Molly Fulton
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I had many ways to take pictures in Liberia this year – I had my phone, my camera and a Flip camera. I took photos and videos on them all. I never went anywhere without some way to capture where I was and what I was experiencing, and technology has made this easier than ever. But I discovered some limitations.
I wanted to seize everything I saw and sock it away as both souvenir and as a way to share this love of Liberia with the people I love on this side of the Atlantic, but I often felt self-conscious taking pictures. I didn’t want to come off as a ghetto tourist. The truth is, everywhere I went and everyone I saw was beautiful to me. There was plenty that was alien, unusual, exotic or mind-boggling, but it was all beautiful to me.
I always asked if it was OK for me to take a picture, and the response was always an enthusiastic assent. Everyone I met loved having their picture taken and loved seeing it. That is one really nice thing about digital photography – the ability to shoot and show -but I found it hard to be both photo journalist and participant, like I couldn’t observe and engage at the same time. I wonder if this is an issue for photographers. Is there some invisible line that separates you from the subject?
And I rarely felt like my pictures really caught what I was trying to catch. I have a decent eye, but I can’t find the fullness of being there in the pictures I brought home. Instead, my captures are more like ticklers – a prompt to remind me of a day, a person, a story that has now become entwined in my own life story.
On the flip side, one of my indelible moments from last year was sitting with a girl in one of the orphanages we visited. She asked me if I was “a mama”. At that moment I wanted desperately to be her mama, but I also wanted to share my family with her. It hadn’t occurred to me to bring pictures of my family (in fact, I rarely have printed pictures of anyone anymore) but this time I made a point of printing up some wallet-sized photos of my family from throughout the year, and I took them with me wherever I went.
I found this to be a wonderful ice breaker. Children and adults alike were interested, intrigued and engaged with the pictures I brought. I imagine they were inspecting not only my children, but trying to glean some clues about my life and American culture, which led to some great conversations. Not surprisingly, it was often observed that my oldest daughter looks a lot like me, my girls are beautiful and my boy is big. I like to think that they were also thinking how much older my grey-haired husband looks than me, but no one actually said that. And my little dog with the Christmas sweater – it was incomprehensible that I would put clothes on a dog.
Pictures worth a thousand words.
This morning was much like any other morning. I made coffee, grabbed milk some milk from the fridge, read for a while with my little dog Ginger in my lap.
As the sun came up, I bundled up to take her outside on this characteristically brisk January morning. I listened to the hum of the heat pump. I took a long, hot shower and contemplated all these ordinary, mundane rituals.
Tomorrow morning I will wake up on a bench in the Brussels airport,half way to the other side of the world. I'll be away from my bed, my husband, my children, my dog, refrigeration, hot water and cold weather.
My last thing I did before I left, my parting act of love for my family, was to clean the toilet. Really, is there any greater act of love?
Again, I’ve been challenged by my friend Jen. She has been waving the banner of self-love and self-acceptance, especially as it relates to body image.
It’s not unusual for we women to become the family photographer for the express purpose of staying behind the camera. Sure, we might come to enjoy taking photos of our ever photogenic children, and we might develop some real skill – but we’re still hiding. I knew this about myself, and somewhere deep inside I started feeling a little guilty about it. My children might never have photographic evidence of a mother. I figured even if the pictures were bad, at least there would be family pictures – and they might be very important someday.
In the age of Facebook, I don’t have the same level of control over my image. Other people can take pictures and post them and tag me for all the world to see. This has been a real exercise in humility. (I have only untagged myself once.) I had a friend tell me one time after some party pictures of us got posted that I did not photograph well. You might think this was an insult, but I was delighted! I thought it was one of the kindest things ever said to me. I’ve always thought I was better than pictures revealed, so I was thrilled that someone else thought the same thing. Big relief.
Anyway, per Jen’s request, I am posting some recent photos. I almost never ask someone to take a picture (unless it is an event, like a race), but I took one with my mother at the beach, I got another with my husband (again, not nealy enough of those), and the last is on Christmas morning with my “baby”, Ginger (in her new Christmas hoodie!). Funny, I like the Christmas morning picture best – and that’s no make-up, bed-head, and PJs. I should look pretty jacked up, but it’s not so bad.
Tis the season…for restocking.
I went out yesterday to run a couple of errands which included a trip to the grocery store and the mall – two of my least favorite destinations. Everywhere I went, there were employees restocking shelves or doing some sort of inventory in every department I wanted to shop. This seemed especially so in JCPenney. I swear there were not that many employees during peak holiday shopping season.
This made me grouchier than usual. I understand that things have slowed down, and these retail tasks need to be done, but rounding every corner to find a pair of retail associates chatting and leisurely tagging/shelving/rearranging merchandise with the same sort of insouciance you might find on a southern front porch on an afternoon shelling beans was really too much for me.
I don’t especially enjoy shopping cheek-by-jowl in a crowd, but there’s a certain anonymity you can only find in a crowd. Having a store all to myself is my idea of at least the fourth circle of hell. I feel watched, scrutinized, judged. I was so undone, I left without buying anything.
I regrouped and went back out today – this time I had to stop at a big box store which will remain unnamed. I managed to do what I need to do, but as I struggled with my own feelings of overwhelm, I was reminded of my friend from Liberia who came to visit Virginia. The first time he stepped into a Super Walmart he broke down in tears (yes, we’ve all done it), but not because he was joyfully overcome by abundance nor for the reasons you and I might be driven to tears (People of Walmart comes to mind – oh, the humanity!), but because it struck him as sort of…grotesque, this pornographic monument to consumption. We thought he’d be impressed. He
wasn’t.
In the months following my return last year, I would chat with friends in Liberia. I’d say I wish I could be there with them, and they would say they wished I could be there too. It struck me that never once did they express the desire to be here or somewhere other than in Liberia. What do we make of that?
Don’t get me wrong – I think I live in the greatest gosh-darned country on the planet, hands down – and yet we are so restless and insatiable. In the world’s poorest country, among the most brutally violated populations of people, in a seemingly bottomless pool of need, I found a lot of joy, and there was freedom in having less.
It’s down to the wire as I make my final preparations for my trip.
It is so much easier this time because I know better what to expect and therefore what to pack. I made a list last year in my journal: Things to Remember for Next Time. That list included:
· a bathing suit (There awesome beaches that I’m not supposed to talk about, lest you think we’re just on a really exotic holiday masquerading as a mission trip.)
· a refillable water bottle (We send ahead cases of bottled water, but we have really great water filters so we can drink the local water. If I bring my own water bottle I’ll always know which one is mine, as well as reduce waste. Trash is an issue.)
· my device chargers (I didn’t think I needed to bother before since there is no electricity widely available, but it turns out we get a few hours of current a day via generators and there are often compatible outlets available – although there isn’t any standard electrical code.)
· more skirts ( I went with I thought were more utilitarian wardrobe choices that turned out to be less than ideal. Skirts are breezy and cool in a tropical climate, but the unreliability of finding a toilet when you need one – especially as we travel dirt roads through the interior - means finding relief in a bush is quite likely. I feel much more comfortable discretely hiking my skirts than I do dropping trou before God and Africa.)
· my own small pillow (I don’t know what they stuff their pillows with – maybe some feathers, but they felt like there were probably bones and other body parts of the chicken as well.)
I pride myself on being a very light and efficient packer. I don’t want to carry around any more than I need to, but I felt like I was a little too spartan last time. I’ll bring a little more of myself this time – like cute shoes.
What I won’t bring this year are books – I have my Kindle, praise the lord! That means more room and less weight. Win-win. Nor will I bring food. Last time I packed a bunch of protein bars and granola bars for fear that as soon as I set foot on the dark continent, I too would risk starving to death. Not so. In fact, my fantasies of losing 30 lbs while doing God’s work was completely squashed. I may have even gained a pound or two while I was there.
Today’s task is to take care of the money. I have scheduled payments for all my bills for the rest of the month. (Thank goodness for online bill pay and direct deposit!) The Liberian currency is wildly deflated Liberian dollars. A 20 dollar bill is worth about 67 cents in US dollars. Fortunately, US dollars are accepted pretty much everywhere, so no worries about converting money. The only thing is you can’t use a bill larger than a $20, and you can oly use the newer $20s with the “big heads”. So I’m taking a couple hundred dollars in tens, fives, and ones. My children graciously gave me money they had been saving in change jars, so we spent Saturday morning rolling change which I have to go cash in at the bank today. I was so moved and proud that the money that they save every year, throughout the year for spring break, they wanted to send to Africa with me.
Today is un-decorating day. I’d like to leave everything in tact until Epiphany, but if I’m honest, I know that today is the perfect day - I have the time and none of the pressure that will start building from tomorrow forward as we dive back into the regular work/school routine.
There’s always a smidge of melancholy dismantling the sparkly, festive décor, but there is also something deeply satisfying about stripping everything bare. The house has a spare, clean quality it rarely has at any other time. I have a clean slate before me, and isn’t that the promise of the new year?
I’ve seen a lot of posts on Facebook and Twitter and various blogs bidding a hearty good riddance to 2011. For me, 2011 was just kind of, well, meh. It started out with a life-changing bang - my first trip to Liberia – but the rest of the year was 11 ½ months of anti-climax.
Since I always mark every moment in time by how much I weigh, I ended 2011 at about the same weight I started it. Glad it wasn’t worse, but it’s not what I would have hoped. I kept running, but it was a struggle. I ran the Women’s 4 Miler and the Richmond Half Marathon, but I suffered through every bit of training (this was mental suffering more than physical) and did the least I could reasonably get away with. I can’t say that I feel especially pleased with my accomplishments in that department, but I haven’t been able to let it go either. Running, I just can’t quit you. None of this would matter if I didn’t spend so much time feeling guilty or envious of the running accomplishments of others.
