Whew!  Friday, where have you been all week?

On Tuesday, I thought it was Wednesday.  Wednesday, I thought it was Thursday and Thursday I stopped keeping track.  Things are good this week, mostly, but somehow I got lost in the week.  I think having Valentine’s Day on Tuesday did it – getting valentines organized to hand out, etc just sort of added a day to my week somehow.

We also had the excitement of a first loose tooth for our oldest, with the added excitement of it being so loose we yanked it after dinner.  Ping!  It went flying.  I had tried pulling and wiggling it to no avail before dinner, but afterwards we tied on a little floss and hubs did the deed.  I was so amazed and totally amused by how gruesome and fantastic it was.  I can’t believe my kid wasn’t more traumatized by it all, I thought at some point his bravery would give way, but nope, survived the pulling and the aftermath, all smiles.  I seem to remember standing around with floss tied to my teeth, willing myself to slam a door and being too chicken to do it when I was a kid.  Barftastic and just the kind of thing seven year olds love.  And the tooth fairy made a sneaky appearance, leaving money and a nice little note.  Yet another milestone for my gigantic, growing kids.

I also haven’t touched my sugar bowl since back in January.  Nor my brown sugar canister.  These are significant details if you know me well. Read about me and sugar and the Domestic Diva sugar detox, here.

Well, anyway, Friday is here and I’m glad.  I like the weekends, even though technically with no school, no daycare and no naps I feel like I’m twice as busy with the kids.  But it’s lazier, with a slower start to the mornings and just more pajamas in general.  What’s not to like?  I’m finally getting over my strep throat and trying to look and act like a real live human being.  I know, I’m fancy.

So, here are some noteworthy bits I’m happy to share:

~ First and foremost, did you catch the amazing video of Dee, the Cocktail Deeva, sharing her journey as she underwent a breast ultrasound?  It’s really mindblowing to read some of the breast cancer stats and risks for women with what are called dense breasts.  Dee shares a ton of info and actually takes the camera with her for the ultrasound, crazy brave lady.  It’s a definite watch and share thing – get the info into the hands of other women in your life.  I wrote about it here:  Would you take it all off for a good cause?

~ I shared some tips for wining and dining your valentine over on the Electrolux Canada blog and honestly, who cares if the holiday is over – the recipes I linked to in that post are to die for.  Go check them out, they are so tempting!  And up right now on the blog is a Family Day post with a whole family favourites idea for Monday if you are lucky enough to have a holiday.  How to actually do something as a family, especially if the weather is sort of uncooperative?  Well, I say bring on the food, the dishtowel wars and see how crazy you can get in the kitchen.

~ I was invited to guest post over at Merry with Children, and my post “What if you celebrated gaining instead of losing” looks all purty over there.  Head on over and check it out – if you don’t know Merry’s blog, well, you are welcome and please make me some of the yummy food she features.  Yesterday’s recipe damn near did me in.  Thanks to Merry for the kind welcome!

~ And here on the Little Miss Mocha blog I wrote about welcoming Fisher-Price to the neighbourhood, and a post about the great laptop drowning of 2012 – also known as “thank God I didn’t yell at my kid when it happened” and “looks like nobody earned a halo this week”.

~ Voting is still open over at the Canadian Family Tales of Bliss competition – I would love you to read my entry “The Overflowing Life”  and vote if you have not yet done so.

What’s up for your weekend?  We’re going to be celebrating something we made up called Taylor Day and it went from a small mention after Christmas to some sort of crazy affair where we’re baking muffins tomorrow (a favourite treat), making something special for dinner, possibly heading out to brunch on Sunday and now I hear there are gifts.  I don’t know who’s in charge of this event, but I think the use of the word “snowballed” would not be inappropriate.

Until next week, lovelies.  Keep your head up and your coffee cup full.  I don’t know what it means either, but the coffee part sounds good.  And my kids are off all next week so I should have good stories to share by next Friday’s recap.

Wish me luck and no grey hair (none yet, if you believe my hair stylist, which I resolutely do.  Pfft.  As if you wouldn’t.)

No?  How about taking some of it off?  We’ll get to why a little later, first I want to talk about health.  Our health.  Women’s health.  You, me, your sister, your mom, your aunt, your best friend…and maybe someday, your daughter.

As we get older and start to own our health as adults, there are a few spectres that loom more than others. Heart attack, stroke, Alzheimer’s, and cancer, and most notably for women, breast cancer.

Why does breast cancer bring out our fear, our outrage, our anger so much more than other diseases? It’s not as though we can’t hear the warnings of heart disease in women, or that we don’t consider the threat of other types of cancer. (You may remember the last time I wrote about breast cancer…)

I think because a diagnosis of any disease, especially one as destructive as cancer, brings with it a loss of control that we so desperately want over our own lives. Suddenly what we do, how we do it and our very futures are threatened.  Breast cancer goes even further, threatening our physical and traditional ideas of feminine identity. We may recognize our facial features, our hair, the curve and sway of our hips as part of our female appeal, but there is no arguing that our breasts are an important symbol of femininity. Whether we are delicately or generously endowed, they’re ours and we are often paralyzed at the thought of losing them.

There are ways, however, to bring some of that control back into our lives if we make decisions to be proactive about our health before a crisis happens. This may mean adopting a healthy lifestyle and doing things we know are good for our bodies – eating good foods, staying active and avoiding habits that might raise our risk level. It also means taking action to monitor changes in our bodies; doing self-exams, seeing our doctors for annual checkups, and taking advantage of tests like mammograms as they become appropriate. Your doctor can recommend when you should have your first mammogram, as it relates to your risk factors: health, family history, breast density and more.

If there were a way to go one step further to monitor your breast health, a way that is actually more effective for those women whose breasts are considered “dense”, would you do it?  What if there were a screening tool that had a better chance of catching tumours in dense tissue, allowing earlier detection?  I hadn’t heard of a breast ultrasound until I saw this amazing video of a bold, brave woman I know trying it out for herself. Yes, on video. Yes, the whole thing. You may know her as the Cocktail Deeva, creator of Boobfest, promoter of “feel your boobies” t-shirts, and living out loud expert. Well, watch for yourself as she faces her worries about her own breast health, shares her story, and takes you along for an ultrasound, partnering with VIP Breast Imaging to deliver vital information into the hands of women.  Watch it, learn from it, share it – but maybe do that watching at home instead of work, and without the kiddies around….while gracefully filmed, the girls definitely got some camera time.

