And Then, This.

There's an old saying that goes, "There are few problems so great they cannot be resolved with cuddle puddles, hot chocolate, and stove-popped popcorn."

Ok, fine...I just made that up. So it may not be an 'old' saying, but it's my saying, dammit. And I'm standing behind it 100%. Last week, I needed this kind of healing. It had been a rough day that ended in my crying at the kitchen table while my kids looked on, confused. So when Darrick had to leave to go recruit middle schoolers to his high school's wrestling club, I did the only thing I could think of to help me get through to bedtime while feeling really, uncontrolably emotional.

I found a new kids' movie on the DVR, propped the kids up with pillows, stuffed animals, and a soft blankie, and went into the kitchen to make hot chocolate and popcorn. The hot chocolate was extra chocolately, and the popcorn was a stove-top recipe I've perfected in the past 2 months, lightly salted and delicious. And then I settled into the corner of our big sectional couch with the kids curled beside me, pulled their little table over close so they had somewhere to put their mugs and bowls, and lost myself in the smell of Rohan's scalp and the feel of Luca absent mindedly rubbing her toes against mine under the blanket.

This doesn't mean I was suddenly in a fantastic mood and the world was sunshiney. I wish it was that easy. Instead, last week was spent contemplative, pissed off, sad, confused, and resolute. And I wish I had some amazing explanation for all those feelings that would make sense, but the truth is I don't. I think sometimes we walk dark paths not because there is a lesson to be learned or a metaphor to be gleaned, but because it's part of life to struggle now and then. We don't always understand why we're feeling down or confused or stressed, do we? But at some point, we're coming out the other end of it. And if cuddle puddles and pop corn make it more bearable in the interim, then I'd be a fool to deny myself.

Something happened this week, and I don't know exactly what it was. The anniversary of my dad's illness + my own aging + worries about health + sleeplessness + stress + more and more and more = a shit week with lots of tears and long venting sessions and quiet moments of introspection. And then, suddenly, I was on the other side of it. There was no epiphany. No moment of clarity where I saw the way out of the things I'm feeling stifled by and into a future of bliss and perfection. Not even, sadly, any clear and rational understanding of what the hell was wrong with me and why I was feeling so out of myself. What there was, though, was a feeling of peace at the close of the week. I'm not sure what it all means. I'm not sure what all has changed and what will continue changing. I just know that this week challenged me emotionally in a lot of ways and made me think a lot about myself and the things in my life and how they make me feel. It also gave me pause to remember that how I react  - to people, to feelings, to situations, out loud, in my head - matters.

I'm walking into a new week a bit more introspective than I've allowed of myself recently. I'm trying to let myself just be and think and feel and process whatever comes into my mind. I am trying to open myself up to the possibility that there is a lot of possibility.

And if I get there through cuddle puddles and hot chocolate? All the better.

Review Time.

On the topic of avoiding false modesty, I had my review at work this week. I like reviews, in general, because I think they can provide really good feedback and insight into ways to improve, but also because they give me a chance to talk about what I like doing and where I want to go next.

What I don't love about reviews is the process we use for them. I had a pit in my stomach all day on Monday waiting for it to be review time. Reviews at my job are a shared process, with the boss and me both using the same form to evaluate objectives, goals, effectiveness, etc. I do the review first and submit it to my boss, who adds her feedback and scoring, then we meet to discuss.

This is where I confess that in the past I've scored myself modestly. I am not sure why, but even after 5 years with my boss, I struggle to talk myself up and stand up for my work when I have any doubt over how she feels about it. I've always approached reviews as my opportunity to get my boss's feedback on how she thinks I am doing on where she thinks I need to improve. But, in keeping with not feigning modesty when I know I'm kicking ass, I looked at the review as a chance to talk about the things I love and do really well, and also honestly approach the areas where I need to work.

It was scary. Scary as hell. I sat across from my boss in her office and all I could think was "Is she looking at my comments and scores and wondering just who the hell I think I am?"