I started teaching bible study classes to a recovery group of inmates at the local jail. This was the next best thing to being in Liberia for me. It satisfies that badass, edgy, risk-taking itch I have and combines it with my craving for a deep spiritual dive into the interior life. If I didn’t do this, I might be tempted to become a life coach just so I could talk to someone about intentional living, spiritual disciplines, and mindfulness. *shudder* I’m way too cool for that.
Financially, I was no better, no worse. I have the same debt, the same in savings, and the same yawning gap of “needs” and resources.
I was inconsistent in my writing. I had lots of ideas for things I wanted to sew, but didn’t. I had a couple of speaking gigs I enjoyed, but I had more opportunities that I let float by as I sat and moped on the riverbank of my life.
In fact, that’s exactly what 2011 was like - sitting by the river, staring at the current, occasionally examining a blade of grass or making a clover chain necklace. I kept lots of quiet space around me. As I look back I see that this space was necessary. One of my goals for the year was to pad my margin, to reduce hurry, to be more present every day at home and at work. I think I was able to do that to large extent, and it has been a sort of mental and spiritual rebuilding year. I have been waiting for something. I’m not sure what, but I’m pretty sure it’s coming this year. The waiting can be tedious, tiresome, and dull, but I just can’t walk out. I imagine it like waiting in a doctor’s office – nobody likes to do it, but you can’t walk out on the diagnosis/test results/treatment your life may depend upon.
As I think about the year to come, the word that has grabbed me isn’t “resolutions” or “renewal” or even “fresh start”, it’s “remember”. I think it will be a beautiful, purposeful, and productive year if I remember:
· Who I am
· What I’m good at
· Where I am
· Why I work
· When to rest
· What I love
· Who I love
Remembering means being true to myself. Remembering means living confidently and authentically. Remembering means not allowing myself to be distracted by someone or something that doesn’t serve me, my goals or my purpose well. Remembering does NOT mean brooding over what’s past.
So what will you remember from 2011? What do you need to remember for 2012?
Two weeks from now I’ll be flying across the Atlantic to Brussels – the first leg of nearly 24 hours of travel to get to Liberia. I’m thinking a lot now about how best to prepare my family for my absence. I need to get a little help with transporting kids to their assorted destinations, stock the fridge with some meals so my husband isn’t left with all the cooking and shopping, and try to leave the house in reasonably good shape and the laundry as close to caught up as it will ever be in this life.
Last year, the kids and my husband kept a little daily journal of what they were doing and when they were thinking of me while I was gone. It was a very sweet welcome home gift. This year I’d like to leave them some notes from me to read each day that I’m gone. Thinking about the things I’d like to say to them, what I’d like them to know while I’m away, makes me feel a little tender. I heard Paul Simon’s song Father and Daughter on the way into work yesterday, and I got pretty teary. I have been blessed with a great father and married a great father to my children. That alone makes my life pretty daggone charmed as I wade into a sea of fatherless (and motherless) children.
But I’m also looking forward to seeing some of the people I met in Liberia last year. At one orphanage we visited, there was little girl that I connected with. She trailed behind me, sat next to me, quietly keeping close. The only thing she said to me was to ask, “Are you a mama?” I wanted to be her mama. I wonder if she will still be there.
I’m thinking about Valerie, the woman that made the most awesome cinnamon rolls and cakes and muffins in an old refrigerator that had been converted to an oven with a propane tank and a little ingenuity. Her home was like most, rather ramshackle, but there was something quite vibrant and proud about it. She had a nice big yard with grass (not too common in the dry season). A boy kept the grass trimmed with what was essentially a blade on a stick. There were plenty of tropical trees and shrubs, bananas, coconuts, and large built in planters that ran around two sides of the house with beautiful flowers. The planters were full of discarded egg shells, good for the soil and evidence of the activity inside.
I’m thinking about Bea, my soul sister seamstress, who for $35 will custom make a dress from traditional lappa, the wax block print fabric native to Liberia. She is an elegant, beautiful woman with a house filled with fabric. She takes a few measurements, I point to a picture of something I like and days later I am outfitted in a new dress. It’s quite a treat to have someone sew for me. What really blew me away, though was her cutwork and embroidered designs done only with a machine zig-zag stitch. Inspired!
I’m thinking about Malcolmsen, former child soldier, war lord, drug addict, drug dealer, and all around bad dude. Now he’s clean, preaches the Gospel, and has turned his machete to plowshare with 2 acres of land he is turning into a farm to feed and support an entire community. He is a miracle. And when he sings, it is hard to doubt the inhabiting presence of the spirit of the living God.
There are many more. I’m thinking about these people I love so much both sides of the Atlantic who graciously allow me to come and go. I am deeply grateful for the extraordinary love they show me by sharing me and letting me share in their life and work. Anyone who thinks I am some kind of selfless do-gooder has got it all wrong. I am selfishly multiplying the love in my life.
I’ve been on a bit of a bender for the past week.
I know I’m not alone – the holidays, lots of feasting, extra goodies around the house, plenty of hospitable booze at the ready. Lots of shopping, cooking wrapping, and decorating gave way to a sense of entitlement to sleep and sloth and playing with our new toys (none of which included work out equipment).
It’s funny how desperately I long for rest, for unstructured downtime. I feel sure I won’t be able to get enough. But after two days of this, even the most basic tasks – like doing a load of laundry or buying toilet paper - become too hard.
Even my desire to be able to eat and drink as I please is revealed as a sham when I quickly become sluggish and ill feeling from too much wine and sugar and cheese. Maybe this is why I don’t allow myself much time like this. A little is good and restorative, but there is most definitely too much of a good thing.
It’s a good reminder that I prefer the feeling of busy. I like to feel energetic and healthy. I revel in being productive. So why is laziness and over indulgence so seductive?
So I start over again. I am comforted by the words of Zechariah 4:10: Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin.
Beginning is the hardest part after all, but our acts of faith are always honored and rewarded. The faith required to go to the gym, to lace up the running shoes, to plan meals and make more disciplined choices, to believe I can unwind after a day of work (or with my family) without a glass or two or ten of wine.
I’m not talking about resolutions really, just getting back to work. What do you need to start?
My dear blogging friend over at Jen on the Edge is hosting a holiday house tour. I’ve always secretly wished I would be invited to participate in a house tour, but I suppose I don’t run in the right circles or file in the right tax bracket. I can, however, insert myself into a virtual house tour and show off my budget conscious festive flair. Come on in and let me show you around!
We don't do elaborate outside decorations. We have some icicle lights my husband puts up each year, but I limit myself to some front porch decorations. Since Christmas is still largely kid-oriented in my world, I have gone with a more whimsical entrance - Candy Cane Lane. I love my elves and our increasingly shabby little tree covered in candy themed decorations.
In the foyer, we have a few items we pull out each each year: a little Fulton snow family sign that was made for us, a tin full of candy canes to which guests may help themselves, and an advent tree. The advent tree was made by my mother in 1976. I used it as a child, as do my children, to mark off the days 'til Christmas by reading a daily bible verse that prepares the way for the arrival of the baby Jesus.
I always like to add a little something crafty and homespun to the decor. This year I made these snowflake garlands from paper doilies I sewed together. I have sliding glass doors on either side of the fireplace, so I hung strings of these doily snowflakes across each door and topped with an old school silver tinsel garland. I love the way they turned out!
The countdown is on.
All those details I need to work out to be gone for 16 days – and I mean gone, gone, totally checked out, across the ocean, no phone service or internet gone – it’s time to get all that business nailed down.
I have my plane tickets and my visa application taken care of. This week I went to the traveler’s clinic at UVA to get my prescription for malaria medicine and Cipro. I didn’t think I needed much in the way of vaccinations as I had all that done last year – yellow fever, typhoid, meningococcal something, flu, Hep A, polio and tetanus boosters, but I did get my flu vaccine and a Hep A booster.
Liberia is coded high risk on CDC world maps for just about every disease – AIDS, malaria, Hepatitis A/B/C, cholera, rabies, TB, worms and assorted other parasites and hemorrhagic viruses. I believe it was about at this point last year I had my first (and really only) bout of fear. Reading the descriptions of all the possible things that could go wrong and the grim assessment of the availability of any kind of health care is sobering. Fortunately, I am not easily freaked out or deterred.
Last year I fared well. I didn’t even get the traveler’s diarrhea that hits almost everyone. I pray that I can be so blessed again. I still have an unopened bottle if Immodium (not expired!) that I will take with me, as well as some Pepto and ipubrofen. I think just carrying it is some kind of insurance. I never used my Cipro last year – the super anti-biotic - so I left it behind. I’m quite sure someone was able to make good use of it.
We took lots of de-wormers, Tylenol, ibuprofen, vitamins and yeast meds everywhere we went. We handed them out as much as we could, and you would have thought we were tossing out gold coins. Such simple remedies can yield such powerful relief – especially to those for whom such things are completely unavailable.
For all the talk about the state of the American health care system and how broken it is, let us be thankful for the access we have. Did you know there are only 3 surgeons in the whole country of Liberia? Seriously ill and injured wait (if they survive the wait) for mercy ships with doctors to make a stop off the shores of Liberia. Oh lord, have mercy!
When I take a break from both running and (personal) blogging, my brain fills up like a trash can - eventually overflowing and making a pretty big mess. Don’t mind me while I start cleaning up a bit. I’ll start by picking up a few random thoughts I had today.
I’m wearing my new jeans from Old Navy today. Here’s what I love:
· They are cheap, and I got them for extra cheap last night. Pretty soon they’ll be paying me to take clothes out of the store with all the sales and coupons swirling around this time of year. I prefer not to think of why they are so cheap. I make clothes, and it costs me more in materials than to buy them already made – not counting my labor. Yikes.
· I love the super soft, lightweight denim fabric. It has a little bit of stretch and it is soft like flannel of chamois cloth. The dark rinse is just right.
· Their sizing runs a little big, so I am able to buy a size that doesn’t make me want to weep with shame. They get extra super bonus points for this. I appreciate that all their styles come in a “short” (aka petite) version that is just the perfect length for me. I still have the same fit problems I have with pants globally-waist gaps in the back. Three kids and 47 years of hard livin’ later, I am thicker in the middle than I used to be, but still apparently too curvy to find pants that fit. Good thing I can do my own alterations.