I’m amazed at her heart, and her willingness to face her fears and brave any awkwardness so that she can share her experience with us.  After watching, I feel this would be time and money well spent for those with a higher risk of breast cancer or breast tissue too dense for a mammogram to prove completely effective.  Does it cost money?  Yes, it does, as it is currently offered outside the public health care system. But the amount is less than I spend on coffee in a year (at home, or out, not even combined).  It’s less money than you spend colouring your hair if you do it in a salon, the equivalent of a couple of fancy dinners or few celebratory evenings spent at your favourite pub.  It’s one less shirt or other clothing item picked up while shopping each month.

It’s not a decision anyone can make for you, but I think we are always better off when we have more options for information, for better care, and to feel like we are in charge of our own health.  It is good for our bodies, hearts and minds to own our destinies as much as is possible.  I can’t tell you if I will ever be diagnosed with breast cancer, but I’d love to tell you I had done what I could for prevention, and early detection if the diagnosis came.

Here are some details you might want to note:

~ 40% of women have what are called “dense breasts”

~  the breast ultrasound is called an Automated Breast Ultrasound – ABUS

~ VIP Breast Imaging is the only company in Canada that provides this service

~ according to their website, ABUS is safe, radiation-free, non-invasive and painless

~ no doctor referral is necessary

~ there is a cost associated with ABUS, but I was pleased to hear there is a program in place to help underprivileged women

For more information about VIP Breast Imaging, their mission, their team and to decide if ABUS might be right for you, contact:

VIP Breast Imaging Toronto

525 University Ave
Toronto, Ontario
M5G 2L3

Phone:             647-350-2229

toronto@vipbreastimaging.com

Disclosure:  I was asked to share this video on behalf of Cocktail Deeva, and VIP Breast Imaging in Toronto, and as a courtesy, was invited to visit VIP Breast Imaging myself.  As always, you can be assured that impressions and opinions are my own.

Sometimes timing is everything.

Sometimes crazy and brilliant come together in a memorable way.

Like this week, when I felt a special kind of goofy descend upon our family.  It didn’t last long, but for four days it felt like I was spinning plates.  Just a lot of things going sideways or adding trouble to an already busy routine:  the babe starting a new daycare, the temperature dropping to nearly minus 50 degrees with windchill, school buses being cancelled.

Add in a quarterly bookkeeping appointment that always has me filing and organizing at the last minute, and a little sprinkle of solo parenting for four days and I fervently wished for a cloning machine.  I couldn’t seem to be everywhere at once.  If the babe was tired at home, I simultaneously had to be waiting outside the school doing a rare pickup because of the cold weather.  Showering in the morning was done in a rush while two kids played and drove each other crazy nearby.  I couldn’t let any of it go, because it had nowhere to fall.  So I hung on and waited for Thursday to end, and thank God, end it did.  With a PVR taping a single, solitary minute of a show I’d wanted to watch for a week.  Thanks, technology, you can bite me.

It wasn’t all crazy, not at all.  In the quiet moments, I was doing work I enjoyed and writing things that mattered to me. So no complaints but some days I just wonder what the hell is going on.

And I haven’t even gotten to the part about one of the first mornings when, at 6 a.m., my son and I heard a sound so loud from outside it sounded like part of the house broke off, or something important popped in my head.  Buried in pillows and blankets as we were, him having already made the early excursion down the hall to my room, we couldn’t tell where the sound had come from, nor what it had been.  But I know we both jumped a foot, and then could barely breathe.  And then my seven year old comes out with it: “I know how to call 911 if someone breaks in, Mom!”

Well, that’s a relief.

But to think that either of us have to be breathless in the dark, waiting to hear something, anything that would tell us what we had heard the first time, and both thinking the worst, well, that’s a gigantic mental twist that I’d rather not live through again.  I downplayed whatever I could for him, told him I was listening to see if his sister had fallen out of bed (lie, lie, lie), but my heart hammered in my chest.

We survived, apparently it was some random mystery noise that is as of yet unexplained.  We tiptoed down the stairs trying not to wake his sister, or, you know, clutch at each other and fall down them.  I’m plenty brave about a lot of things, but this isn’t one of them.  The babe woke shortly after, and we had barely calmed down before the morning routine hit us and we were off and running.  You know, with my heart still pounding and basement still unchecked.  It’s dark down there, you know.  I had to wait and check it later.  (Oh come on, I’m not a total pansy, it’s just had this happened any other time in fifteen years there would have been 200 pounds of husband, 200 pounds of dog and/or an alarm system to keep me from worrying.)

But this one day, nada.

In the middle of all this random silliness, I happened to come across something I had never heard before.  And I like it so much I’m going to create a category for it here on the blog, because sometimes I need to be able to write about random, crazy stuff and you’re going to want to say it.

Yeah, you are.  And so am I.

Whiskey-Tango-Foxtrot.

You read that right.

I’m sure I’ll soon have a little more W.T.F. to share with you.  The world is full of it – if I’m not living it, I’m reading about it and rolling my eyes.  And most of the time it’s not worth losing sleep over, but you have to be able to share it, laugh about it or just go…seriously???

Here.  Have a little W.T.F.

You’re welcome.

Your turn!  Tell me about your week – any W.T.F. you’d like to share?  What went off the rails for you?

Taking part in SOC (Stream of Consciousness) Sunday:

It’s funny how our minds work.  I’ve been doing some thinking about this blog, and my writing, and feeling badly that I haven’t been taking the time to write here.  And my mind turns that into “I haven’t been writing much, I should fix that.”

But the truth is, while I may have gone a bit quiet here in the last few weeks of last year, I was actually doing writing that made me very happy. I started blogging for the Electrolux Canada blog and have had plenty of fun brainstorming ideas and planning out the content I want to feature each week, then writing and editing each post.  And while I think I haven’t been sharing much, the truth is that over there I was writing about life, kids, entertaining, cooking, being organized for the holidays, surviving holidays with the kids and a little fun holiday wine pairing.  I’ve thoroughly enjoyed it and have great things planned for the next couple of months.

