downstairs is taped off in an attempt to mitigate the dust from the demolition. Attempt is the operative word here. I realize it's not working, as I sit captive in our upstairs bedroom, gasping for breath, paranoid that my lungs are filling with some horrible substance being unearthed from the walls of this 100-year-old house.
I am sequestered in my makeshift "office", praying that my clients don't call just as the proverbial "shxx hits the fan", or more accurately, as the sledgehammer hits the tile floor. The blue tile floor. The floor that 15 years ago was one of the KEY reasons we bought this house in the first place because it reminded me of France. Today, I can hardly wait until the floor is pulverized beyond recognition! What does that say about our style tastes, I wonder? Or more to the point, what does that say about the fickleness of humans? Something that I loved has turned into something that I despise. Maybe I'm getting a bit too philisophical. Must be the dust particles. Or the fact that I'm starving because I didn't think through the logistics of this process. How can I get to some food, coffee, or even my car keys so that I can go out and buy either?
Stay tuned for Day 2. Hopefully, the air will have cleared somewhat by then.
I am sequestered in my makeshift "office", praying that my clients don't call just as the proverbial "shxx hits the fan", or more accurately, as the sledgehammer hits the tile floor. The blue tile floor. The floor that 15 years ago was one of the KEY reasons we bought this house in the first place because it reminded me of France. Today, I can hardly wait until the floor is pulverized beyond recognition! What does that say about our style tastes, I wonder? Or more to the point, what does that say about the fickleness of humans? Something that I loved has turned into something that I despise. Maybe I'm getting a bit too philisophical. Must be the dust particles. Or the fact that I'm starving because I didn't think through the logistics of this process. How can I get to some food, coffee, or even my car keys so that I can go out and buy either?
Stay tuned for Day 2. Hopefully, the air will have cleared somewhat by then.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Kitchen Redo
Who knew the toughest choice to make about our kitchen renovation would be the backsplash? I mean, I wasn’t even sure I wanted or needed a backsplash. Afterall, we’ve lived the last 15 years without one and I hardly noticed until one of my friends asked about it. So now, after choosing the new appliances --- a grueling process where I did a 180 from thinking I wanted the bare essentials to realizing that aesthetics, not function, was of utmost importance --- I am ready to tackle the next choice.
So, I have finally selected a backsplash surface that I'm not just happy with, but am actually salivating over! I am not a fan of the ubiquitous subway tile. I don’t care whether it’s small, large, square, or rectangle. It all reminds me of the 1950s and not in a good, retro kind of way. I just can’t get past subway tiles looking like my elementary school cafeteria, which calls to mind the really foul tasting Sloppy Joes they would serve us every other week.
So imagine my delight when I found beach glass backsplash tile that looked good enough to eat? It helps that our new kitchen color scheme will likely be tones of buttery yellow, carmel, and/or toffee. I think I could just lick them right off the wall. BUT --- and this is key --- my backsplash tile will be frosted, not shiny. Although I love a good shiny tidbit as much as the next magpie, I just can’t see the shine in our kitchen. It’s got to be the frosted finish. I am loving those little carmel colored squares ---- yum ---- good enough to eat. Stay tuned for more about the kitchen redo soon.
So, I have finally selected a backsplash surface that I'm not just happy with, but am actually salivating over! I am not a fan of the ubiquitous subway tile. I don’t care whether it’s small, large, square, or rectangle. It all reminds me of the 1950s and not in a good, retro kind of way. I just can’t get past subway tiles looking like my elementary school cafeteria, which calls to mind the really foul tasting Sloppy Joes they would serve us every other week.
So imagine my delight when I found beach glass backsplash tile that looked good enough to eat? It helps that our new kitchen color scheme will likely be tones of buttery yellow, carmel, and/or toffee. I think I could just lick them right off the wall. BUT --- and this is key --- my backsplash tile will be frosted, not shiny. Although I love a good shiny tidbit as much as the next magpie, I just can’t see the shine in our kitchen. It’s got to be the frosted finish. I am loving those little carmel colored squares ---- yum ---- good enough to eat. Stay tuned for more about the kitchen redo soon.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
The Mommy Track: Guaranteed Employment in a Hurried World
When I left the corporate world behind almost a decade ago, I figured I would also leave behind the hectic pace that went with it: endless meetings, working lunches, long days. After 25 years of that schedule, it’s no wonder I longed for the mommy track. However, it seems a frantic schedule is a bit more difficult to walk away from.