Denial spoils my coffee drinking experience.
I was in Bodo’s getting a cup of coffee this morning. The woman ahead of me got her order, walked over to the “fixin’s” station – cream, sugar, napkins utensils, etc – then walked back to the counter and asked for a knife. The Bodo’s staffer pointed to the fixin’s station and very sweetly said, “They are right over there”, to which this woman responded, “Well they weren’t there before.”
Really? Just because you didn’t see them 3 seconds ago doesn’t mean they weren’t there. All of us within earshot were open mouthed, and I again wondered at the need for people to deny very simple obvious truth. How do you simply say, “That wasn’t there” or “I didn’t do that” in the face of overwhelming evidence and witnesses. Recent protestations by Jerry Sandusky and Herman Cain come to mind that made me spit my Bodo’s coffee in disbelief.
I amaze my own self sometimes.
One week ago today I was on my knees covered in shit, blood, and dog fur. My sweet old dog Max was convulsing with seizures. It was my son’s 8th birthday and I was catering the office Christmas party and expecting a house full of out-of-town guests that very evening in anticipation of a full weekend of birthday celebrating. It wasn’t until I called the vet to tell them I was bringing Max in that I lost my shit. Hearing the receptionist say, “Hello, Animal Medical Center” was the tug on the loose thread that quickly and completely unraveled me.
I had exactly the amount of time it took me to ride out one more seizure with him, bundle him up, drive him to the vet, and drive back home to wail and sob and howl with mascara all over my face like some bad B-movie actress. Then I had to pull it together, clean, cook, and be a delightful hostess and party guest while my husband attended the death of our beloved friend. I ground my way through it all. The office party was a success, the boy’s birthday party was 2 solid hours of high intensity, physicality and messy fun with a dozen rowdy children followed by a dinner party for 13 friends and family. I rocked it all, but it seems like a million years ago instead of a week. A dull throbbing sadness has replaced the white hot burst of hospitality. I wonder if I could ever reach the same level of intense productivity without being at battle stations?
My first dog, the first one I got all by myself as a grown up, was the love of my life for 14 years. She was a gorgeous husky-chow that I got as a puppy, a small pom-pom of golden fur that sat in my lap and ate American cheese slices on our first ride home together. I named her Roxanne because I had just gone to a Sting concert that summer. I could write volumes about how beautiful she was, what kind of girl she was, all the things we went through together during that tumultuous time of my life, but I’m getting a little hysterical as I write this now – and she’s been gone for almost 8 years.
We were on our way back from New Jersey and got caught in a snow storm that stranded us for a couple extra days from being able to pick her up from the wonderful kennel where we were boarding her. She died peacefully in the snow before we got home. You might think that I would be upset that I wasn’t there in her final hours, but this was perhaps the kindest, most loving final gift she could give me. I think she knew that I was home at last in my own skin. She had been my guardian in some very dark days, but now I was in a good place, a new home, a good marriage and the impending arrival of the best boy in my life, my son. She was free to go in peace, and I thank God that she didn’t suffer a prolonged illness or break down. I hate long good byes.
I resisted getting another dog for a good while. I was enjoying the freedom of living pet-free, and I just couldn’t see giving my heart away like that again, but you know what happens next, right? A casual visit to the SPCA with the kids and…
I feel pretty sure Max picked us. I was looking at daintier, short haired models, but this dopey mutt wouldn’t be ignored. The French bull terrier I had my eye on was very…well, French. We were clearly not good enough her as she wouldn’t give us the time of day. Max, however was friendly and affectionate and slipped into our family like a hand in a glove.
We don’t know exactly how old he is. The estimate when we adopted him was 6 or 7 years. He was surrendered to the SPCA by the same family that adopted him from the SPCA as a puppy. Their reason: he kept running away. Don’t get me started on how I feel about this except to say that clearly he was meant to be with us, not them. I’m just sorry it took him 6 or 7 years to find his way home.
He has been a world-class family dog, but he’s getting old. We’ve had for 5 years now which would put him at 11 or 12 as best we can tell. He’s been slowing down, but he can still rally if there’s an unguarded sandwich. Over the Thanksgiving weekend, he took a dramatic turn – looking weak, stumbling, and no longer wanting to go outside to take care of business – which is to say I’ve done a lot of carpet cleaning lately.
I figured out that he was losing his sight. He was bumping into things and didn’t like going outside because of the steps. I had to become his seeing-eye person. He and I are both adjusting. He’s perked up considerably now that he knows we’re not going to let him fall down the steps. He’s re-learning his way around the house, although he doesn’t go too far from his food and water or the front door. Me, I’m finding a new love in caring for my special needs dog, but I am praying fervently for his comfort and health. That if his time is near, that it will come quickly. No long good byes. I don’t think my heart could take it.
Today I spent a few hours in my 2nd grader’s classroom for “Native American Day”. There were lot of other parentts visiting the school today for Thanksgiving feasts, but me? No feast, just 3 hours of craft rotations.
I don’t spend a lot of time at school. I don’t volunteer or do PTO or darken the doorway any more than I absolutely have to. I did 11 years of preschool with my children, and when we all graduated, I never looked back. (I am blessed to have bright, motivated, socially well-adjusted children, so my intervention hasn’t really been demanded.)
But my son has been bugging me about coming in, so I tried to sign up to chaperone a field trip but was denied. Instead I got the opportunity to participate in “Native American Day”. Oy. Here are a few things I learned from my day at school:
I’m really grateful for the teacher my son has. We rotated through 4 classrooms, and hers was by far the best. The first was filthy, chaotic and colorless. The teacher, dry as a bone. The second room was bright and well organized, and the teacher a bit more animated, but her son was in the group, and her personality changed dramatically every time she spoke to him, as if she had to prove she wasn’t favoring him. She actually said he was the only one in that room she was allowed to beat, so he should be quiet. I feel sure she was joking, but I didn’t find it funny. The third class was with an experienced teacher. She was delightful and skilled and a close second to my son’s teacher who is young and enthusiastic, and runs a tight ship. I could tell by the way this group behaved that she had good expectations they tried hard to rise to meet.
School is chaotic. I was surprised by how many interruptions there were - people coming and going from the office, kids being called out on errands, announcements over the intercom. I remember as a childcare center director being able to read a story, answer a staff question, and keep my eye on every child in the room simultaneously while operating in a constant hum of noise and movement. I had forgotten what that was like. When I started working in a “real” office, I remember thinking how quiet it was and wondered if I could ever get used to it. I did.
I still love working with children. I wearied of the weight of responsibility for hundreds of children and staff. Parents can be a huge pain. Crowd control is not my thing. But watching a group of children go through their paces, being able to sit and have one-on-one conversations – that is pure pleasure. I enjoyed watching my son in his element. He was attentive, polite, happy and showed some leadership. He completed every project with ease. But I found myself drawn to the boy who didn’t speak to anyone, for whom tying a knot was a challenge and weaving a God’s eye was completely confounding. It was all hard, all overwhelming, and my heart broke with the knowledge that it was just a matter of time before this boy was completely left behind. Would anyone notice?
In just a few hours I was reminded of everything to love and everything that’s wrong with our education system. I know many gifted teachers for whom their work is a challenge, a joy, and a mission field, which only makes me grieve more for all the bad ones that persist.
And the bureaucracy and crazy CYA policies and procedures. My darling 16 year daughter was wearing a bandana rolled up and tied as a head band sort of like the photo below. She was actually told to remove it because it is considered a gang symbol. Whisky Tango Foxtrot! Is this what we’ve come to?
My plan was to blog every day in November. Well, I got to the 17th before I missed a couple. As it turned out, my month of NO included saying NO to a few days of writing. No reason. I wasn’t too busy or even lacking something to say. I always have something to say. But sometimes I just lack the will to get it done.
I’m not especially proud of this, but I see no point in denying it or making excuses. I make grand plans and then let myself down - if not off the hook. My objective in the month of NO was to make more room in my life. To continue the process of being deliberate in my choices, not a victim of my circumstances. So what shall I do with this perceived failure? Get back on the horse. Accept responsibility for the fact I chose to let a few days slip away without meeting my self-imposed obligation. One, that no one gives a rip about besides me – I am beholden to no one in this project.
So I’ll say NO to the relentless desire for perfection, and NO to the unkind thoughts I harbor for failing to achieve it. I am grateful that I can choose my path.
(Dramatic recreation of this year's Christmas card - not the actual one.)
I write this with some reluctance because I don’t want it to be viewed as a criticism of how other people choose to practice their holiday communication. So just know that up front. I’m not judging you.
I just ordered my Christmas cards. Christmas cards are one of the bellwethers of my holiday mental state, which means many years they just don’t happen, and I hate that. In all honesty, I have viewed them (just like many of my holiday activities) as a way to strut my good taste, beautiful children, creativity, design skills, and all around how-does-she-do-it-all illusion.
I’ve been giving a lot of thought to how I want to do Christmas cards this year. I want to reach out to friends, family, and professional contacts. I want each of them to know what they mean to me – whether it’s my 95 year old granddaddy, my best friend from high school , or a business contact. So there will be different cards for different audiences – some may even be e-cards. I’ve ordered lovely cards with pictures of the kids for family and friends that will enjoy seeing how they’ve grown, but I will not be writing a newsletter of everyone’s accomplishments for 2011.
Instead I will just try to write a sentence or two about the recipient of the card, that I’m thinking of them, a funny memory, or something I’m looking forward to doing with them in the year to come. I want to try to make the practice of sending cards and act of honor and appreciation for the people in my life, and less about me.
Declaring it’s not about me, seems a little ironically self-righteous, but I know the power of words. If I can give the people I love a word that affirms them, it will be the best gift, and one that comes closest to the spirit of Christmas.