I also have written two pieces for the Barbie I Can Be The Voice campaign, and these have been such great explorations of emotional development and raising a daughter to know her own mind – I’m the better for having written them.  I’ll be keeping them close to my heart as my daughter grows.

So it appears it’s all in my head.  My personal blogging slowed down during a busy time, but my writing work has picked up and that’s something to be thankful for, not regretful.  I’ve been coming up with ideas, plotting out content, and writing my heart out here and there.  I’m hoping you were reading some of these other pieces, but I promise to keep adding more here as well.

Perspective is a funny thing, isn’t it?  Oh, and by the way, I can promise more writing here but my freelance work isn’t going to slow down anytime soon.  I’m actually looking to add more as I add more work hours to my plate.  So if occasionally I have to balance that with what I do here, I’m going to enjoy it instead of worrying about it.

Whew.  Has this ever happened to you?  Did you think it was writer’s block or that you were stuck?  Sometimes I forget everything else I’m doing – you too?

This was my 5 minute Stream of Consciousness Sunday post as hosted by All Things Fadra. It’s five minutes of your time and a nice way to let the words flow.

Want to try it? Here are the rules…

Set a timer and write for 5 minutes.
Write an intro to the post if you want but don’t edit the post. No proofreading or spellchecking. This is writing in the raw.
Publish it somewhere. Anywhere. The back door to your blog if you want. But make it accessible.
Add the Stream of Consciousness Sunday badge to your post.
Link up your post on Fadra’s blog over at All Things Fadra.
Visit your fellow bloggers and show some love.

January.  A new year.

How did we get here so quickly?  Forgive me, but I’d like to know where November and December went.  I feel like I got ready for back to school, zipped to a conference, then fell into birthdays and holidays and what can be best described as static.  Like when a radio isn’t quite tuned in correctly and while you know the station you’re trying to find is in there somewhere, you can’t get through all the chatter to find it.

“There are years that ask questions and years that answer.”
― Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God

For me, 2011 was definitely a year that asked questions.  If it wasn’t nailed down or attached to my body by skin and bone, I wondered at it.  Never have I felt so fulfilled, yet restless at the same time.  No complaining here, my life is too full of wonder, of blessings, to ever dare raise a complaint, but what a mental unwinding.  Questioning areas of my life is something I do all the time – should I change things, add things, let go of things?  Should I move on, stay?  Should we change where we live, change neighbourhoods, homes, cities?

I questioned until my head spun and my teeth nearly rattled.

And then the end of the year came along, and I find myself taking a deep breath.  I am hoping that 2012 is a year that answers.  I’ve grown weary of the questions, the restlessness.  I long to find the life I know that is waiting for me and settle into it the way we do into a very large, soft chair.  And that’s the really funny thing about people like me, and maybe you too – I’m so convinced a better life is out there waiting, that I’m willing to sometimes be halfway miserable today so I can imagine it, aim for it.

However.  There comes a time in one woman’s life where it all gets a little tiring.  That house, this house?  That city, this city?  Who cares?  Deep down, I do, of course, but sometimes you have to worry about things like soaking up your children while they are still small.  Making tea in the afternoon instead of coffee, because why are we rushing anyway?  Breathing through discussions that would normally strain nerves.

Comfort and joy is a phrase we hear often through the holidays; a line from a song, a sentiment that scrolls across a card.  I’m going to take it from that song, that card and tuck it away to bring out when I need to find some direction, when I need reminding that I can find it right here, in words, in books, in my children’s endless wonder.

This year, wherever I am, whatever I do, I know what I really am looking for are comfort and joy.  Comfort in a life that suits me, rests my weary head, cheers my soul.  Joy in the little bits of the day that knock me over when I slow down enough to see them.  Stop setting ideas aside and write it all out – the silliness, the wonder, the frustration, the laughter, the joy, the weariness.  When my head gets too busy, I stop letting go when I write.  I can write anything I need to, but this little corner, my corner, goes quiet.

So I’m slowing down.  I have so many things to write, and write I will.

So this is my wish for us all:

May the new year bring us answers to our questions, comfort to our hearts and joy to our spirits.

Did last year ask or answer questions for you?  What do you wish for in the new year?

Photo credit:  Mario Gonzaga via sxc.hu

It is the time of year when I look at my children and marvel.

There will be birthdays, two.  There will be cakes, two.  There will quite possibly be pangs of the heart, many.

For my babies will turn seven and three this fall, and though two small lives are more than I ever thought I would create, it twists a bit in my stomach to know that they are both moving through these young months and years so quickly.

Time is a terrible, wonderful thing.  I am so addicted to their changes, to seeing newness light in their eyes, to their endlessly clever ways.  Yet, I miss the sweetness of the babies they once were.  My arms were full of sweet cheeks, soft blankets and pink toes many moons ago; now strong, brave, noisy children have taken their place.

Their voices mingle and mash, their energy swirls through the house.  Most days they take me along with them – for isn’t it easier to let the wave take you than fight the current once you have fallen in?

We spend years looking inward before we become parents, then as soon as we lay eyes on that newborn face it’s as though we suddenly see so clearly how much of our lives we will give so freely.

Looking down at one’s own path, looking inward, looking behind are pale stand-ins for looking forward, standing first before, then behind a child of your own.  Their horizons reach further than your own and you realize the ocean you are sailing suddenly has no shore.  You become them, they become their own and so on and so forth and if you are lucky, so it continues.

These wee creatures are already eyeing their own ships – who knew it would come so soon?  But I can see the twinkle and the future in their eyes.

An arm around one, the other snuggled on my lap.

We rock in calm seas, and I am overwhelmed at my good fortune.

Photo credit:  stock.xchg

Inspiration struck Toronto this past weekend, and I was lucky enough to be right in the middle of some of the smartest, most committed women in online media.