My days are still filled with endless meetings. But instead of discussing the Gross National Product, we now discuss that gross blob under my daughter’s bed. As we rush from school to hip hop to art, I hear myself repeat my mommy mantra: “Hurry up. We don’t want to be late for (fill in the blank).” Yet, it wasn’t until I heard my daughter parroting these sentiments ─ “Hurry, mommy. We’ve got to beat feet.” ─ that reality hit home. I have no idea where she got that expression, but it’s clear she understood the meaning.
What happened to that leisurely schedule I had fantasized about? Did I subconsciously need this frantic schedule, this heightened sense of urgency to make myself feel important in my mommy role? What I now realize is that to be a successful mom (as well as a successful business person) we need to bring something constructive to the table. And, to do that most effectively, we need to listen, apply ourselves, and slow down.
Today, I’m determined to change my hurried ways; to slow down and savor precious moments with my daughter. I will no longer sweat it if we’re late for class. What’s the worse that can happen? I’ll get passed over for that next promotion? I think not, because ─ and here’s the Eureka Moment ─ in the mommy world, I will always have a job. Like other moms, I am the CEO, COO, and CFO of this corporation. Unlike the corporate world, none of us is replaceable. Because, whatever the circumstances, we will always be the moms of our sons and daughters. Isn’t it best that we slow down and enjoy the job while we’re still employed?
My days are still filled with endless meetings. But instead of discussing the Gross National Product, we now discuss that gross blob under my daughter’s bed. As we rush from school to hip hop to art, I hear myself repeat my mommy mantra: “Hurry up. We don’t want to be late for (fill in the blank).” Yet, it wasn’t until I heard my daughter parroting these sentiments ─ “Hurry, mommy. We’ve got to beat feet.” ─ that reality hit home. I have no idea where she got that expression, but it’s clear she understood the meaning.
What happened to that leisurely schedule I had fantasized about? Did I subconsciously need this frantic schedule, this heightened sense of urgency to make myself feel important in my mommy role? What I now realize is that to be a successful mom (as well as a successful business person) we need to bring something constructive to the table. And, to do that most effectively, we need to listen, apply ourselves, and slow down.
Today, I’m determined to change my hurried ways; to slow down and savor precious moments with my daughter. I will no longer sweat it if we’re late for class. What’s the worse that can happen? I’ll get passed over for that next promotion? I think not, because ─ and here’s the Eureka Moment ─ in the mommy world, I will always have a job. Like other moms, I am the CEO, COO, and CFO of this corporation. Unlike the corporate world, none of us is replaceable. Because, whatever the circumstances, we will always be the moms of our sons and daughters. Isn’t it best that we slow down and enjoy the job while we’re still employed?
The Gender Dilemma: Is it a girl or is it a boy?
When we received the call confirming my pregnancy, our initial reaction was one of disbelief, followed by feelings of unbridled joy. This jumble of emotions, normal for many parents-to-be, surprised not only myself and my husband, but also our friends, who, for the past four years, had shared with us the rollercoaster ride that defines infertility. During much of that time my husband and I were plagued with doubts and indecision: Are we doing the right thing? Will we make good parents? Can we adapt our carefree DINK (double income, no kids) lifestyle? And, most importantly, do we want to?
But when I finally heard the news, all those doubts and indecisions were erased in a flash. After years of trying and turmoil, the miracle had finally happened. We were ecstatic. However, the euphoria was short lived. Just a few weeks after we heard the news, I also heard a voice inside my head began to nag: what if the baby is a boy?
I hadn’t admitted to anyone, except my husband, how much I coveted a girl. At first my husband tried to brush off my obsession. But as he watched me become more possessed with the idea of a girl baby, he panicked, fearing I wouldn’t know how to love a boy child. I tried to explain that love was not the issue. I could love a stone. It’s just that, although the logic escaped me, I craved a little girl.