I’ve been to a few tradeshow/conference events this year, and I’m sorry to report that these provide lots of opportunity for bad behavior. The “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” rule seems to be applied equally to Nashville, Orlando, and Charlottesville. Do people actually think there is some sort of fidelity free-pass peculiar to these events? Is there some base instinct that is tapped that drives attendees and exhibitors alike to eat as much, drink as much and collect as much swag as humanly possible? But that isn’t what I really want to talk about today.
At an expo I attended earlier this week, I was really intrigued by people’s fashion choices. This was a professional event of about 1000 people, so there was plenty of good people watching, but let me re-emphasize the word professional and offer a few helpful hints should you ever be attending one of these events.
1. Tradeshow does not equal burlesque show. It is so discouraging to me to see attractive young (and not quite young) women come “work” these shows in too short, too tight clothes and hooker shoes. Don’t leave them wondering what you’re really selling.
2. Pinstripes doesn’t make it business attire. I’ve seen way too many pairs of cheap polyester, boot-cut, pinstripe pants (usually worn too tight) that some poor girl thinks is appropriate. You don’t have to spend a whole lot of money to get a pair of real trousers. Basic black and a good fit will work with a nice blouse, sweater, or tailored jacket.
3. I’m no expert on men’s fashion, but I don’t think that steel grey cotton poplin shirt with the Nehru collar and white topstitching should be worn with the bottom half of a pinstripe suit. No, no, no.
4. Suits can be exquisite works of craftsmanship. Often they are shipped to their retail destination with vents and pockets sewn down to maintain the integrity of the construction. Gentlemen, please go ahead and snip those 2-3 stitches holding the rear vent of your suit jacket. That vent is there for a reason – so you can sit and bust a seam.
5. A plain black suit, plain white shirt and black bow tie might work if you are an old school undertaker, preacher or member of the catering wait staff. Otherwise, no. (The very cute young offender I’m thinking of did have a spectacular pompadour, and almost earned mad style points – but I truly thought he was a waiter until he sat at the table next to me.)
What tradeshow no-nos have you seen?
One of the things I was looking forward to most about taking a break in training was going back to wearing ill-advised, inappropriate footwear. I love a cute shoe - and I’m willing to suffer for it – but I was trying to give my poor overworked feet a break after many miles of pounding.
I am very grateful for being able to run old and overweight and remain injury free. After my half marathon, I felt great. I needed a little recovery time immediately after I stopped running, but soon felt surprisingly good and have not been sore at all since.
I have, however, had a little something dicey going on with my ankle. If I put my weight down on my foot in a certain way I’ll get a shot of pain. I am able to walk normally, if gingerly. Against my better judgment, I wore heels for an evening out to dinner with friends Sunday night. I wasn’t going to be walking much, but I had to be VERY careful how I stepped out. By the end of the evening, my feet were terribly swollen from little more than sitting, eating, talking and laughing. OK, maybe I need a little more time.
Today I tried to put on a pair of boots with heels and was immediately made aware by my ankle that the heels were a no-go. *Sigh* I guess I’ll need to persist with comfortable, supportive low heeled shoes. Is this the slippery slope towards unfortunate orthopedic shoes? Please let’s pray for healing so I can go back to high-heeling.
I showed up at the local jail prepared to hold my regular weekly bible study class. As I waited, other volunteers accumulated in the lobby – G.E.D. teachers, art teachers, AA group facilitators and me. Oh, and there were several “weekenders”. Apparently these guys serve time part-time – not sure exactly how it works, but it strikes me as odd that you would just show up and check in, like you’re on a business trip checking in to your hotel, and then wait patiently for someone to come and get you and lock you up.
While no one in jail is ever in a hurry, tonight it took an exceptionally long time before a guard came to check us in. We were asked to “stand by”.
I went to the bathroom while I was waiting, and for a moment I was tempted to steal a roll of toilet paper. I knew we were running low at home, and there was a loose roll just sitting there, and for a moment it crossed my mind to just take it. Imagine me stealing TP from the jail! I don’t have a stealing problem. I’ve never been turned on by shoplifting. I can’t say why this thought was so appealing to me except that I love irony.
I said NO to this impulse.
Next thing we knew the guard was informing us that they were experiencing a “massive security threat” and they would not be allowing volunteers in. I don’t know exactly what that meant, but “massive security threat” are not words you want to hear in jail. So I headed back home. No jail for me tonight.
Since today is the 13th and the day after I ran 13 miles, I will give you, dear readers, 13 thoughts on my Richmond Half Marathon experience.
1. 3:30am I get up, make coffee, get dressed, double check the gear bag, and make peanut butter toast for the drive. I’m on the road by 4:07am. I actually felt very fresh and alert. I was enjoying BBC World News while I drove by the light of a full moon. That moon was a lovely reminder of why I was running.
2. I was in my parking spot by 5:38. That meant I had plenty of time to chillax and get in the “zone” – except I really had to pee. Fortunately I was only a block from a bank of port-a-potties, so I zipped over there to take care of business. If you’ve never been in a port-a-potty at night (or pre-dawn, as the case may be), it is very, very dark in there. On the plus side, I was probably the first person to use this one, so it was clean. I was able to time my bathroom business perfectly, which is not always under one’s control. Normally I wouldn’t mention such indelicacies, but for a runner, this is a big issue.
3. I had about an hour to relax in the car before I headed for the start line. I ate my yogurt around 6am and did a little reading. About 7am I made my way to the start and found several of my training buddies to line up with. After the national anthem, I downed my little pouch of Sport Beans and moved with my wave towards the start. At 7:46 we were off.
4. It was a very, very cold start – right around freezing with downtown wind tunnels. I was shivering, teeth chattering, and toes numb. I warmed up pretty quickly, but the toes were seriously numb. It was a good mile and a half before they started to regain feeling, and it was just like when your foot falls asleep and returns to normal only after passing through that uncomfortable prickly feeling. My feet felt lumpy, but that soon passed and by mile three I was feeling really good.
5. The course was pleasant and the weather – clear, cool autumn perfection. Bright blue skies and golden foliage made me glad to be alive and outside with my heart and lungs pumping.
6. Around mile 4 I first noticed the power walking granny that I kept pace with most of the way. It’s a challenge to keep up morale when you are running strong behind a walker. Sigh. Even more disconcerting, she was the queen of snot rockets. I know you have to do what you have to do – but gah-ross! Her partner offered her some tissue, but she explained how that just didn’t work for her.
7. Mile 5-7 took us through Bryan Park. I heard many bemoan that this was the hardest part of the course, but it was my favorite. A long rolling loop through quiet woods, it was very peaceful. There were hills, but nothing compared to the hill country of Lake Monticello where I train. I love a hill. It is the one place I really shine, picking off lesser competitors – at least until we get to the flat stretches where they all pass me up again.
8. I watered at mile 7, 9, and 11.
9. I took advantage of a lone, line-free port-a-potty at mile 8. If the finish line had been here, I would have felt like a rock star. I held my pace up to this point. I popped a few more Sport Beans and waited for my next burst of energy. It never came.
10. I passed on the Coke and Gummy Bears near mile 9, but found water and a thimbleful of cold beer at the next station. Best tasting thing I had all day.
11. Somewhere around mile 10 I saw this sign that made me laugh out loud: This is the worst parade ever. I suppose a bunch of shuffling and grimacing stragglers aren’t very exciting, but coming up on mile 11 the marathoners (who started 30 minutes after the half marathoners) were coming up on mile 24. The motorcade of police motorcycles and pace cars escorting the front runners passed and I felt a thrill at running side by side with some the world’s most elite runners – even if it was only for a few seconds. The winner of the marathon completed his course in 2 hours and 13 minutes. I would complete half that distance a little more half an hour later. Oddly enough, I didn’t find this at all discouraging. I was simply in awe.
12. Mile 11 is when I really started hurting. I wasn’t opposed to taking walk breaks, but at this point there seemed to be no benefit. I was going to have to keep my legs rhythmically moving forward or risk losing control of my muscles completely. I did not start grunting and whimpering audibly until mile 12.
13. That last mile was sheer grit and determination, and thus imparted a little romance to the struggle. The race bibs had our first names printed conspicuously, and I have to say it was nice to hear lots of people shout my name with kind encouragement. I have a great running community/family, but I run alone. On race day I really do depend on the kindness of strangers. Training for this race was hard, and I did more than my fair share of belly-aching about it all along the way, but my reward for sticking with it was a truly great run. I didn’t get the time I was hoping for, but I really can’t find one thing to complain about – that may be a bigger miracle than finishing!
If you would like to celebrate my accomplishment with cash, I am still collecting for Legs for Liberia trade scholarships through the month of November. Thanks for so much support!
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There used to be a sign that hung in my old workplace that said: People may not believe what you say, but they always believe what you do.
As a woman who has battled weight and body image all my life, I made a promise to myself that I would be a better steward of my children's self image as much as I knew how. The excerpt below is from guest blog post on you'd be so pretty if... It articulates the power of not just our words, but we act out what we believe about ousrelves..
I have three boys, two in grade school and one in pre-school, and Tee has a teenage daughter with special needs, and an adult son starting a family of his own. We both know that our kids watch everything we do and hear everything we say about ourselves. We’ve always made sure we never made negative comments about our bodies in front of our kids, and both of us have steered clear of unhealthy behaviors like yo-yo dieting, pills and other weird fads.
We thought this was good. That this was enough: The lack of negative references to ourselves would convey a confident, body-positive attitude.
Not quite.
Non-verbal communication is powerful; the things we hesitated to do, avoided and made excuses for said as much about how we felt about ourselves as disparaging comments about our thighs in passing would. In contrast, the things we take on, participate in, try our best at and embrace say as much about who we are and what we’re capable of as the words we use.
Service has always been an integral part of my family life. I had really great role models in my parents and grandparents, and I hope to pass along not only my belief that it is our Christian duty to serve, but that giving of your time, talent and treasure is a joy and a blessing all its own.
