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

It goes without saying that I’m known for having a sweet tooth.  I have a reputation for all the ways I love to add a little sweet goodness to my day…and I can be shameless about it, I’ll admit.

Here’s one secret:  there is no happier magic than the application of heat to something sweet.  For all the goodness that a few simple ingredients hold on their own, there is no end to the delight they could create given a little dose of warmth and the opportunity to melt together into something ridiculously tempting.

So imagine my reaction when I was invited to check out Hamilton Beach‘s new Quesadilla Maker.  I’d already admired its shiny red good looks online, and imagined tasty quick dinners when with a simple suggestion it suddenly all became clear – what if we used it for desserts?

My imagination ran wild.

But first, let’s get the basics out of the way.  Yes, it’s as cute as it looks in the picture.  Yes, it’s as easy as tossing on a tortilla, filling it with whatever you’d like, covering with a second tortilla.  But the trick is in how it seals shut, intensifying the heat and ensuring a perfect melt.  Two minutes later, we’d pop it open and discover our perfectly melted quesadilla inside.  We tried chicken and cheese, then added tomatoes and salsa.  Our six year old decided he wanted to choose his own fillings – and he ate what we made and what he created.  This is a joy to see in any house.  And the next day, our kids asked for more and so our sitter volunteered to use up whatever we had leftover for fillings and she made fresh quesadillas for lunch – a welcome change from their usual sandwiches.

But back to my raging sweet tooth – and our knowledge that further potential sizzled within reach.

First, we kept it simple.  Marshmallows and chocolate chips, then we added a drizzle of butterscotch sundae syrup.

Sliced bananas with chocolate.

Strawberries and bananas, with and without butterscotch (warm strawberries made me feel like I was sneaking bites of homemade jam out of a saucepan.)

All melted together beautifully, all were delicious.  We had the most success with combinations that included something that would melt nicely together for a bit of hold (cheese, marshmallows, chocolate) but even the one I made that fell apart was delicious – just messy.

The recipe book suggests apple pie filling and cinnamon and it’s next on my list (this one makes me drool at the thought of adding a scoop of ice cream).

I also am thinking of a cheesecake we had this week and will be trying cream cheese and strawberries.

*licks chocolate from fingers, continues typing*

Will we continue to use it?  Absolutely.  We made a fast healthy dinner with it, our sitter was able to use it easily for the kids the next day, and oh, people, the desserts we will make.  I’m not one to make time for baking, and hate food projects that take up huge amounts of time.  I loved just tossing a few ingredients together and then enjoying the warm, melty goodness a few minutes later.   It currently retails for $29.99, and for the price, I’d say we’d easily get our money’s worth out of it with just the dinners, or the lunches, or the desserts.  The potential for all three makes this a happy addition to our kitchen.  And cleanup is a snap.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go shopping.  A friend once made me a delicious mango and brie quesadilla with cilantro, and in six years I’ve never thought I would be able to recreate it.

I bet you can guess what I’m having for dinner…

Disclosure:  I received a quesadilla maker from Hamilton Beach to see what sweet creations I might come up with at home.  However, all opinions are my own and as many would readily attest – I’m not easily won over.  ; )

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?

Love comes into our lives in many forms, through many channels.

If we are lucky, we love and are loved in return over and over from birth to our final days.  If we are blessed, we have many who want to share their love with us, who create for us a safe place with their love.  If we are wise, we are open to it, seek it, give it freely.

Out of a sea of possibilities, one of the most touching kinds of love is that given and received by children.  Tenderness between one of my children and me, or between my two children has an effect on me unmatched by most other kinds of sweetness.

Is it the pureness of their love?  How wholeheartedly they express it?  Could it be that the sweet, genuine need of a child surpasses all other responsibilities, leaving us helpless in its wake?

This week I bade farewell to my children, and my heart is having to do without them for nearly a week.  There isn’t a way to explain to a toddler what this goodbye means, or how long it will be until I return.  How to explain a destination so far away when all she knows is how far up and down our street she can see?  How to explain the time that will pass as “six days” to a wee girl who can count to ten but two months ago still counted “one, two, three, seven, thirteen”?  Even my soon-to-be second grader only understands at the simplest of levels.