Please understand it’s not that I dislike the male species. On the contrary, I adore men and little boys, as well as most of the stages in between. It’s just that I never really warmed to the idea of raising a boy. All those stereotypes of roughneck kids punching and kicking and sweating were foreign to me. Growing up with two sisters and no brothers had definitely colored my world toward the pink end of the spectrum. I was a girly-girl eschewing little league for ballet classes and soccer games for mud-pie making. I loved dolls and dress up and china dishes.
Now, as I looked ahead to the future it held a decidedly rosy hue. I pictured my daughter and her little girlfriends hosting dainty tea parties with their dolls. I daydreamed about dance recitals and pink tutus. I remembered with poignancy those mother-daughter shopping excursions I so loved as a teenager. What did I know of fire engines and racecars? Baseball and battlefields? And, more importantly, what did I want to know of them?
Yet, why this obsession with the feminine gender? Did I subconsciously want to live my life over through a daughter? Was it because I never had my fill of dolls and frilly dresses as a child? The answer eluded me and as I struggled with my guilt, I fervently hoped this obsession would be supplanted by the anticipation of the birth I so longed for. Happily, for the next few months, it was.
As I focused on my progressing pregnancy and the health of this unborn child, with each passing week I breathed a sign of relief that all was well. As the months passed and my knowledge of the process grew, I realized how truly fragile and precarious this tiny being was. Fact: with my statistics — age 46, no previous pregnancies, fertility drugs I had a 50 percent chance of losing the baby during the first three months. Luckily, that percentage dropped to a low two percent once I passed the first trimester.
Yet, even as I grew more secure in my pregnancy, that other concern began to resurface. Evidently it wasn’t enough that at my age I was healthy and pregnant. I wanted more. I wanted a girl. I wrestled with my guilt. How could I even think these thoughts? I should be and was thankful to be pregnant while older friends all around me were struggling with adoption and infertility.
I began to take it as an omen that strangers and friends alike looked me over and pronounced authoritatively: It’s a boy. I would arguesometimes vehementlyto the contrary. But with each passing day, I became less sure. And finally I resolved to prepare for a boy. Just in case.
As the birth date approached, we scoured books for likeable boys’ names. Needless to say, we had first, second, and third choices for the female nomenclature. But after a relatively short research period, to our surprise, we found a likeable boy’s name. As I pondered the masculine name and all it implied, slowly, tentatively I began to embrace the idea of a baby boy. Maybe it would be fun to experience all of the things I had never experienced as a little girl.
Finally D-day, or rather in my case, delivery week arrived. I was in the throes of labor, which consisted of one week of hospital rest, four days of inducement, eight hours of active labor, and ultimately, an emergency Cesarean section. Having made it this far, I found myself, like countless others before me, just praying for a healthy baby. Boy, girl, blond, brunette, redhead. Suddenly none of that mattered and what was most important was the health of the baby. So, when the attending physician said those magic words, I truly could have cared less. My only question was whether or not the baby was OK. Today, the baby and I are doing just fine. And, oh, by the way, it’s a girl. Now we’re pining for a little brother to keep her company.
But when I finally heard the news, all those doubts and indecisions were erased in a flash. After years of trying and turmoil, the miracle had finally happened. We were ecstatic. However, the euphoria was short lived. Just a few weeks after we heard the news, I also heard a voice inside my head began to nag: what if the baby is a boy?
I hadn’t admitted to anyone, except my husband, how much I coveted a girl. At first my husband tried to brush off my obsession. But as he watched me become more possessed with the idea of a girl baby, he panicked, fearing I wouldn’t know how to love a boy child. I tried to explain that love was not the issue. I could love a stone. It’s just that, although the logic escaped me, I craved a little girl.
Please understand it’s not that I dislike the male species. On the contrary, I adore men and little boys, as well as most of the stages in between. It’s just that I never really warmed to the idea of raising a boy. All those stereotypes of roughneck kids punching and kicking and sweating were foreign to me. Growing up with two sisters and no brothers had definitely colored my world toward the pink end of the spectrum. I was a girly-girl eschewing little league for ballet classes and soccer games for mud-pie making. I loved dolls and dress up and china dishes.