I attended Blissdom Canada ‘11 at the Hilton Toronto, and like last year, the anticipation ran high.  How could a meeting of this much heart and wisdom ever disappoint?

Sure enough, I was amazed by the creativity and passion by the writers, publishers, and public relations professionals who surrounded me.  I was inspired by women (and a few men!) smart enough to have gone ahead, and generous to reach back to share whatever they could to those who may come behind.

Let us hope that we never forget the importance of supporting one another in this space we share.  Never before have I enjoyed work in a landscape so overlapping in potential competition – yet, the leaders rising to the top are the ones most often seen reaching out, lifting others, and generally sharing what they can to ensure the rising of the collective success.

From panels that made us roar with laughter, to those that brought swift tears, to those who sparked inspiration on how to run our businesses better – we were treated to a generous buffet of knowledge.  Between each session, we shared meals, drinks, laughter, hugs, and discussed our work, our dreams, our plans.  I couldn’t begin to list the number of people who offered inspiration; be it great or small, each snippet will be tucked away and woven into what will come next.

We had a chance to be at our best, while simultaneously growing into more.  I worried – what might explode first, my heart or my head?

But this is when we are at our best, isn’t it?  For all the hours we spend at our computers, thankful am I for the chance to come out and listen, laugh and share.

If we are very lucky, this is one conference that will continue to grow and develop.  Was it perfect?  Probably not, and a lucky thing too, as none of the attendees were either.  Imagine the pressure!  I’m sure there will be criticism, suggestions for improvements, and requests for more, or different.  That’s okay – that’s how we all grow.  Let’s not forget how unique each attendee was, and how individual their thoughts, goals and dreams might be.  To address all of these from 300 attendees, all in two and a half days is an ambitious undertaking.  There is a give and take that goes on as we all learn, share and grow.  Perhaps there were sessions in which you learned a great deal – congratulations, you were able to take away wisdom and inspiration.  If you were in a session that shared knowledge some of which you already possess, then perhaps that was your moment to give to someone else.  Perhaps your discussions or questions or input will help someone else, just as the panelists and moderators were so generously willing to share their insights with us.

This conference is a special, growing thing.  We would do well to appreciate its graces, adore its most fetching traits and help improve it where we see room for improvement.

Enormous thanks to the organizers, the sponsors, the volunteers and all those attendees who bought tickets in good faith that a good thing would come back as good or better than it had been the first time we experienced it.

I’m leaving town with a full heart, an inspired mind.

And I’ll be back, every year Blissdom Canada will have me.

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Why did I come?

We all want to be real.

Will I know anyone?

Wait, I know you.

Will anyone know me?

I wanted to meet you too.

Laughter.

Who else can I find to meet?

Hugs.

More connections.

So that’s what her voice sounds like.

Who knew her eyes had such a spark?

Wait, someone else we know.

She lights up a room.

I didn’t know you were shy too.

Who knew she would blush when teased?

There she is.

She has the best laugh.

Why did I not know she had dimples?

I want to laugh every time she looks at me sideways.

More hugging.

She speaks so honestly.

Where did she come from?

We listen.

What is her story?

Applause.

We share meals, coffee, drinks, treats.

We keep talking.

Tell me more.

Who else can we include?

We keep laughing.

We make memories.

More hugging.

We say farewell.

We have become real.

I love when an idea strikes me out of the clear blue sky and I can just feel how it will come together.  I have one of those quirky brains that not only wants to plan what’s coming in the next moment, or the next day but will follow a random thought as far into the future as time will allow me.

Tell me you’re thinking of changing jobs?  I’ll have the next five years of your life mapped out and be just hoping you ask.

I can see anyone, doing anything.  Ask a question, I’ll have an answer. Or I’ll have an idea of how I’ll find an answer.  Or we’ll have a damn good time coming up with it together.

So it stands to reason that when answers don’t obediently line up in front of me, I start to feel the walls closing in.  If change lies ahead, bring it.  If decisions are coming, let’s make them and get moving.

Curiosity killed the cat.  Suspense may one day be the end of me.

I go from being a relatively calm person who jokes about stress and sleepless nights to a crazy person with one hand on the coffeepot and the other with nails in my palm.  I’m gritting my teeth waiting for the ball to drop.

I want answers.  I love answers.  I want to know what I’m talking about when I open my mouth.

Not that I always do.  But I like the forward movement of deciding, and acting, deciding and acting.

I want to know.  I always want to know.

The same thing is true of my writing.

I love to come to this place and share something I’ve decided or discovered. I want an idea to come and show itself to me, start to finish, allowing me to just write from A to B to C.

But what if I don’t know where A is, and B is running circles around me and nobody’s seen C around here in weeks.

I stop writing.  I can’t make the words go in straight lines.  And I’m a little scared of them when they go in circles.

But that’s not being real.  It’s not being honest.  And it’s certainly not being brave.

So, I’m here.  Writing words that go in circles.  And I’m sort of liking it.

In the absence of epic…I’m going to just start with the words.

Maybe I’ll write my way out of the crazy.

Stranger things have happened.

Photo credit:  stock.xchg

It’s not them, it’s you (gasp!)

This week I read a great post by Neil Hedley, about how some people fail to realize while it may feel better to blame others when things don’t go their way, at some point they need to take responsibility and realize – maybe it’s them.

Or, to quote him directly and change the perspective, “maybe it’s you.”

Maybe it wasn’t meant to be your opportunity. Maybe today isn’t your day. Maybe you just didn’t pull it off.

Maybe no one sabotaged you.  Maybe no one else made a mistake. Maybe, just maybe, the fault lies with you.

Did that sting a little?

Trust me, at one point or another, we have all been there.  We have felt the hurt, the disappointment.  We have seen the worst things we think of ourselves come true, we have lived our own shortcomings.

It can be awful.

But wait – hold on a second.

Tell me, who the hell decided perfection was our destination?

Who has the time and energy to be perfect at everything?

Not me.  Not you.  Not anyone I know.

So why are we trying?

When did we decide that we needed to always win? When did someone make a rule that we aren’t allowed to just say “it’s not in my skill set” or the more likely “I really suck at that”.