One time when my oldest was asked what motivated her to volunteer, she said: It’s just what we do. She had never considered that one might not want to share themselves with those most in need.
Recently, we had the opportunity to participate in a family project for Project Linus, a non-profit organization that distributes blankets, hand made by volunteers, to needy children who are sick or have been traumatized in some way. We had a great time picking out fabric and making our blankets. As I boxed up our blankets for mailing to Project Linus headquarters, I included some pictures of the children and their works-in-progress (seen here), and I was feeling pretty pleased with the whole business.
I showed the pictures to my oldest daughter, whose immediate response was: OMG! I look awful!
Uh, oh. Looks like I passed along more of myself than I thought.
Anyone who knows me, knows that my husband is frequently a source of frustration, aggravation and bewilderment. I assiduously avoid any gratuitous praise (like he should get a parade for running the vacuum?), but I must diverge from the usual condescending and cavalier attitude that I project for humor’s sake. (He knows how I really feel and indulges me when I need to use him as a punch line.) I am truly blessed to have a husband who is really a full partner in parenting.
Due to our work schedules, we alternate morning and evening duty with the kids. The morning shift includes getting everyone up, dressed, lunches packed, breakfast served, dog walked and all to the bus stop on time. Today my husband had morning duty which meant that I was off the parenting clock for a moment and could get myself - and only myself - ready for work.
As it happens, my bathroom shares a wall with the kitchen. I can hear very well what transpires over the breakfast bar while I am laboring over hair and makeup.
Most often what I hear is the ritual dance of early morning, time sensitive conflict. It has all the tranquility of an air raid siren with the attendant chaos. I can usually tune this out, but occasionally I have to step in.
Today what got my attention was a different sound – the sound of laughter. My husband and son were ready ahead of schedule, enjoying easy conversation and lots of giggles. Being on the other side of the wall and able to enjoy this moment anonymously was sa-weet! Very sweet, indeed.
Yesterday I tweeted this: "Ode to Joy" played by a 4th grader on the recorder in the car - isn't. Just sayin'.
Here’s one interesting response from @singingengr8: @MollyFulton Ace Cleaning Services can take care of that. Call for a free estimate @466-4334
What exactly do you think they have in mind?
It’s the first day of spring - a glorious, picture perfect realization of what spring should be. Flowers are blooming, bees are buzzing, the sap is rising, and I have a 15 year old daughter with a boyfriend who is lurking. I’m feeling the need for a new sort of vigilance.
I’ve given the girl some Saturday chores. I should have known that when she had to take a shower to walk the dog that the boy was in the neighborhood. As she went about her housework, the boy started a pick-up game of baseball in the street right in front of our house. I asked her if he was waiting for her. She said, “No.”
Later I sent her outside with the kid brother in tow to work in the garden. The ball game dissolved and the boy moved into the yard to hang out. I kept watch through the afternoon. I saw the way he looked at her and was constantly reaching for her – her hair, the drawstring of her jacket. I knew better than he did what was driving him. The kid brother was great for distraction and deflection, but I kept checking out the window to be sure I could see where everyone was and what everyone was doing at all times.
At one point, little brother came in the house for some reason I can’t recall. I went to see what the 15 year olds were up to left unsupervised by the 6 year old. They were laying side-by-side in the hammock swinging and talking and holding hands. I wanted to casually go out there and make some excuse to interrupt this moment but as I watched, I was moved by nostalgia. Remembering the sweetness of a lazy Saturday afternoon with romance floating on the warm breezes.
I love my girl so much. I remember being that girl. So it is no wonder I am pulled to the four corners by knowing, remembering, longing, and fear.
I let her have this moment, but soon – if the boy is to stay much longer – he’s going to have to start doing some yard work. Maybe wash my car, too.
[I started this post as an object lesson for my work blog, but it's a funny story about the boy as well.]
About 2 weeks ago, my son started carefully considering how to manage the challenge of catching a leprechaun. Now he’s only 6 and still inhabiting a world of magical and fantastical thinking so I, of course, did not have the heart to tell him the truth about leprechauns – that they are very, very hard to catch.
Leprechauns are so elusive because they possess something of great value. If you are lucky enough to catch one you have a choice to make (and this is where my son began fretting). You can either take possession of the pot of gold that the leprechaun protects, or you can opt for the leprechaun to grant you a wish. Gold is a nice choice – and prudent in this economy – but a wish! That opens the door wide for even more than what money can buy.
So presented with seemingly endless possibility, my son decided that if should he catch a leprechaun, he would wish to catch another. Clever.
I don’t know if this is actually allowed, however. It is well known that when you release a genie from a lamp, you get three wishes that are tightly governed by specific Wish Rules of Engagement – including no wishing for more wishes. This may seem like a tricky CYA move on the part of genies and leprechauns (if they do indeed observe the same rules), but one would do well to recognize this as the proper gift of confrontation that it is: you must choose.
I understand well the paralysis of choice. Sometimes there’s just too much to chose from; it’s overwhelming. Mostly, it’s about fear. We believe if we just keep more options open longer, that’s better. I don’t think so.
So what would you do if you caught a leprechaun? I’m say we go for the gold.
[This post is recycled. Hey, I thought it was a good one and I need to fill in the new parenting blog project. Sue me.]
I have never been one of those girls that needed, wanted, or offered accompaniment to the restroom. I won’t go into my public restroom or port-a-potty phobias now, but suffice it to say that I was really glad child number three was a boy. Now it was dad’s turn to visit every stinking bathroom in every store, restaurant, or gas station we’d pass for the next 10 years.
Privacy is good, and so is maintaining a little feminine mystery – no matter how long you’ve been married. Unfortunately, I do now feel the need to announce my intentions to head off to the privy, as my loved ones seem to get panicky if they don’t know exactly where I am at all times.
This strategy has met with limited success.
EVERY time I go to the bathroom, I hear someone say, “Where’s Mom?” They could be in the basement watching a movie or surfing the internet for hours or even at the neighbor’s house, with not the slightest interest in interacting with me in any way.
Then I quietly depress the lock on the bathroom door, and suddenly we are in a movie thriller with quick cuts and close ups: door shut and locked, antennae up, eyes darting, hair bristling…they are now alert and buzzing with the uneasy feeling that I have just made myself unavailable somehow.
And now a little more urgently, I hear it again, “Where’s Mom?”
I wait and see if someone else has the answer to that burning question, but more often than not I find myself shrieking, “I’M IN THE BATHROOM!” There is no gentle, loving, reassuring quality to the shrieking. No, just fire-breathing, flesh-melting rage from behind the locked door.
So now I am in the most undignified position of having loudly declared my exact location, with little doubt as to my exact activity.
There is an awkward period of waiting.
I can no longer take care of my personal business in leisure, I am now terribly anxious about both the passing of time and judgement concerning my daily constituitional.
So I suppose there’s no hope for it. As long as I continue to cohabitate, I can expect someone will notice when I have to go to the bathroom. The question is: how can I get this to happen when the dog needs to be walked?
One of the most critical and dangerous aspects of parenting is the strategic alliance between the two parents. This is true regardless of whether you are happily married, unhappily married, divorced, living together or apart. If you are single parent, I tip my hat to you for performing the hardest job in the world, but in this one aspect you may have the advantage. You benefit by having one sovereign voice of authority.
If two parents are not perfectly aligned in mission, strategy and tactics, those sweet little bundles of (seemingly vulnerable) love and joy will eventually pillage the household like Attila the Hun. They can smell weakness. At the slightest hint of a parental fault-line, they will plunge a wedge in it and hammer until you shatter into a million tiny shards of defeat not big enough to scoop coals from the fire or draw water for a drink. (Please refer to the book of Jeremiah - I'm referring to Old Testament-style vengeance here.)
It is for this very reason that I try especially hard to always have my husband’s back – especially in front of the children. I disagree with most everything he does (tactically) but I exert Herculean effort to restrain my disappointment that he has not executed my superior parenting methods. Sometimes, though…well, this wouldn’t be interesting if I always got it right, now would it?
I was in the bathroom this morning getting ready for work. I can hear my husband and my son engaged in the morning ritual dance of asking, ignoring, pleading, rejecting, cajoling, and yelling involved in getting the boy fully dressed and fed before school. My husband was exhibiting saintly patience (i.e. a maddening passivity and failure to acknowledge the boy’s insolent behavior) while my blood pressure continued to increase with the rising volume and sass of said boy. I try not to jump in and take over these situations.
Really.
I try really, really, really hard.
But this morning my restraint buckled.I marched out of the bathroom with curlers still in my hair and affixed my laser vision on the boy. And with the thundering voice of Zeus I declare: I will not tolerate this noise anymore! You will not speak to your father that way; I will not have it! Let me remind you how this works. He (I point to my husband) is an adult; you (I point at my son) are the child. He is the parent; you are the child. He is the boss; you ARE NOT THE BOSS.
I swing around on my husband and inquire: Who’s the boss? (I’m picturing this in my head kind of like a half-time locker room pep talk, but I’m not sure my husband received it as such.)
My husband responds: Um, m-me?
That’s right! I say and swing around once more casting a squinty, zzzt! look in my son’s direction. Do you understand me?
His sweet little head nods furiously.
I stand, fists on hips, head cocked in classic superhero reflective pose and declare: My work here is done.
(Image is crudely scanned and used without permission from my favorite Anne Taintor calendar. Sorry Anne – luv ya!)
Have you ever wondered about the proper pronunciation of “posterous”? In my head, that first “o” was a short vowel – the same way you’d say preposterous! Then I heard someone say it out loud with a long “o” – like poster or post-it note. Um, that probably makes more sense since it is a platform for blog posting.
Anyhoo… when I knew the world could no longer spin without the fuel of my witty insights on family life, I had to come up with a new blog name. prePosterous parenting practically wrote itself! There’s a reason the family sitcom is so popular – child rearing is just a hoot.
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The W4MTP blog has been on hiatus in the off-season, but we’re back now and ready for another 12 weeks of inspiration, information and sweat.