Now, as I looked ahead to the future it held a decidedly rosy hue. I pictured my daughter and her little girlfriends hosting dainty tea parties with their dolls. I daydreamed about dance recitals and pink tutus. I remembered with poignancy those mother-daughter shopping excursions I so loved as a teenager. What did I know of fire engines and racecars? Baseball and battlefields? And, more importantly, what did I want to know of them?
Yet, why this obsession with the feminine gender? Did I subconsciously want to live my life over through a daughter? Was it because I never had my fill of dolls and frilly dresses as a child? The answer eluded me and as I struggled with my guilt, I fervently hoped this obsession would be supplanted by the anticipation of the birth I so longed for. Happily, for the next few months, it was.
As I focused on my progressing pregnancy and the health of this unborn child, with each passing week I breathed a sign of relief that all was well. As the months passed and my knowledge of the process grew, I realized how truly fragile and precarious this tiny being was. Fact: with my statistics — age 46, no previous pregnancies, fertility drugs I had a 50 percent chance of losing the baby during the first three months. Luckily, that percentage dropped to a low two percent once I passed the first trimester.
Yet, even as I grew more secure in my pregnancy, that other concern began to resurface. Evidently it wasn’t enough that at my age I was healthy and pregnant. I wanted more. I wanted a girl. I wrestled with my guilt. How could I even think these thoughts? I should be and was thankful to be pregnant while older friends all around me were struggling with adoption and infertility.
I began to take it as an omen that strangers and friends alike looked me over and pronounced authoritatively: It’s a boy. I would arguesometimes vehementlyto the contrary. But with each passing day, I became less sure. And finally I resolved to prepare for a boy. Just in case.
As the birth date approached, we scoured books for likeable boys’ names. Needless to say, we had first, second, and third choices for the female nomenclature. But after a relatively short research period, to our surprise, we found a likeable boy’s name. As I pondered the masculine name and all it implied, slowly, tentatively I began to embrace the idea of a baby boy. Maybe it would be fun to experience all of the things I had never experienced as a little girl.
Finally D-day, or rather in my case, delivery week arrived. I was in the throes of labor, which consisted of one week of hospital rest, four days of inducement, eight hours of active labor, and ultimately, an emergency Cesarean section. Having made it this far, I found myself, like countless others before me, just praying for a healthy baby. Boy, girl, blond, brunette, redhead. Suddenly none of that mattered and what was most important was the health of the baby. So, when the attending physician said those magic words, I truly could have cared less. My only question was whether or not the baby was OK. Today, the baby and I are doing just fine. And, oh, by the way, it’s a girl. Now we’re pining for a little brother to keep her company.
New Moms and Menopause
Raging hormones are certainly an expected side effect of the expectant mom, but when the expectant mom is simultaneously approaching menopause, the term “raging hormones” doesn’t even begin to describe what she’s going through. Thanks to the miracle of modern medicine and fertility drugs, this scenario is not the oxymoron it used to be. Indeed, there are more than a few moms out there ‘enjoying’ morning sickness along with hot flashes. I should know. I’m one of them.
It’s no secret that women are having children later in life, hence the growing collision between ‘new momhood’ and menopause. The National Center for Heath Statistics in Washington, D.C. reports that births to women ages 45 to 49 the years when most women are approaching menopause rose 15 percent from 1990 to 1999. Although more uncommon, births to women age 50 and older are also rising largely because of fertility treatments. According to Dr. David DiChiara, MD, of Beverly Hospital, “Two of my patients in their mid-forties had premature ovarian failure and premature menopause, and went the donor egg route. Several got pregnant by accident, if you will, and then two to three years later went into menopause.”
more
Having worked long and hard to get pregnant myself, I was ready for the morning sickness, the swollen ankles, even the gestational diabetes, of which I had all three. However, I was not prepared for the simultaneous upheaval of my confused 46-year-old uterus. To put it mildly, the old uterus didn’t know whether it was coming or going. On the one hand, it was, I suspect, delighted to be a ready receptacle for my blossoming embryo. On the other, it was only too happy to say so long to the monthly menstrual cycles that had wrecked havoc on it for more than 30 years.