Facing our shortcomings is a hard skill to learn – but it’s sort of freeing once we grow enough that we can say “it’s not a strength of mine”.  I’m confident enough in my intelligence and capabilities to freely admit there are areas where I will never, ever excel.

Set goals, work hard, and aim for targets that make sense.  But don’t ever assume that you need to win everything you do, or that it’s not okay to fail.  Don’t spend your time or energy blaming others, or yourself when it happens.

What if we could free ourselves from blame altogether?  What if, instead of blaming others, or ourselves, we put that energy into the next opportunity?  What if we used that energy to find the opportunities that truly are a good fit for us, thereby increasing our chance of the success we wanted in the first place?

What if we could always remember that after every chance, a dozen more swiftly follow?  Every opportunity has more coming right behind it, if we open our minds to them.

What would you do?  How high would you reach?

There’s a quote I often hear about failure that I like:

“What would you attempt if you knew you could not fail?”

But better yet…

“What would you attempt if you knew failure wasn’t the end of the world?”

Photo credit:  stock.xchg

Raw.

That’s the best word I can use to describe how we felt after the fateful events of September 11^th, ten years ago.  It was like having flesh torn away, leaving only pain and and open wounds behind.  And afterwards, just as it would be if something had been ripped from us; we ached and hurt.  It hurt to breathe, move, speak.  Our hearts’ healing would come, much later, but for many – the pain would linger.

For many of us, there would be so much distance it would hardly seem real.  Geographically we may have had space to disbelieve, to wish, to try to turn desperation into truth.  Those who had no choice but to face it head on felt the pain on deeper levels indeed.  We all lost something that day, but many losses were personal, enormous and lingering.  I lost security that day, perhaps some naiveté or some of the shelter that I hadn’t even realized was built around me from a lifetime of peace and safety.  But I did not lose family, friends, or watch my home fall under attack.

I went to bed last night with my heart aching – for the faraway pain of a city on its knees in memories, but again with the distance that my life affords me.  Though visiting New York City last year changed my perspective forever, I still did not lose the way others did.  Others who suffered losses of people, property or confidence in their personal safety lost so much more.  And to this day, that is what lingers.

Cities rebuild.  People lost are laid to rest and mourned.  A country stood up in mighty numbers to avenge the hurt.

But left behind is a wound that will never go away.  Forever, a population will remember the wound it suffered.  And it changes how we breathe, move, speak.  It gave a generation a close look at its vulnerability, and that both softens and hardens us.  Where will our hearts take us from here?

Forever, a country will remember learning how deeply it could be hurt, and how easily.  I keep thinking of a line that is often quoted about parenting.

“Making the decision to have a child is momentous.  It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”

~Elizabeth Stone

Ten years ago, a country, and indeed a continent, watched as its heart was opened to the world.  It felt the deepest wound.  And today, though ten years of healing have marked our path, our hearts and vulnerability will be exposed forever.

Some people say they will not spend this day any differently than others, because they remember every day.  That is theirs to claim, we all have our ways of reconciling events of this magnitude.  Still others are comforted by the marking of a day, an anniversary, and feel the need to reach out to others in words, hands to hold, voices coming together. There is no right answer, people live and love and hurt and grieve in their own ways, today is no different.  I have written of this day once before, but many years I have not, and that may feel right to me.

But the questions remain.  Will we heal, and harden?  Will ten years mark the end of an era?  Or can we accept our vulnerability and take our hearts forward into the future, stronger even as we acknowledge where we are still raw?

Photo credit:  stock.xchg

Two years ago I took a leap off a cliff, and with the support of some really wonderful people, managed to not perish miserably in the fall.

I started blogging.

Yes, this little corner of the internet that I call home came to life two years ago this week.  Maybe you began reading long ago.  You’ve been patient while I figured out what I might share, and how I should share it.

You’ve shared laughter, sadness and more truth with me than I ever could have hoped for.  If you’ve recently discovered this blog, I hope you feel the connection created here by the amazing people who come to read and share parts of themselves.  It’s a precious thing.

And what now?  Who knows?

I want to loosen things up, and just this week wrote my first review.  I had a lot of fun, and I hope to find more interesting things to share with you – but only if they fit with what we love around here.

I want to be more serious, and have loved the deep connection we’ve found over posts like Who celebrates you? and What makes you beautiful? and of course, What should you bring to a conference?

I have been honoured, and humbled by, recognition like this from Canadian Family.

“To get the truth,

you want to get your own heart to pound while you write.”

 - Robert McKee

That’s where I’ve found the place I really love.  There are many posts that I love to write and share, or that I feel have a place here but every so often when we all come here and just tell the truth – well, that’s a little bit of magic we don’t see in our average days.  As honest or genuine as we may be, it takes work to stop with surface things and bare a little bit of ourselves and say – me too.  Or, I wish.  Or…I regret.

So maybe as time goes on, we’ll find more ways to show our real hearts here in this space.  We’ll show sides of ourselves that we maybe keep hidden in our daily lives – those rare, precious, real parts of ourselves.

I’ve seen it happen, right here.  And it’s a damn beautiful thing.

Two years.  I feel very privileged indeed.

Photo credit:  stock.xchg

September has arrived, with the smell of freshly sharpened pencils and the squeal of the school bus brakes.  Some days are still gorgeous and blue, the sun still comforting and warm.  Other days hold cloud and a hint of mist that whispers…fall has arrived.

These are the days for which I wait.  Swoon.

Oh, but those of us who love September so madly need be very sneaky around all those summer lovin’ types.  Those who dream of the beach and hot summer sun will cringe at the mention of cooler days and warmer clothing.  We must be sly in our affection for this month, and tempt naysayers with warm drinks and promises of boots and fuzzy sweaters.

Apples, anyone?

One of the best things about this month is getting everyone back to school, back into combed hair and clean shoes.  We fill backpacks with notebooks, kiss cheeks, dole out hugs but there it is…another moment to let go and realize, yes, grow they do indeed.  Look at the long legs that stretched through yet another summer.  Watch the long arms reach and wave, and realize small boys turn lanky in the sun.

Summer held hours, days, of family time and relaxation.  Holidays added exploration, and recreation.  But as August drew to a close, we knew it was time for more.  Every year the pattern repeats, and we are glad to welcome September once again.