If you are new to the program, welcome! You have done a brave and admirable thing – no matter what your motivation. If you are returning, we are so glad you’re here whether you are leading the way or just trying to get back on the wagon.
This year’s theme is A New Attitude. Pretty perfect if you ask me. See if any of these old attitudes ring a bell with you:
- I can’t run.
- I’m too old/fat/slow.
- I look ridiculous.
- It’s too hot/cold/rainy.
- I don’t have time.
- I don’t have energy.
- I can’t take time away from my kids/husband/job.
- I don’t know what I’m doing.
- I don’t think I can finish 4 miles.
Well now is the time to replace those with a new attitude:
- It feels good to move.
- If not now, when?
- I am a role model.
- I am unstoppable.
- I am worth 30 minutes a few times per week.
- I am going to feel better every day.
- My family will have a happier, healthier me.
- I will meet new people, make new friends and learn from kind, gentle women.
- I can do whatever I set my mind to do. 4 miles, here I come!
What attitude are you ready to trade in?
I have demoted myself to nearly a 13 minute miler. I am not happy about this. At one point I was closing in on a solid 11 minute mile, but a winter of inconsistent training and weight gain has taken its toll. To quote my friend Jen, now when I haul ass, it takes two trips.
But I got back out on the road this week with my group, and even though it was humbling, I know it’s the only way back. I think I can get back up to speed by the end of the summer.
When I’m on the road, it’s clear what I need to do. Just lace up my shoes, step out the door, and keep putting one foot in front of the other. This simple sequence is easy to lose sight of when I’m not on the road, but rather swimming in the deep end of my daily routine and commitments.
Inside I need only concentrate on eating good, real, whole food – not too much. Less wine, more water. Less packaged, processed convenience foods, more fruits and veggies and lean protein. I know all this. I need to eat for fuel and pleasure, but not for comfort. Comfort I need to find somewhere else.
I can’t say I find comfort on the road. Running is stress busting and anxiety taming, but comfort? – not so much.
So where do I go for it? Where do you go for it?
The hardest thing about running? Remembering why I do it.
I wrote about this in my previous post, but it is still really hard to accept that maybe – quite possibly – my runs aren’t and will never be about performance or accomplishment. That’s a bitter pill for a woman who cares (perhaps a little too much) about both. Not every activity is a competitive sport – even a competitive sport.
Of course, the dirty little secret every runner has is that she’s constantly comparing herself to others, herself to her past, herself to her hope.
I ran this morning because it was on the schedule. I ran this morning because I have a race in 6 weeks and I’m starting to feel the pressure.
But the real reason I ran this morning – the really, really real reason I ran instead of rolling over in bed or letting the clock run out on my small window of opportunity while I puttered was that it was warm. I wanted to be outside and feel the warm air on my bare arms, to hear the chorus of birds, see the sunrise, and fill my nose with the sweet spicy fragrance of lilacs and daffodils and wisteria. Losing weight, following the plan, hitting a target just aren’t as compelling as the full sensory experience of me moving through this world awake and alive and present.
Have you ever woken up next to your spouse and wondered to yourself: Who is this person? What on earth am I doing here? I don’t know if I want to do this anymore.
Hopefully, you have enough faith and commitment to realize this moment for what it most surely is: temporary. So you keep waking up next to that same person day after day, and eventually you remember why you stay, why you fell in love and, and all is right with the world again. This is my relationship with running.
I have really been struggling with running. I’ve put on some weight because I haven’t been running as much, and now it’s harder to run because I’ve put on some weight. But I’ve renewed my vows with my running shoes, and I have faith it will get better.
It’s been a while since I’ve been able to get in a long run. I’m usually jamming in 2-4 miles anywhere I have a hole in the schedule, which is to say, not very much. But it’s spring break. My husband is driving the kids to the grandparents for the week, and I have a rare, blissful stretch of Sunday afternoon hours to do whatever I want –and it’s a gorgeous spring afternoon, sunny, cool and breezy. Perfect run weather. So I head out to spend as much time as I want on the road.
It still takes a mile or two to shake out the cobwebs and let my mind run free, but then it comes back to me. I remember why I run. I run to shake loose my anxiety and worry. As I run, I leave a trail of my stress on the road as it runs off my head and falls to the ground in big salty drops. I run to fill my lungs with air, to pump up my chest that has become deflated from a week of sitting at a desk, in front of a computer doing battle in the world. I run to feel my heart pound and be reassured that to feel what my heart feels won’t kill me.
I can’t run to compete or compare, to prove something or to measure my worth. When the one that should love and care for you becomes punishing and accusing, we call that abuse. We can’t tolerate it – even from ourselves. Perhaps especially from ourselves.
This weekend I attended a conference, and they ran a video piece that showed a woman running. She had words stacked up around her; sitting on her shoulders were all her cares and concerns. As she ran, the words began to break apart and the letters hit the ground like shards of glass littering the path behind her. It was a reminder to me of the romance I once had with running.
You know how sometimes you keep hearing the same word, or an idea keeps coming back to you through the perspective of different people, articles you read, movies you watch? I’ve had a few words that keep popping up everywhere I go these days, and what I realized as I ran this afternoon was that I wasn’t just leaving a trail of my mental garbage behind me as I ran. God was rearranging the discarded letters to bring me a new message – like a divine Scrabble game: Relax. Surrender. Forgiven. Forgive.
Everything is going to be OK. Everything is going to be OK. Everything is going to be OK.
I didn’t learn this lesson this year, but I continue to be reminded of it on occassion.
I really learned this lesson almost ten years ago. Shortly after September 11th, when the world seemed to have been knocked off its axis, my father became suddenly, inexplicably, critically ill. A simple cold became pneumonia that landed him in the ICU of Georgetown University hospital for over two weeks.
I had two young children and a job that required my presence daily and for long hours. My father was over 2 hours away fighting for his life.
He had never really been sick before, so this was new territiory. I had to work, but found myself dropping everything to drive into the nation’s capitol as military helicopters patrolled over every bridge into the city and stories of anthrax unfolded on the nightly news.
It was surreal. The national and global crisis was merely an enlargement of my own personal family cirisis. How could my tower of strength and stability be so suddenly brought low?
On September 11th, I was working at a childcare center. I took a call from an unidentified parent that morning who asked if we would be closing early. I did’t know what he was talking about. He said, “A plane has flown into the World Trade Center and the Pentagon and we are under attack.” I called the police to report a crank call. An officer came in person shortly thereafter to inform us that this call was no hoax.
Waves of incomprehension, fear, disbelief. Everything I thought was important, everyting I thought was absolutely necessary, every ball I thought was my sole responsibility to keep in the air – I walked away from it. The river kept rushing by, and I just stepped out of it, virtually unnoticed.
It was then I realized, “Everything is going to be OK. I don’t have to hold the world up.”
So even now, as I get caught up in waves of anxiety about my obligations, committments, and expectations, I am reminded: everything is going to be OK. When I am completely and utterly stripped down to nothing, I know nothing can separate me from the love of God (or my husband, children, parents, siblings). For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,[k] neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God. [Romans 8:38,39]
Yeah, I have love, so everything is going to be OK.
Thanks to Francesca from Charlottesville Running Company and Donnie from Ragged Mountain Running Shop, we got some great tips last Saturday on proper running form.
Good form is important because:
· It improves performance
· It reduces the chance of injury
· And it makes you look good. J
Even though my body clock prompts me to consciousness by 4:45am every morning, that still doesn’t make it easy to actually get myself upright. If I had my way, I’d lay in and savor the indulgence of pillows and blankets and the cat sleeping at my feet. The hum of the house just before dawn is the sound of sanctuary. Once I’m up – all bets are off.
So I roll out of bed and dress while the coffee brews. I don’t think too much; I just press on to arrive at the appointed time and place I am expected by my running group. I often think I will get there early to get a little extra in before my “trainees” arrive, but I don’t. The truth is if it weren’t for them, I might talk myself out of tunning altogether.
It is hard to both train myself and others who are all along the run/walk continuum, but I can’t excuse myself. I can’t even think the very slowest walker who only wants to cover a mile is going to hold me back because I know deep down, I wouldn’t be here but for her. So I am grateful for every brave and determined soul who shows up for a training session.
I had time to get in a little extra mileage after our session this morning, and I still almost talked myself out of it. I need to get home. I need to get to work. I need to get on with my day. No, I needed to honor my intention to get stronger, faster, leaner. An extra 30 minutes was not going to derail my day, so I ran some more.
The morning was fine and fair, and yet I haggled with myself over just how much more I would do the entire way. Instead of the well planned route I always take, I just ran. I ventured down unfamiliar streets, cris-crossed the golf course, took note of houses, flora and fauna I’d never noticed before.
My intention was to do a little more than was comfortable, to do what would actually bring me closer to my goal instead of checking off an obligation. As always the ROI exceeded expectations. So why is it still so hard to get up?
I don’t know where you are in your life now, but maybe you are like me: married with kids, mid-life, slave to routine – mostly other people’s routines. There is a place you can go, a foreign and enchanted place outside of your regular orbit: the track at UVA.
The Charlottesville Track Club Women’s Four Miler Training Program (W4MTP) is like summer camp for grown up girls. Here you will meet other women braving a new adventure. You will bond with other participants and your new fairy godmothers, the “Pink Ladies”. You will create memories that will last a lifetime. It may seem a bit frightening, but thrilling too. You will consider the possibilities of true love again.
If you are wondering why you should participate in the W4MTP, I say do it for love.
You may do it for the love of someone who is fighting or has survived breast cancer or someone you have lost to breast cancer. You may do it for the love a friend who wants to try this thing and needs your help and support. You may do it for those that love you: your husband, children, friends and family who want to see you happy and healthy, energetic and proud.
The W4MTP may not be exactly like kissing some bronze surfer boy under the boardwalk, but you will find love. You may actually fall in love with walking or running, but maybe – just maybe - you might fall in love with yourself again. You will do more than you thought you could do. Your body will change; your mind will change; your heart will change.