The answer is – you can’t.  I couldn’t.  All I could do is hug and kiss them as much as they would allow, bid them good night and send them an early morning wish as I tiptoed out, hours before they would rise.

I have been so filled up, and inspired during my time away, and I speak with them daily.  I know we will all be excited upon my return, and I know they are in good hands with their father.

Yet, my heart is lonely for them.  Loving them makes me a better, happier version of myself.

Our children, in fact, any children sweeten our lives in ways we cannot always explain.

My advice to you is simple.

Welcome children into your life – your own, those of your friends and families, whenever you can.  Show them love, watch them grow and if you are lucky enough to have them return it, never take it for granted.

Love somebody little.

It just might be the best thing you ever do.

Photo credit:  stock.xchg

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

Well, it’s almost upon us.

Many of you know the sheer MADNESS I speak of when I say simply “I leave for BlogHer in 8 days”.

For the rest of you, BlogHer is a blogging conference held annually in various cities across the US.  Last year, I attended BlogHer ’10 in NYC and this year I’ll be attending BlogHer ’11 in San Diego.  I am very excited as I haven’t been to San Diego before!  A new city and an amazing conference – can’t tell you the level of anticipation going on around here!  I have to verify the number, but I bet we’re close to 3000 bloggers descending on the city, mostly women.  Oh yeah.

Things have been busy lately though, and I have to admit I haven’t had the time to properly obsess over what all I’m doing and when.  It’s a jam packed schedule to be sure!  Maybe it’s a good thing, I haven’t had time to worry about much.  Silver linings, people…

Here’s where I know I’ll be so far, and how you can find me while I’m at the conference:

~ Rest assured I’ll be on Twitter regularly.  You won’t be able to stop me.  For some of you, it’ll be like I never left!

~ If you were supposed to meet me, or vice versa, and I’ve gone AWOL, just dm me on Twitter!  I’ll get a notification right away.

~ If you want to connect further, or after the conference, email me at jen[at]mochacreativeworks[dot]com.

Here are some of the places you’ll be able to find me just by showing up, looking around for a crazy redhead.  Hint: I’m usually talking or laughing, and I’ll probably be consuming chocolate or coffee.)

Just telling it like it is, people.  Authenticity, right?

I’ll update this as I confirm sessions and other events, but here’s a start:  ; )

Wednesday, Aug 3

~I arrive sometime after lunch, no set plans but will be finding and connecting with people I know through the afternoon and eve.  Say hello if you see me!  I’ll be looking for friendly faces!

Thursday, Aug 4

~Women Create Media conference

~Chevrolet BlogHer Canadian Embassy

~The People’s Party

Friday, Aug 5

~Breakfast

~Sessions throughout the day

~Community Keynote

~Voices of the Year Reception Gala

~Sparklecorn

Saturday, Aug 6

~Breakfast

~Sessions throughout the day

~Lunch Keynote

~Closing Keynote

Sunday, Aug 7

~Exploring or troublemaking, which one is yet TBD.

Monday, Aug 8

~heading home (sniff, sniff)

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

Two small heads – one towheaded, one hinting of ginger – are bowed over a small pile of toys, as my two children bicker and giggle and play.

We are on holidays, and one might say they have had to “make do” with the toys we have brought for them, having left the bulk of their belongings at home.  They have had to “get by” with a handful of books, a few toys and the souvenirs and toys we have added along the way.

Fresh fruit has been theirs to enjoy, crisp vegetables, rich cheese and meat.  Cool, satisfying milk.  Restaurant meals, desserts and treats.  They drink clean, cold water from their own colourful travel bottles all day long.  The oldest pops flavoured vitamins each morning, picking out his favourite colour.

Their skin glows.  Their eyes sparkle and their hair is silky soft out of the bath.  Wrapped in clean towels at night, you can see their pink and healthy glow.

This is the life my children live. This is the life my children know.  They are not yet old enough to know how fortunate they are.