Now, three-and-a-half years later, I’m proud to say I’ve weathered nine months of pregnancy, 14 months of breast feeding, and too many months of the terrible twos. However, it’s the last eight months that have been the toughest in terms of bodily changes. As my daughter rounded the three-year mark, my 49-year-old body was hell bent on embracing the menopausal journey. I fully expected to have fitful sleep patterns when I was pregnant. Ditto, when I was nursing. However, I was really looking forward to a more normal nocturnal schedule once my daughter began sleeping her 12-hour stints. Not so. It seems as you approach menopause, one of the side effects of changing hormonal levels can be insomnia. The doctors were quick to tell me that sleeplessness would most likely get worse before it got better. In fact, they said I might be one of those ‘lucky’ women who could look forward to another 10 years of insomnia.
Rhonda, a new older mom who had her son when she was 43 and went into menopause four years later, says, “Which came first? The exhaustion from lack of sleep from being a new mom, or the lack of sleep because of shifting hormones? Then, the mood swings because of lack of sleep? “She calls this the ‘older mom conundrum’.
Adds Rhonda, “I experienced hot flashes and mood swings, as well as fitful sleeping patterns. But because my nights were often interrupted by my son, I got used to functioning on less sleep and didn’t connect this rollercoaster ride to hormone shifts.”
For Rhonda, the experience of being a new mom and an older new mom often blended: “If you add the perimenopausal symptom into the mix of new mom experiences, it can wreck havoc with your mind, body, and soul. But, sometimes I wondered, is this the experience of being a new mom or an older new mom?”
What were the other challenges we menopausal moms could look forward to? How about the physical limits of the middle-aged body? I had no problem getting down on all fours to play “horsey” with my daughter. It was the getting back up that was a problem. I suspect you wouldn’t hear 20-something moms emit the grunts and groans I was unable to suppress as I went bi-level.
Linda, at age 53, agrees, and adds that life experiences and not having the career issues a 20-something mom might have, helps provide wisdom and patience at every turn.
“After 19 years of marriage, at 43 I had a surprise pregnancy, a very rough delivery, and a long healing process. So, I can truly say motherhood is the most exhausting, yet the most rewarding job I’ve ever had.”
Linda, who leads an Arlington-based, older first-time moms group that began in Arlington nine years ago, adds that menopause wasn’t an issue until she reached her 50s. “In fact, after the birth, for the first time in my life my periods were regular. Besides, who has time to think about menopause while taking care of a baby?” Having sailed through the menopause storm with hardly a symptom, Linda thinks her lack of hot flashes might be due to the diet of tofu and veggie soup she began consuming on a twice-weekly basis at age 51.
Rhonda adds, “Because I’m often around younger moms, I forget that I’m older and need to remind myself that it’s okay to go a little slower and take a break when necessary.”
As Hot Flashes, Warm Bottles: First Time Mothers Over Forty author Nancy London confirms: “While all mothers feel tired, the perimenopausal mother’s fatigue is compounded by her post-birth/premenopausal hormone cocktail. This potent mix creates a bone-deep fatigue that is poignantly juxtaposed against the high-energy needs of her young child.”
So much for energy levels. And what about weight gain? Thanks to a pregnancy diet to hold in check gestational diabetes, I only put on 16 pounds during my entire pregnancy. However, because I was deprived of certain goodies for nine months, I managed to make up the difference after the baby was delivered. In fact, I now weigh a solid 20 pounds more than when I was pregnant! At least when I was carrying my daughter, her growing needs helped to balance the calories. The experts say the weight gain is not helped by menopause and I can expect to put on an additional 10 pounds every year unless I make some minor dietary changes. Like starving myself, I wonder?
Another dilemma sometimes faced by the older new mom is whether she is the mother or grandmother of her child. I’ve certainly been on the receiving end of sidelong glances trying to ascertain which. In my husband’s case, since he’s already fifty-plus, more often then not, people assume he’s the granddad. But he’s no longer insulted. In fact, my husband now takes pride in the fact that he sired a daughter just two months shy of his 50 birthday. With me it’s a bit more sensitive. Afterall, I may be menopausal but I’m not yet 50. However, if you do the math, my daughter could just as easily be my granddaughter. And, if this were the old, pre-fertility drug days, she most likely would be.