Do it for love. It’s never too late for your next great summer romance.
Posted via email from W4MTP
Dear Running,
I know we’re coming up on our 2 year anniversary, but we need to talk. You know I love you, right? I trust you, and I’m committed to you.
You complete me.
But, um, here’s the thing…I’m feeling like maybe we need to take a little break. No, no, it’s not you; it’s me. You’re great. You don’t need to change for me.
No, I’m not interested in anyone else. Sure, the passion you stirred in my body may have led to some flirtations with yoga and kayaking and Zumba – but that’s all it was – innocent flirtations.
I just need some space to think. We fell in love so fast. I left friends and family and work to be with you, but now? Now, I think we need to cool it a bit. I’m not sure if we still want the same things.
Love,
Me
The 35th running of the Charlottesville 10 Miler happened this past weekend, and most people know this race to be one of the best and one of the toughest courses around. I’ve dreamed of being able to complete the 10 miler for 10 years now – maybe longer – but it wasn’t until a year ago that this became a distinct possibility.
Every time you sign up for a race you have some goals in mind. One may be to shoot for a certain time or to get through the whole thing without walking, or maybe just finishing is the accomplishment. I had my goals. I had two time goals: one was my stretch goal and one was my maybe I can live with this goal. My third string goal was to finish. I didn’t really take this one too seriously.
The first half of the race I was on pace for my first goal, but something happened at mile 5. I hit a wall. I can’t explain why exactly, but I questioned how much more I could do and seriously considered quitting. I’ve rarely felt that way in training, much less in a race. This was supposed to be my sweet spot. I’m just getting warmed up at 3 miles – up to mile 8 or 9 is usually the best part of my run – but not on this day.
I rallied a bit and managed to keep myself in the game. I had to dig deep to remember that last ditch goal: to finish. I had to convince myself at various points along the way that even if I had to crawl in, I was going to finish what I started.
I made that goal, and I even made it to my I can maybe live with this goal. But I was really, really disappointed with the outcome. I was disappointed in my performance. I was disappointed that an event on which I had hung so many hopes and expectations, was a huge let-down. Mostly I was upset with myself that I had not prepared properly. I took some things for granted. I cut some corners, and I did not get away with it. Somewhere in the back of my head I must have thought I could get away with it.
Why not? I’ve been getting away with it. I’ve been passing myself off as a runner, while standing in the midst of them I feel like a fraud. The sting was really the feeling that I had been busted.
Of course that’s not truth. The truth may be that I was unprepared to give my best shot that day, but it is not true that I am a fake runner. I’ve worked really hard – too hard – to let these “lizard thoughts” (as my friend describes them) rob me of my faith in myself and the joy of my achievement. I think of these thoughts more like snakes that slither out of dark places. What reasonable person would look at one of these creatures and think I should grab that and hold on to it? No, most of us would grab a shovel and cut its head off.
I imagine these thoughts more like that arcade classic “whack-a-mole”. They keep popping up and I must diligently whack them down as soon as I detect one.
Posts
Heart disease is the number one killer of women, however we aren't powerless against it. We can make some simple (not to be mistaken for easy) choices to greatly reduce our risk.
Let's talk about food choices (since it's always about the food here). What you eat will impact your weight, cholesterol and blood pressure - all big factors in heart health. Usually when we think diet, we think deprivation, but I've found it helpful to think differently about what I eat. Instead of focusing on what to remove, I focus on what I want to add. This has the effect of replacing some low value foods with more nutritious choices. You might try to:
- Include a fresh fruit or vegetable with every meal or snack
- Trade refined white bread or rice for more whole grains. Brown rice, oatmeal, whole wheat all include more fiber which helps reduce cholesterol and makes you feel fuller faster and longer.
- Add fish packed with good-for-your-arteries omega-3 fatty acids like tuna or salmon a couple times a week.
You're going to want to reduce fat, sugar and salt (yes, all the tasty stuff) as much as possible, but no need to become a martyr about it. Pick one guilty pleasure and see if you can't find a more healthful substitute. I love ice cream, but I've found I am pretty satisfied with a fat free, Greek yogurt. (I'll even throw it in the freezer for an hour or so if I'm thinking ahead.) Make changes you can live with a little at a time, and you'll find you can adapt quite well.
What are some heart-healthy substitutions you've been able to make? What are some habits/foods you like to replace?
February is a month of the heart - the time to express your feelings for your beloved, a time to think about your heart health (repenting of all Super Bowl dietary transgressions), and maybe the time to think about following your heart in more areas of your life. What would your day look like if you worked like you didn't need the money?
From the archives: This is an encore presentation of our post on email-a-menu, another great, but often overlooked Vmeals feature.
One of the nice, but little known features of Vmeals ordering application is the email a menu feature. You might blow past it at first, but this path can be very helpful if you are planning a meeting for which you would like to invite guests, take their lunch order and track their RSVPs all from your desk top.
Here's how it works: When you begin an order, enter the location, date, and time of your event. Before you move on, be sure to select the "yes" button next to "Invite Guests via email?".
Yes, it's Monday again. Back to the grind.
Work can be fulfilling, satisfying, purposeful, and sometimes it can just be work. But consider the alternative: aimless days watching Real Housewives marathons, draining another box of wine, watching the unpaid bills pile up.
So show Monday morning some love and send up a little gratitude for work today.
January is often the trigger for fresh resolve to get organized. I spent most of New Year's day driving my new vacuum cleaner and diving into cluttered closets. Do I know how to celebrate or what?
My resolution? Not become a reality TV star featured on Cops, SuperNanny or Hoarders.
Clutter kills.
My biggest challenge (and I know I'm not alone) is managing the paper. No matter how much I try to digitize my life, paper continues to stream in and accumulate like snow drifts. I want to be responsible and prepared, so I find myself agonizing over what to save, file or toss - so I ignore and pile instead.
As W2s and other tax documents begin to appear in my mailbox, it's time to review my strategy for staying on top of paper clutter - just in time for tax season!
Paper management should be a routine task on a schedule appropriate to your situation. For example, most businesses have daily SOPs to deal with receivables, payables, and all other sorts of documentation. Personally, a weekly sorting of the contents of my purse and mailbox is usually sufficient to keep a handle on things.
Here are just a couple of tips for dealing with receipts (of which I now have scads from Christmas shopping).
My general rule of thumb: keep anything that you may reference on a tax return, receipts for items under warranty, anything to be reimbursed, and proof of payment.
- I tuck anything that I think may be relevant to my tax returns in a big brown envelope labeled: Tax 20XX. I have everything handy come tax time, and anything it turns out I don't need, I can discard.
- For big (or medium) ticket items under warranty, I've found the easiest thing to do is attach the receipt to the product paperwork. Sometimes there's so much paper in the box, I just throw all of it - the owners manuals/assembly instructions/warranty info - in a zip lock bag with the receipt. It all goes in a "product info" file. Since we seem to accumulate more of these at Christmas time, I've even put a whole season's worth of new product info all in one bag, with a label on the bag listing the items referenced within.
- Receipts for reimbursement usually go in my wallet until I request reimbursement. Makes sense, right? It always feels like found money when I get it back. (I know, completely irrational.)
- Everything else just hangs around long enough to be validated against a bill or statement, then assuming there are no discrepancies, it's headed for the trash.
- Go as paperless as possible. Obviously, the contents of my purse belie this maxim, but receipts are about all the paper I handle anymore, and for a very limited time. I get most of my bills and manage most of my accounts and banking online. Once I've seen a transaction posted, then I ditch the receipts. I know I can retrieve that info if I need it in the future, and I'm not moving piles of paper around for eternity (or until the statute of limitations runs out).
So what are some of your best tips for keeping the paper monster tamed? I'd love to hear them.
Step 3 - Put up Some Guardrails
Guardrails are designed to keep you from running off the road, so for me these look like deadlines and accountability. Write things down, schedule blocks of time for certain important but routine activities, and tell someone about that thing you want to get done. It's amazing what a little grown up peer pressure can do for you.
So what about you? How do you stay productive?
The idea here isn't simply about making your own way, but taking initiative. Have you ever blamed someone else for your own lack of knowledge, skills or direction? Well, whoever that someone is, you can bet they aren't thinking about you and your needs nearly as much as you are, so don't wait.
Be curious. Be ambitious. Be bold.
When you click on duplicate, you will find yourself back in the order process with all your previous selections pre-populated. You only need to update event details. (Keep in mind that changing the date and time of an order may impact the availability of that particular menu.)
You will also have the opportunity to make any other changes you wish. Don't worry, your credit card won't get charged until you have completed your order, selected and confirmed how you wish to pay.
See? It really is easy to order, eat and repeat!
Got questions or comments? Lay 'em on us!
We honor the life of Dr. King today. Whether you are at work, enjoying a day off, or participating in a day of service, we can all emulate the dignity, passion and excellence of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s work.
I'm pushing aside my planned post for the day to bring you a real live restaurant review. We had a meeting scheduled with some business associates today, and they treated us to lunch, ordering through Vmeals, of course!
The meeting organizer chose Vocelli's and used email-a-menu. He modified the menu so that we had only individual boxed lunches from which to choose. There were panini, stromboli, or salad options. Narrowing the menu made it easy for guests to make a choice and RSVP in a timely fashion.
I am happy to say that our delivery arrived right on time. About half of us ordered paninis and the other half ordered strombolis. I had the club panini. It had the usual line up of turkey, ham, bacon, lettuce tomato, and onions - like any good Italian offering, included creamy mozzarella cheese. It was all piled on a sub roll and presumably pressed on a hot panini press. My sandwich was still warm when it got to me, and it was delicious!
The talk of the room, however, was the stromboli. They were huge! Stuffed with various meats and more of that creamy mozzarella and pizza toppings, they were large enough to feed the family for dinner. The men at the table did an admirable job of consuming them. I didn't taste any, but they met with hearty approval all around.
| Dramatic recreation of today's stromboli. |
Suffice it to say, I would strongly recommend Vocelli's and I'm pretty sure the outcome of our meeting was dramatically improved by the accompaniment of good food.