Turns out, she wasn't. There were a few areas where she wasn't sure how to score me and we needed to talk them through. But it wasn't for a lack of effort or solid work on my part; it was due to the fact that a good portion of the work I do is fairly independent and she is hands-off with those projects. Really, she just needed to hear more about them to gauge how I was doing and what kind of score I deserved. I had to pep-talk myself quite a bit during the review, reminding myself not to undersell the work I do and not to apologize for things that didn't deserve apology. And, honestly? In turn I also found it much easier to talk honestly with her about the areas I know need improvement and what I need from her or others in order to make those improvements a reality.

And? I think she respected my approach more in the end. My boss is a no-bullshit kind of person, so being honest and upfront about the good AND the not-so-good was well received by her and helped us facilitate better conversation about where I am professionally.

The verdict of shaking off false modesty in this case? It was really difficult for me, but in the end I think it was important for me to approach my review as an opportunity to showcase my growth and the great work I do.

First We Learn to Say Thank You. Then We Add Excuses.

When was the last time you paid a woman a compliment and she thanked you? When was the last time she thanked you without then excusing it away?

"You're adorable!" (to the gorgeous and thin pregnant woman)
"Oh gosh...thanks...but no, I'm HUGE! Look at these ankles!" (to me)

"Your son is so sweet to the other kids on the playground.  Kudos to you." (to mom of a 5 year old boy who, I can guess based on society's expectations of little boys, is not used to his behavior being complimented)
"Oh, thank you. Really, he's usually a total terror." (to me)

"I love those shoes!" (another mom at preschool to me)
"Thanks. I got them at Target on clearance for a steal. They are so worn out!" (me, to her)

What's the deal with this phenomenon? And why is it disproportionately women who do this? When's the last time you complimented a man and he responded by deflecting the compliment or excusing it away?

"You look hot." (me, to husband)
"I kind of do, don't I?" (husband, to me, as he checks himself out in the mirror)

Experience tells me that if I compliment another woman, she's going to find a way out of the compliment. It's the clothes that make her look fantastic (nevermind her 5 miles a day, 4 days a week running ritual and healthy eating). She looks good in that purple scarf, but only when she uses a lot of undereye concealor so the scarf doesn't play up the bags under her eyes (nevermind there are no bags and if there are, I wasn't looking for them anyhow). Her kids are only well behaved right now because they're going to Santa later (nevermind the fact that her 5 year old son stopped to make sure my 2 year old was ok when he ran by and accidently knocked my kid down). Cute shoes (but SO uncomfortable!). Love the new haircut (but it only looks like this because her stylist did it for her). She did great on the presentation (it's just too bad that she stuttered and forgot the figures on that one part no one else noticed).

Look, we're all guilty of this to some degree. I can't remember the last time someone said something nice to me and I didn't deflect it or excuse it away. I can't remember the last time someone told me I'm awesome at something and I replied, "Thanks, I really work hard on it." I can't remember the last time I said something nice to another woman and she accepted it graciously with a "Thank you" and then shut the fuck up.

It must stem from somewhere, and if I had to guess I would point my finger at social norms girls face growing up. I know it's not born in most of us, this desire to never ever accept a compliment graciously and freely. I know because I listen to my daughter when someone compliments her. Even at 4.5 years old, she sometimes has to be reminded to thank a person for a kind word, but that's not because she's too busy coming up with ways to pish-posh their kindness. It's because she is too busy agreeing with them.

"Your hair is so pretty." (woman at the store to my daughter)
"Yeah." (my daughter to her)


"Luca, you've been so nice to your brother today." (me, to her)
"Thank you, mommy." (her, to me)


"I just LOVE your artwork. It's so creative!" (grandma, to Lu)
"Thank you. I drew the best apple in class." (her, to grandma)

How do we get back there? How do we return to a time when society and our own insecurities don't hamper our ability to say thanks and just accept the damn compliment? How do we stop ourselves from making excuses for our achievements when what we really should say is, "Yeah, I kicked some ass, huh? Thanks!"