This week I hugged my newly minted second grader, wished him well and sent him off to class.  His mind will once again be filled with new learning, his muscles worn tired by endless games and races.  He will come home to us tired out in a way that an almost seven year old can only be tired out when challenged both mentally and physically.

It’s good for all of us.

Fresh pencils, pages and a fresh start.  All tempered by a cooling breeze, under our warm prairie sun.

What will he learn this year?  What will move him?  What will catch his curiosity?

I’m ready to let him grow, again.

School’s in, people.

 ~~~~~~~

The larger the island of knowledge, the longer the shoreline of wonder.      ~Ralph W. Sockman

Photo credit:  stock.xchg

Music fills the air, and everything smells like flowers and sugar.

I am in a small crowd that has gathered to watch musicians play outside, in a small seaside area near our hotel in San Diego.  Locals, tourists, men, women, the very old and the very young, gathered together in music.

We are all captured by a rare sweet moment – one of those moments you can’t plan for and can never recreate.   It is a welcome escape after a weekend that has overwhelmed me in its constant connection and movement.

I stand, leaning against the wooden siding of a café, near a bench where an older couple nod their heads in time to the music.  I sip coffee, sneak bites of cookies out of a paper bag and try to wipe the foolish smile off my face.  I feel silly, but I am not successful.  So I listen, I smile, and I move to the music too.

The band is neither old, nor young, just guys playing together, filling the warm air with music.  The sun shines down on us all, the trees and small buildings offering pockets of shade.  I glance around – no one is rushing.  Some eat ice cream, others are finishing meals on tiny patios and a few of us sip coffee.  We listen, and we smile.

There is an older gentleman, elegantly dressed in black pants and a black short-sleeved shirt.  He dances, welcoming any who wish to join him.  He occasionally dances with a lady or two who smilingly accept his invitation, but he also dances alone.

Our toes tap as they jam, singing “…if the house is a rockin’, don’t come a knockin’.”  We listen and sway to The Beatles classic “Let it Be”. The music is irresistible to a few; children spin and sway, and two older couples hold hands and boogie down as “Mustang Sally” fills the air.  One tall man in a Tilley hat spins and twirls.

I stay for more than half a dozen songs, until the band stops playing.  I can’t stop smiling.

It is a small, treasured memory that I will tuck away for a very long time.

It brings a smile to my face even now.

A Sharpie marker.  A sticky label.  A room filling with people.

I started the conference with a nametag that simply stated my first and last names – a polite entry into what would swiftly become a social and inspirational whirlwind of epic proportions.  I began my weekend by attending the Women Create Media event at the University of San Diego, and it was a fantastic way to kick off this year’s BlogHer conference.

Resisting the urge to journal every moment of a whirlwind conference is not only difficult – it will prove impossible for many.  I want words on screen, stories committed to memory and every last inspiration explored, just like everyone else.  I want to tell every single person I hugged, by name, how much it meant to me to connect with them.  I want to tell you about every single hour of each day.

But I’m not doing it.

There’s no way to tell you what it felt like to connect with people – some of with whom I never expected to share more than an online connection.  I can’t tell you how many people were worthy of so much more conversation and attention than I had to give – I lost track.  Time disappeared like water down a drain, and before I knew it, the weekend was over.

There will be other posts you can read about the details of what went on, but trust me, if you can’t hear the music, feel the hugs, or experience the view, sparkles, fireworks, Latino dancing men, unicorns, glow sticks and cheeseburgers for yourself, it won’t mean anything.  And though I took home primarily souvenirs I purchased on my own and never took time in the Expo hall, if you aren’t unpacking a bag filled with flipflops, pens, toys, household items, snack foods and bedroom toys like many of the attendees, you aren’t going to feel a part of it.  (Though I’ll admit it, if anyone writes about having issues with airport security and bedroom toys, I’m totally reading those posts!)

I spent the rest of the weekend with a nametag on that showed my name, my Twitter handle and my website URL, and answered as readily to Mocha as I did to my own first name.  (Oh, yes, I did, and it’s one more reason to always choose your blog and Twitter names carefully.  This is how people will remember, recognize and refer to you…we all do it.  I am more than happy to be called Mocha.)

Yes, it was amazing to see everyone in person again, and meet people for the first time.  Yes, the sessions and keynotes moved my heart, brain and soul.  I have notes and notes to review, and spent Sunday morning madly following all the moderators, panelists and speakers on Twitter. Yes, the parties ranged from gracious and entertaining to silly and ostentatious.  We spoke, listened, laughed, danced and shared every emotion from morning until night.

I made it back to the hotel after the last party of the last night, kicked off my shoes and reluctantly peeled off the label that had been applied to my left lapel at the Aiming Low party.  I was “label-bombed” by the lovely Shannon and my label stated something she had tweeted about me earlier in the weekend.  I wore it with pride.  I transferred it to my laptop, where it remains today.  It reads simply “You are spectacular”.

Happy sigh.

I went from being Jen Taylor to Jen/Mocha to “spectacular”.  That’s the best way to tell you what it’s like to attend this conference.  Where else are you surrounded by a sea of (mostly) women, all looking for ways to connect, lift each other up, and generally entertain the hell out of one another?

It’s the best word I can use to sum up my six days away, and the best way to describe this amazing annual communion of women.

Dear BlogHer…in your choice of panellists, your attendees, your events and your keynotes, you were…spectacular.

Did you attend BlogHer ’11?

What was your favourite part?

Will I see you at BlogHer ’12 in NYC?

Put down the Spanx, everyone.

Take a deep breath.

I want to tell you something, before we all end up in some city-we’re-not-from, all in crowds and heaps and groups, not knowing which end is up.

Because that’s what it’s like sometimes, when so many of us are together; too much push-pull-worry-fret.  Too much of the crazy, the second-guessing, the shifting and adjusting of clothing and personalities and the little quirks in both that we worry someone might see.

It would be easy to bring too much to an event like this, easy to pack shirtsandpantsandshoes and stressandanxietyandnerves all into the same bag, and the airlines don’t even let you carry that shit on anymore.

And nor should you carry it on…or anywhere.

You want to know what to bring?

First, here’s what not to bring.

Unpack your cares.  Unpack any feelings of less-than and what-if and I-don’t-belong.

Because you do belong.  Anyone can, why not you?

Yes, it is that easy.

You belong.

You, with the wrong clothes.  You, with the wrong shoes.

You, with all your awkwardness, your silly antics, your snort-when-you-laugh…you belong.

You belong, because if you don’t, then there’s no room for that other girl across from you, who almost backed out last minute.  No room for the one whose hair appointment got cancelled.  There’s no room for the one who might have her shirt on inside out, the one whose shoes are killing her and who will spend all weekend barefoot and sheepish but happy.  No room for all the women who totally intended to lose twenty pounds or ten or something that just might help them get on the plane feeling good.  Or the one whose suitcase ended up in San Remo, not San Diego and who the hell knows where San Remo is anyway?  Or the one who isn’t brave enough to say hi to anyone but might be the most interesting person in the room if someone would just. ask. her.

Don’t bring anything that isn’t going to make this time away an awesome experience.  You have an opportunity, right in your hand, and if you don’t get your head out of your clouds, your worries, your insecurities, your ass, you might just miss it.

Take anything out of that suitcase that you know will weigh you down.

When it comes right down to it, it’s not about the black or the pink top, the wedges or heels, or is-this-print-too-busy?  It’s just not.  It’s not about wearing something you don’t love just to try to be who you think you are supposed to be to belong.  It’s not about dressing better than everyone else, or how many labels you can cram in your suitcase.

Here’s the thing.  If you are amazing, and we connect, I’m not going to know that you agonized over what you wore.  I won’t know you tried on twelve tops before finally choosing the right one.  I won’t know you nearly cried trying to figure out what to bring.

Don’t bring tears in that bag, ladies.

Before you pack a single thing, think carefully about what your experience could be like, with a little guts and a little effort.

Let’s be crowds and heaps and groups of women all ready to share something amazing.

Let’s have the guts to be real and beautiful, just as we are.  Let’s pack only what we love, and feel great in, and leave plenty of room for what’s really important.

Repeat after me:  Perfection doesn’t fit in a suitcase, and there are no scales at the hotel.

What should you really bring?

Bring excitement.  Bring joy.  Bring curiosity.

Bring questions.  Bring laughter.  Bring connection.

Bring an open mind and a happy heart.

Bring your goddamn best version of yourself, freely share it with others and watch what can happen when you decide to own your happiness.  When you decide you really do belong, and have things to say and that you really do have worth.

Yeah.  That’s the kind of stuff you should bring to a conference.