Yet…the real world exists right outside our door.  I protect them fiercely from it, but just as fierce is my intention that they should see it, as they get older.  There is a real, harsh and cold world where some children don’t have the luxury of nourishing foods and new toys, where some children will never feel the contentment that a full belly provides.

There are children living in countries far away who struggle daily to survive, and there are children living in my city who do the same.  How to ever know them?  How to help them?  Will reaching out ever make a difference?

We’re about to find out.

It’s time to tell you about Heart for Art, a movement started by the fantastic Stay at Home Babe in the UK to benefit a group of children living in an Balinese orphanage.  Here is her post that will tell you all about it, but what I want to tell you is this – no, we can’t help every child in need.  But what if, today, you could read about a group of children who are in need, and reach out to them in a very real way?

Are there practical ways to help?  Of course there are.  Donations, supplies, of course these things are needed.  But what we are asking for with Heart for Art is a little of your time.  Perhaps you can get your children involved.  Maybe you have a network of moms who might like to be involved.

A work of art can be a thing of beauty, but so can a caring thought, a wish sent out into the universe and a hand held out from land and sea away.  Sitting down with your kids to talk about how fortunate they are, and what life is like in other parts of our global community is a great learning opportunity.  What might your kids share with others in need?  How do they feel about what they are hearing?

Today, create something beautiful.  Join hearts with other moms and bloggers and share the Heart for Art story.  Tell your kids about these children, and ask them to help you make some art to share.  Know that your time, effort and caring matters – if you can do more, wonderful.  A variety of ways you can help are listed at the bottom of this post.

What if each one of us did something good, whenever we had the chance?  What if it makes a difference to one child?  To two children?  A dozen or more?

I will tell you this – when I watch over these two small heads, and imagine my children living a very different life indeed, I can tell you, even helping two would be enough.

What will your heart move you to do today?