I remember a long time ago, when Darrick and I first got serious together, he chastised me (lovingly) for this very thing. "You say 'sorry' too much," he said. "You shouldn't say sorry all the time. You say it when you mess up, but you also say it when someone else messes up and inconveniences you." And it's true. When I went into a health food store 3 days after Luca was born in search of fenugreek and the woman asked me when I was due, I didn't laugh it off. I didn't give her the evil eye for asking. I didn't even ignore it and ask her to show me the way. What I DID do is look her in the eye and apologize to her for her fuck up. "Oh, I had the baby 3 days ago. Don't worry! I hear it's normal to look pregnant for a while after giving birth!" I said. "Oh, well...yeah..." she stumbled over her words. "Sorry," I replied, "I should have told you she was a newborn and I needed fenugreek to up my milk supply."

Sorry? I should have told you? It's my fault you lack basic social graces and don't know better than to ask a woman when she is due unless she says to you, "I am currently pregnant."?!?!

And the thing is, my daughter hears and remembers everything. I know she is watching me. I know she needs me to model for her what a woman is, and I know that I don't want her to be 'sorry' girl when she gets older. I don't want her to minimize her achievements to make other people feel more comfortable. To talk badly about herself because she thinks she should. Because when you do it for long enough, you start to believe it's true yourself. I look down the line, toward her future, and it crushes me a little. She is a bright light in the world, a wonderful and funny and kind and smart-as-hell girl, and the idea of her one day excusing those parts of herself away until...well...until they GO away? It scares me. I owe her better, and I am unapologetically capable of giving it to her.

So, false modesty? I'm sending you on vacation for a month. I'm going to try something new*: not allowing myself to apologize for someone else's faux pas, not excusing away genuine compliments, and not underselling myself for the sake of modesty.

This next month is Mission: No More False Modesty for me. I invite you to join me. I'll post more as the month goes on.

*No assholery will be accepted during this time. I'm not on a mission to become an egotistical asshole.

Keep It Short.

I needed a change, so I got it.

I lost just over 10 inches of length and gained layers and bangs. This is me shortly after getting it cut by my sister in law. It was wet when she cut it and we didn't dry or style it, so it's hard to see the bangs and layers (but easy to see my natural, uncooperative waves), but I feel refreshed. It was time for a change.

And, for good measure, here's another from after I took a flatiron to the bangs and front pieces.

Bucket Lists.

I don't really have a 'Bucket List' per se. I've never sat down and penned a list of things I need to do before: before I am 35, before I retire, before my kids leave the nest, before I die. Maybe I'm just not mentally organized to work in that fashion? But I do know there are things I've always dreamed of doing and goals I have for my life, and some of those are more of the pie-in-the-sky variety than others.

Among those, sitting near the top as a dream I've had for years, is the one where I write a book and get it published.

I've always been a writer. As a teenager, I spent hours upon hours writing poetry and prose in a little floral-covered notebook I owned. It looked like a regular hardback, so I chose it because it was easily camouflaged among the other books in my room and thus not such an easy target for older brothers who I knew would use whatever I put in it as ammunition to embarass me. I even won a few writing recognitions in school, including a poem I wrote titled 'Angel Dust' which was then refused for publication by my high school because it 'could have been a drug reference'. (For the record, I was way too sheltered as a teenager to even realize that angel dust was PCP....my art teacher actually had to explain it to me.)

As a professional, I'm known as 'the girl with the red pen' in my office. My boss and co-workers are always coming to me to review, revise, and red-mark the things they write, from Board Meeting notes to grant proposals to newsletter articles. And then there is this little corner of the world, which started as a way to document the hard facts of parenting and has slowly morphed into my place to spit out all the thoughts and memories and stories that pop into my mind throughout the day.

I've started and grown tired of several books in my lifetime. I get an idea, start to write, and then get bored or start to feel it's too forced. Or I lose confidence and then never go back to writing until I'm over the storyline, then revisit it and read it with embarassment.

But this time, something is different. I am writing a book. It's weird how inspiration hits, but I was listening to conservative talk radio (hey, you gotta know the opposition's views, right?) on my way home from work when a story came on that blew my mind. It had me thinking and suddenly I couldn't wait to get home and write the story that my mind was developing.

So, last night I wrote 3 chapters. And the story is still unfolding in my mind, but I'm feeling excited just to write something that's not autobiographical. After all, my life isn't all that interesting really, so it's fun to create a world in a story that IS interesting. Or so I hope!

Here's hoping that someone else (please, universe, let it be a publisher!) likes it as much as I do!