~~~~~~~~

What are you bringing?

Photo credit:  stock.xchg

Time.

Some days it sits comfortably beside us, and we are at leisure to feel the depth and breadth of it.  We are able to explore the corners of our days, we have the time we need to enjoy them.

Other days, it feels as though time is barely visible as it darts around corners, so far ahead we feel we will never catch up.  It is a silver thread of hope, and we reach for it, but our days tumble together, rushing by.  On these days, we cannot catch it, no matter how we try.

Sometimes we get so busy living, our life seems to run through our fingers like sand.  Tiny grains, so slippery we cannot grasp them.  So many things I want to do, be, places to see.

Am I where I should be?

Am I who I should be?

Every year, around this time, I make certain to find and read a favourite passage.

It centres me, pulls me toward a feeling of calm, of being in the right place.  I’ll admit that there are days when this feeling is beyond me, but for a glimmer of a moment as I read, it is mine.

Life has a way

of stripping away the nonessentials

one birthday at a time

until we’re left

with our real selves,

unashamed before the world,

refined by experience,

shaped by the things

we’ve learned

and the passions we’ve pursued…

And finally,

we know what we know,

and we love

what we love,

and we still have

this precious thing called time.

And it’s enough.

It’s more than enough.”

~author unknown

Have a wonderful day, everyone.

Be happy, eat chocolate, drink coffee, love someone, be loved.

That’s my wish, for myself, and for all of you.

What do you wish for, when you feel time disappearing?

image credit: stock.xchng

I am sitting alone in my car, crying over a book.

While I admit to being easily moved by words and truth, rare is the book will make me anything more than misty.  But the book I just finished had me fighting tears for the last thirty or so pages.

I don’t cry often, not at the real things.  I cry during sad movies all the time, get misty through the odd book, and well up at the sad news of others, but I can’t remember when I last sought the solace of tears for my own sadness.  My soul is not washed clean by them, my spirit not renewed.  They are nothing more than salt for my thirst when I am truly heartsick.

The book I just set down has taken me on a journey of emotion, one that began with recognition and realization, sailed through anxiety and strain, sat in the port of guilt for longer than I could bear and finally made its way through to peace.

I knew intimately parts of the journey as I read, I felt the losses, remembered decisions made and the questions.  But my journey is not near the end.  There are far more than thirty pages left in what I will live, before I write it.  At least, with my heart, I hope there are.

The book has me wondering what regrets will be mine when the pages are turned and my own story set down.  Where will I feel I have wronged, what will I do when the bitterness of loss hits me?  Or will I know that I have done right, walked the path that was mine and lived as I was meant to?

What will I regret?  What will others regret of me?

I can make only the decisions that lay before me in any moment.  I can only see what has happened, and what is all around me – what lies ahead is not mine to possess or consider.  How bittersweet that our decisions are made always based on yesterday, on what we once were and never on what we will become.

But isn’t that how we all live?  With our pasts in boxes stored in corners, our present lives carried with us like shiny pebbles in our pockets, all the while scanning the horizon for clues, for signs of the shifts in the sky.  We can only prepare for the futures we can imagine, we aren’t part of the writing of any actual plan.  When we write, we write our stories, our pasts, what has already transpired, we write backwards, not forwards.

What would I write if I could write the future?  Would I start at today and write what I would want to see etched out on the pages?  Would I imagine myself, grey and quietly old, and write the story of how I got to be there?

What will I remember?  What will I be remembered for?