On the brighter side, some of the research is more positive for us older moms. At the risk of offending young moms everywhere, I quote Dr. Sherman J. Silber, author of How to Get Pregnant With The New Technology. He says older moms not only tend to be more nurturing and better able to handle a child, “they actually have children that are more confident and brighter. By and large, the children are more intelligent," says Dr. Silber. He theorizes that these children are better cared for during the first 24 months of life, a fact that he believes can influence a child's personality and intellectual ability.
Says Rhonda, “I also believe that, being a little older, I might have a little more to give: I have more life experiences and so can focus this phase of my life on sharing those experiences with my child.”
Although there is no medical proof to date, according to the website Mothers Over Forty – The UK’s Premier Resource for Older Mothers and Fathers, editor Jan Andersen says: “There is evidence to suggest that women who become pregnant in there forties are less likely to suffer adverse symptoms during menopause. This is apparently due to the elevated levels of hormones that circulate in the body during pregnancy, which may give some protection against the less pleasant physical aspects of the approaching menopause.”
Suffice it to say that the experience of the menopausal mom is a mixed blessing. The two stages motherhood and menopause signal passages in a woman’s life. One tends to symbolize the opening of a door, while the other, the closing of one. However, having experienced some of each, I can honestly say the birth of my daughter makes the onslaught of menopause much more palatable. Because, while my physical body is rebelling in ways which signal the advance of the aging process, the experiences I’m sharing with my three-year-old make me feel just a little younger every day. Still, whenever I hear those 20-something new moms complaining about the perils of motherhood, I find myself thinking, “You should try this when your 50, sister”.
It’s no secret that women are having children later in life, hence the growing collision between ‘new momhood’ and menopause. The National Center for Heath Statistics in Washington, D.C. reports that births to women ages 45 to 49 the years when most women are approaching menopause rose 15 percent from 1990 to 1999. Although more uncommon, births to women age 50 and older are also rising largely because of fertility treatments. According to Dr. David DiChiara, MD, of Beverly Hospital, “Two of my patients in their mid-forties had premature ovarian failure and premature menopause, and went the donor egg route. Several got pregnant by accident, if you will, and then two to three years later went into menopause.”
more
Having worked long and hard to get pregnant myself, I was ready for the morning sickness, the swollen ankles, even the gestational diabetes, of which I had all three. However, I was not prepared for the simultaneous upheaval of my confused 46-year-old uterus. To put it mildly, the old uterus didn’t know whether it was coming or going. On the one hand, it was, I suspect, delighted to be a ready receptacle for my blossoming embryo. On the other, it was only too happy to say so long to the monthly menstrual cycles that had wrecked havoc on it for more than 30 years.
Now, three-and-a-half years later, I’m proud to say I’ve weathered nine months of pregnancy, 14 months of breast feeding, and too many months of the terrible twos. However, it’s the last eight months that have been the toughest in terms of bodily changes. As my daughter rounded the three-year mark, my 49-year-old body was hell bent on embracing the menopausal journey. I fully expected to have fitful sleep patterns when I was pregnant. Ditto, when I was nursing. However, I was really looking forward to a more normal nocturnal schedule once my daughter began sleeping her 12-hour stints. Not so. It seems as you approach menopause, one of the side effects of changing hormonal levels can be insomnia. The doctors were quick to tell me that sleeplessness would most likely get worse before it got better. In fact, they said I might be one of those ‘lucky’ women who could look forward to another 10 years of insomnia.
Rhonda, a new older mom who had her son when she was 43 and went into menopause four years later, says, “Which came first? The exhaustion from lack of sleep from being a new mom, or the lack of sleep because of shifting hormones? Then, the mood swings because of lack of sleep? “She calls this the ‘older mom conundrum’.
Adds Rhonda, “I experienced hot flashes and mood swings, as well as fitful sleeping patterns. But because my nights were often interrupted by my son, I got used to functioning on less sleep and didn’t connect this rollercoaster ride to hormone shifts.”
For Rhonda, the experience of being a new mom and an older new mom often blended: “If you add the perimenopausal symptom into the mix of new mom experiences, it can wreck havoc with your mind, body, and soul. But, sometimes I wondered, is this the experience of being a new mom or an older new mom?”