Vocelli's has locations in Vmeals' Charlottesville and Northern Virginia markets. Try them for your next lunch meeting.
Trying to reel it in after a little too much holiday excess? Yeah, me too.
I think the perfect answer is soup. Even more perfect is a soup that is easy to make, healthy and hearty. I'm going to share with you a recipe that sounds a little odd, but all you have to do is open 4 cans, heat and enjoy - so what have you got to lose?
This pumpkin bean soup is packed with fiber, protein, and anti-oxidants - all good stuff. Combine the following in a pot and bring to a near boil, then turn the heat down and simmer as desired.
- 1 can of pumpkin (not the pie filling)
- 1 can of lite coconut milk
- 1 can of white beans (navy, northern, cannelini)
- 1 can of chicken broth (vegetable broth will makes this completely vegetarian - vegan, even!)
I like to serve this with a hunk of good bread slathered in butter, but you may decide a salad is a more sensible option.
Do you have a simple, go-to soup recipe to share?
There is a saying that what gets measured matters. Businessesdetermine key metrics that tell the story of the year’s performance.Revenue, profitability, web traffic, new customers, and new contracts are a fewindicators of whether a business is on the right track. The number on the scaleor the paystub or the credit card statement might be more personal indicators of performance,but numbers only tell part of the story.
Do you long for something that isn't just more (money, stuff, vacations) or less (weight, commitments, debt) of what you have now? Things you want todo or have or experience that might take you beyond where you are now?
Some things I crossed off quickly. A few quick winsis a good way to gain some momentum.
Some things simply requiredsome deliberate attention. For example, I love the theater, but I rarely maketime to even see what’s playing, much less make plans to go to a show. Thatsummer, I was diligent about watching the local theater schedules, picking ashow I wanted to see and making plans for a baby sitter, dinner and drinks.This kind of goal isn't hard – not like running a marathon or losing 30pounds, it just required a little attention. The visual reminder kept it up front, andcrossing another item off my list was satisfying.
Some goals were big, like running a half-marathon or digitizing generations of family photos. I kept chipping away at them with some successes. There were other goals to which I failed to rise or were too heavy to even get off the ground that year, but the dreaming was instructive. It's always good to have a few stretch goals to help push you beyond your comfort zone (and keep you humble).
Then there were the things that just fell off the list because I realized I didn't really want them after all (like the kayak). Sometimes we need to sit with a perceived "need" or "want" for a while to realize they are not at all the things that will make us happy. Let these discoveries lead you to a deeper understanding of what will make you happy.
Everyday I looked at this collection of my desires and it had the effect of helping me remember, focus on or rethink my priorities. This helped me clearly see my goals, as well as design specific steps for achieving them and measuring my progress.
Jot down 50 things you think you really want right now - what you want to do, what you want to have, what you want to accomplish, and how you want to feel. You may be surprised to find it's hard to think of 50 things or you may be surprised by what appears on your list. Give it a try!
How do you (or do you) set goals for the new year?
Got big dreams for 2012? Maybe some New Year's resolutions? If nothing else, the new year gives us a chance for a fresh start, a clean slate, the optimism of starting over.
So if making big changes seems too pie in the sky for you, how about we just start where we are? Do what must be done, then a little bit more. And keep at it.
Before you know it, you will likely accomplish something you can really be proud of. All you have to do is begin.
| No way Santa can miss this house. |
The call center will be closing early today (2pm) and closed on Monday in observance of Christmas. There is, however, always someone on call should you have a business related food emergency - but that's not very likely, is it? You should be home with your family, kicking back, and enjoying all the festivities you've worked so hard to prepare. Even if you don't celebrate Christmas, you can enjoy a national day of peace, love and joy (that is, if you resolve not to turn on the news).
From all of us at Vmeals, we wish you a wonderful holiday weekend!
If there's one thing we know how to do at Vmeals, it is how to throw a party. We had our holiday party last Friday, and here are a few of our tips for making any event festive:
Start with a great venue.
We had the privilege of holding our party at the University of Virginia's McCormick Observatory. High on a hill, this was the perfect place to view both the starry sky above and the city lights below, and made for a festive gathering spot. Inside the observatory was a ginormous telescope through which we were able to view Jupiter and get a detailed look at the full moon.
Attached to the observatory is museum and classroom space filled with light boxes of celestial images. Our host had set up on the big screen(which would later be used for karaoke) a projection of the night sky. It was the perfect back drop for the bar. Dawn, our business manager, and Susan, one of our fabulous CSRs, did a beautiful job decorating with lots of lights and greenery.
Make sure there's plenty to eat and drink.
We went with beer and wine to keep costs reasonable, and heavy hors d'oeuvres to make eating and mingling easier to manage. We felt like we took a bit of you all with us by filling the dessert table goodies made with your favorite cookie recipes.
Create special traditions.
The thing I look forward to the very most is Jon's Christmas sweater. It has become our special holiday tradition. Each year he sews on a new applique or adds some extra bling. We await its arrival (and Jon's) each year on pins and needles. It is not coincidence that he is pictured here next to the fire extinguisher - HOT!
Have some ice breakers.
Party games aren't just for children. A few low pressure activities can help ease that socially awkward ramp up time before the cocktails kick in. We started with Who Am I? Everyone had the name of a celebrity on their back and had to try to guess who they were by asking only yes/no questions. (I tried this with 8 year olds - not the same - at all.)
The big fun was when we played Pass the Present. This is kind of like musical chairs, but with a wrapped present. When the music stops, the person holding the gift gets to open it - with oven mitts on. There were many layers of ribbon, paper, and tissue that kept this interesting and hilarious.
It was a great evening with some awesome people and lots of effort by many to make it a beautiful night. We spend so much time with this work family, but it is really a treat to get away from the office and just enjoy good food, good spirits and good company.
Did your company have a holiday party? Tell us about it!
From the Vmeals family to yours, happy holidays!
I went to the mall this weekend - didn't I see you there?
In the all the shopping, wrapping, cooking and decorating, it can be easy to forget what it all means. The holidays, no matter which ones you observe, serve a very important purpose. They take us out of the everyday grind and give us the opportunity to think about what and who is important to us - to give thanks, to appreciate, to celebrate the blessings and, particularly, the people in our lives.
The whole Vmeals staff is happy to have you in our world - all our customers, restaurant and catering partners, business associates, friends, and supporters. That's why we are giving gifts this season, and we have a few more to go.
Identify the quote this week in the comments on our Facebook page or here (but you'll need to email mfulton@vmeals.com so we can contact the winner) for a chance to win a Spa Finders gift card! Don't you need a little pampering after all that shopping? You've got until 5pm Tuesday to enter.
Vmeals, where food and business connect.
My son recently got his first iPod for his birthday. Now, like the rest of the family, he goes around the house with his ear buds firmly in place, singing loudly for all to hear. (It's usually Katy Perry or LMFAO instead of Christmas music, however.)
I often have to remind my children that having a head full of music to which you energetically sing along sounds quite different to you than it does to those who just hear the singing along part.
What gets you in the holiday mood? Post your favorite holiday song on our Facebook page or in the comments below and be sure to email mfulton@vmeals.com so we can send one of you a $25 iTunes card as part of our 12 Days of Giveaways!
Vmeals, where food and business connect.
Inevitably the interviewer asked her why she wanted to ski across Antarctica (it's really hard!), and she said, " 'Why' is a quick question to ask, but it can take a long time to answer."
So true.
But we've tried to make it easy for you to answer the question of why you like using Vmeals (or why you think there's room for improvement). We have a short little survey we'd like you to take and tell us what you think. Many of our features and improvements have been the direct result of customer feedback - so let us have it!
View the survey here. It will only take a few minutes. Thank you!
Updates
Photos
Updates
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My shoes are still covered in dusty #Liberia dirt. I kinda hate to disturb it, but I've got to run. http://t.co/jodzZRC3
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@gingergermani Congrats!
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RT @terek55: Congratulations to Ginger Germani, Angela Chofli, Allison Linney & Holly Hatcher! #Quadruplicity CW 4 Under 40
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@LoveThatFit done!
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Uh, this isn't snow.
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RT @chrisbrogan: Badass of the week: protects an orphanage - http://t.co/VUerapet THAT'S what I'm talking about.
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@steinarknutsen Thanks!
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@mosaiccatherine I could help you with alterations. #cville
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What's in a picture? #Liberia http://t.co/ENJ7VdJx
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Dinner tonight: We observed National Fettuccine Alfredo Day w/ hot, crusty French bread and spring greens, craisins and candied pecans.2 days ago from web | Reply, Retweet, Favorite
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Days must be getting longer - had NO IDEA it was 5pm already.
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Sh*t Social Media People Say http://t.co/sGefF3ZO I don't care about my Klout score. LOL via @firebellymktg
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So excited for @molliecoxbryan book release today. Congratulations, Mollie!! Everyone else: go get a copy! http://t.co/MwPGbSgk
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I sat next to this guy on the plane from Monrovia to Abidjan. http://t.co/jGWkQkJP 1st professional surfer from Liberia. What a doll!
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@modmo9 Won't get back again until next January (God willing). Can't wait!
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Back to having unlimited choice - so what shall I have for lunch?
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@modmo9 Hot! I've been home a day and I'm missing it too! #missingit
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@borrowedabode Thanks for sharing my post!
Profile
Summary
Experience
- 2006 - PresentDirector of Sales & Marketing / VmealsLead a team of talented, remote sales people across the country in key metropolitan markets while also ramping up our inbound marketing efforts through social media, SEO, SEM, and content marketing.
- 1995 - 2006Center Director / Knowledge Learning Corp
- Jan 1999 - May 2000Family Partner / Children, Youth, and Family Services
Education
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1982 - 1986University of VirginiaBA in History
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1984 - 1985University of St. Andrews