Will I ever write the words that might make others cry?  And what will become of me if I do?  There might be tears there.  But the salt will only bring quiet wounds back to life.  So over and over, I turn away, resist and find the sweetness in life.  I am determined that the words I commit to paper will not add weight, they will lift it.

I will find grace.  I will find the light and share it.

I will write of the sweet life I believe in, and am determined to live.

What will you remember?  What will you be remembered for?

image credit: stock.xchng

What do we find so compelling about social media? 

Is it the all-hours access that suits our busy, scrabbling monkey brains?  Is it the global reach of our words and ideas, and what we learn by sharing thoughts with those a world away?  Is it a way to claim a time and space for ourselves, or because we have the same right and privilege to speak as anyone else?

Maybe it’s all of the above.  And maybe it’s something more.

If we are careful, we share our light with others, and reflect the light we see in them.

Anyone who has tried to explain the appeal of these limitless communities to others has run into the same roadblock.  How do you explain something you can’t see?  How do you take apart connections made over these wires, and show the parts to someone else?  How do we explain how these connections help define us, that they are a part of how we see ourselves?

Sometimes the best things aren’t seen.  We can’t see the connections we share with the people we have met online, but we can feel them.  We know they exist, we have tested their strength from time to time and we have confidence in their solidity.  We can’t reach out and shake the hand of a new contact, we can’t hug friends, we can’t gesture as we communicate like we would so readily in real life.

How can we possibly call this communication?  Where is the appeal?

It lies in the challenge of building something good as we make our way along our online journeys.  When the pieces fall into place, and we create a communion of thought and ideas, we know we are doing it right.  When we relieve the burden of another or boost someone deserving of our support, we are doing it right.

We love the ability to learn anything we please, to meet anyone we want, to expose ourselves to new thought, new opinion by simply asking a question or offering our own thoughts.  It can be dizzying and overwhelming.

We persevere through early awkwardness, we find our place, we find our voice.  If we are wise, we write, we ponder, we discuss, we debate, we question, we learn.  If we are lucky, we grow. 

Is there a dark side?  Of course there can be.  We are still flawed human beings creating whatever voice we send out into cyberspace.  We react, we misunderstand, we bristle, we defend and we attack.  Where there are human hearts and egos, there will always be inappropriate reactions and flaring tempers. 

Yet, we are amazed by the goodness we find.   The personal and professional networks we create would trounce any other we’ve made in our careers.  Support overflows as we find our place online, and always, there are those who sense we have more to give and encourage us.

How we communicate with one another socially through media will always fascinate us.  We will attempt to label it, control it and define it.  Some will watch others and pattern actions after them in hopes of replicating their experience, but in doing so will miss the point entirely.

Because while this media is social, it is also very, very personal.

What we build out here, in this beautiful, flawed, limitless online landscape, is up to us.

It will mirror what we do.  It will mirror what we give.  It will mirror who we are.

Do you like what you see in the mirror?

image credit: stock.xchng

I see you, pretty girl.

I see you smoldering at me from that magazine cover.  I see your heavy eye makeup, your skimpy bra and panties, your perfectly mussed hair. 

I see you posing, but for whom it’s not clear.

~

Before any of you accuse me of being a prude, let me make a few things clear.  I’m well known for being foulmouthed in certain company, rarely offended at off-colour jokes and I’m often the first to make the dirty joke.  At one time I ran a magazine store that boasted the best selection of adult magazines in our province.  It was only one small part of our business, but let’s be realistic, I didn’t have a separate staff to handle that hundred square feet, and I put plenty of the stuff into paper bags for our customers.  So allow me some room, won’t you?

I’m not talking about so called “adult” magazines anyway.  I’m not talking about an industry where it is clear to I would hope everyone involved that people are going to be taking their clothes off in front of the camera.  That’s a different post altogether, should I ever choose to write it.

No, what I’m talking about here are mainstream men’s magazines.  You know the ones, I don’t need to name them here.  They are the ones that seem to sell golf and women as men’s two greatest obsessions – and maybe they are.  I’m not judging.

What worries me is when I see talented young movie or TV actresses, musicians, or athletes at the peak of their talent deciding to pose on the covers, smoky-eyed and in their underwear, because these days it’s another way to create buzz, to keep people talking, to gain notoriety.  I understand media, popularity and all that’s involved, but I’m not sure every decision and every photo shoot, every cover is working in the best interest of these young girls.

If you decide to choose a profession or work in an industry where that kind of exposure is a defining part of what you do, fine.  Knock yourself out.  But when I see young actresses and athletes becoming these interchangeable faces and bodies next to the golf clubs, in an attempt to further their careers, it makes me worry.  What does it tell the next generation of young women?  Are we telling our daughters that it’s not enough to be able to disappear into a role, move millions with your raw emotion and talent?  That it’s lovely to win national or international acclaim with feats of strength and coordination, but unless you’re willing to show those muscles off in a paper-thin wifebeater and a thong, you’re out of luck?  And how we think that new single is truly amazing, but here’s a gold lamé bikini you’ll need to wear to really make your music come alive?

I have a very young daughter, and these are not messages I want her to hear as she grows up.  I can tell her all I want as she grows that she is beautiful, smart, talented and that I’m sure she will do amazing things.  And on the surface she may believe me – but as long as she keeps seeing young women having to take off their clothes to get attention, I worry that on some level it will convince her that is where true recognition lies.

What do we have to do to make sure that talented young women can make their way forward in this world without it always being about what they look like underneath whatever it is they choose to wear each day, and if they can raise the blood pressure of legions of men they will never meet?

~

They told you it would further your career.

They told you your next big part was one steamy photo shoot away.

They told you not to let any opportunity for exposure slip by, being recognized is what matters.

~

Girls, be talented.  Be fabulous.  Be sexy.  Don’t be afraid of celebrating your talent or your beauty.  And don’t be afraid to take your clothes off  when the occasion arises.

Just be sure you’re doing it for the right reasons.

~

How many men need to be able to picture you naked before your career will really take off?

How many men need to see your inner thighs before you feel like your worth has been recognized?

~

One of the top men’s magazines has an estimated circulation of 2.5 million.

Is that how many?

I’m just asking.