What were the other challenges we menopausal moms could look forward to? How about the physical limits of the middle-aged body? I had no problem getting down on all fours to play “horsey” with my daughter. It was the getting back up that was a problem. I suspect you wouldn’t hear 20-something moms emit the grunts and groans I was unable to suppress as I went bi-level.
Linda, at age 53, agrees, and adds that life experiences and not having the career issues a 20-something mom might have, helps provide wisdom and patience at every turn.
“After 19 years of marriage, at 43 I had a surprise pregnancy, a very rough delivery, and a long healing process. So, I can truly say motherhood is the most exhausting, yet the most rewarding job I’ve ever had.”
Linda, who leads an Arlington-based, older first-time moms group that began in Arlington nine years ago, adds that menopause wasn’t an issue until she reached her 50s. “In fact, after the birth, for the first time in my life my periods were regular. Besides, who has time to think about menopause while taking care of a baby?” Having sailed through the menopause storm with hardly a symptom, Linda thinks her lack of hot flashes might be due to the diet of tofu and veggie soup she began consuming on a twice-weekly basis at age 51.
Rhonda adds, “Because I’m often around younger moms, I forget that I’m older and need to remind myself that it’s okay to go a little slower and take a break when necessary.”
As Hot Flashes, Warm Bottles: First Time Mothers Over Forty author Nancy London confirms: “While all mothers feel tired, the perimenopausal mother’s fatigue is compounded by her post-birth/premenopausal hormone cocktail. This potent mix creates a bone-deep fatigue that is poignantly juxtaposed against the high-energy needs of her young child.”
So much for energy levels. And what about weight gain? Thanks to a pregnancy diet to hold in check gestational diabetes, I only put on 16 pounds during my entire pregnancy. However, because I was deprived of certain goodies for nine months, I managed to make up the difference after the baby was delivered. In fact, I now weigh a solid 20 pounds more than when I was pregnant! At least when I was carrying my daughter, her growing needs helped to balance the calories. The experts say the weight gain is not helped by menopause and I can expect to put on an additional 10 pounds every year unless I make some minor dietary changes. Like starving myself, I wonder?
Another dilemma sometimes faced by the older new mom is whether she is the mother or grandmother of her child. I’ve certainly been on the receiving end of sidelong glances trying to ascertain which. In my husband’s case, since he’s already fifty-plus, more often then not, people assume he’s the granddad. But he’s no longer insulted. In fact, my husband now takes pride in the fact that he sired a daughter just two months shy of his 50 birthday. With me it’s a bit more sensitive. Afterall, I may be menopausal but I’m not yet 50. However, if you do the math, my daughter could just as easily be my granddaughter. And, if this were the old, pre-fertility drug days, she most likely would be.
On the brighter side, some of the research is more positive for us older moms. At the risk of offending young moms everywhere, I quote Dr. Sherman J. Silber, author of How to Get Pregnant With The New Technology. He says older moms not only tend to be more nurturing and better able to handle a child, “they actually have children that are more confident and brighter. By and large, the children are more intelligent," says Dr. Silber. He theorizes that these children are better cared for during the first 24 months of life, a fact that he believes can influence a child's personality and intellectual ability.
Says Rhonda, “I also believe that, being a little older, I might have a little more to give: I have more life experiences and so can focus this phase of my life on sharing those experiences with my child.”
Although there is no medical proof to date, according to the website Mothers Over Forty – The UK’s Premier Resource for Older Mothers and Fathers, editor Jan Andersen says: “There is evidence to suggest that women who become pregnant in there forties are less likely to suffer adverse symptoms during menopause. This is apparently due to the elevated levels of hormones that circulate in the body during pregnancy, which may give some protection against the less pleasant physical aspects of the approaching menopause.”
Suffice it to say that the experience of the menopausal mom is a mixed blessing. The two stages motherhood and menopause signal passages in a woman’s life. One tends to symbolize the opening of a door, while the other, the closing of one. However, having experienced some of each, I can honestly say the birth of my daughter makes the onslaught of menopause much more palatable. Because, while my physical body is rebelling in ways which signal the advance of the aging process, the experiences I’m sharing with my three-year-old make me feel just a little younger every day. Still, whenever I hear those 20-something new moms complaining about the perils of motherhood, I find myself thinking, “You should try this when your 50, sister”.
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