Create something beautiful with us.  Then share this post with other families, friends, artists or people in your community who you think might be moved to get involved in some way.

~~~~~~~~~

Here’s what you need to know, from the lovely Stay at Home Babe herself:

Heart For Art is not a charity, legal entity or official anything. It’s the title I’m giving to the movement that WE (you & I) are going to start. We’re going to make art, by ourselves, with our kids, with local artists or school art classes, and we’re going to send it to these girls. Then they can send pictures back to us. Simple, right?

There are bloggers across the world posting about this in the next few days and they’re going to be linking up below if you’d like to visit some of their posts. Please join us. If you blog and want to write your own post, then you’re awesome. Please do. Most importantly, bust out the art supplies and make something for these girls. Send it to one of the addresses below.

To get involved with Heart For Art (tweet hashtag #Heart4Art): we all just need to make something for these kids and get it sent to them! I’m going to serve as the mail depot for this side of the planet, to keep shipping costs from being prohibitive (it’s pretty cheap to send envelopes from the states to the UK… big packages get a bit pricier, but bubble pack mailers and especially just paper envelopes are way cheap). Sending the kids some stationary supplies they could use to write back would be cool but not a requirement. Once our art gets into Cate’s hands in Australia, she can either take it by hand on one of her trips if the timing is right or ship it on to the girls in Bali.

UK address is:
Lerner Farrington
Attn: Heart For Art
18 Suffolk Rd
Lincoln, LN1 2UG
UK

The Australian dropoff is:
Cate Bolt
Attn: Heart For Art
PO Box 239
Glass House Mountains, Qld 4518
Australia

If you would like more info or have any questions, please email HeartForArt18@gmail.com.

Obviously, the customary ways to support are always welcome. You can make direct financial contributions to Foundation 18 (the group home), or support Project 18, here’s some more information about that:

*Web Hosting Services: Wanna self-host, want discounted rates and know that the cash from your hosting service will go to an amazing cause?  http://www.project18.org.au/blog-hosting/

*Make a purchase from the Project 18 Inc. shop or Etsy shop.

*Buy a ‘brick’ of Fairtrade chocolate and help P18 build a ‘chocolate classroom’.

*Make a one off, or regular monthly contribution directly to Foundation 18, Indonesia

*Grab a banner or button from the Project 18 website and add it to your blog or website.

*Follow Project 18 Inc on Twitter and on Facebook

*Participate in Auctions for Education – pick up a bargain and know the money is going to educate kids.

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

What does growth feel like?   

How do we measure change, if it is constant and all around us?

Why do we often think change will hurt?

I have started Jillian Michael’s 30 Day Shred DVD workout program.  It might be familiar to you, maybe not, but it’s definitely a challenge.  I joked the morning after my first workout that Jillian could throw me down a flight of stairs and it would probably hurt less, and I’m not sure I was kidding.

But it’s not really the fitness aspect I’m thinking about today.  What has struck me in these first few days is that the gritty, encouraging words used to motivate us physically are sometimes things we also need to hear as we grow personally, emotionally, professionally.

To a person who is used to occasional workouts consisting of kilometres clocked on an elliptical trainer, with loud music the only accompaniment, the words stand out.

And though I found them motivating as I went through the program and cursed my way through ab work and push ups, I actually think that they mean more to me when I take them further.

Here are some of the words you hear as you work through her routine:

“When it starts to get uncomfortable…those are the ones that count the most.  That’s what I want you to push through. That’s when change is gonna happen.”

“As you come to the end, don’t give up, don’t slow down.  Don’t finish slow, keep up the same pace and finish strong.”

“I know you feel that little knot in your stomach.  That is your body getting stronger.  That is fear leaving the body right there.”

It occurs to me that sometimes we need people around us who are willing to push us through the easy and into the challenges, who are willing to tell us we deserve whatever it is that lies on the other side of that hard work.  We need people to love us the way we are but we also need to hear – you don’t need to settle.

You can do something bigger.  Yes, it hurts.  Change sometimes does.  Yes, it takes work.  All good rewards do.

Sometimes I think we need personal trainers for life, not just for when we are trying to kick our bodies into better shape.

Are we as committed to kicking our lives into high gear?

What obstacles are in your way?  Who told you they are obstacles?    

Who ever said change had to hurt?

image credit: stock.xchng

Beauty.

It’s a fleeting, fickle thing, isn’t it? 

We consider it, measure it, weigh it, worry about it, dismiss it, obsess over it. 

Whether we admit it or not, at some point in our lives we have spent time thinking about beauty.  Maybe you were told you were beautiful as a child or teen but never believed it.  Maybe you worried you would never feel it.  Maybe you think your beauty has been lost to years that added up too quickly.

What a shame.

We are all beautiful.  We just can’t see it.

When we are young and beautiful, we refuse to believe it.

These are the years we can barely stand to look in a mirror, yet can scarcely tear ourselves away.  We try desperately to see how the girl in the mirror could ever grow up, could ever have grace.  We do not see the glow of our skin, the smoothness of our bodies, or the shine in our hair.

When we are racing at a breakneck pace towards the middle of our lives, hauling busy schedules and perhaps children along with us, we refuse to believe it.

How could we?  We are fighting Mother Nature, we are battling for the bodies we used to have, or we are resigning ourselves to what we think we are destined to look like.  We work out, we buy skincare potions, we watch for greys.  We forget how appealing our strength is, our courage, and how beautiful motherhood is.  We do not see our wit, our confidence and our still-beautiful bodies as being worthy.

When lines trace every laugh, every smile and the odd furrow tells of heartbreak, we refuse to believe it.

We think our beauty days are behind us.  We look back on many decades of good living and then gaze in the mirror at what the years have done.  We imagine we can see the beauty we left behind in our teens – but we forget that in our teens we cursed the mirror.  We forget that there is nothing more beautiful than a life lived well, and love shared generously with those around us.  We don’t see our grace, our wisdom to be as precious as they surely are.

What a loss.

There is something amazing that happens when we see ourselves with a forgiving and gentle eye, and regard others in the same way.  Imagine if you let go of your worries and started really seeing what other people see? 

Maybe it’s not the colour of our hair, our eyes, or how generous our curves.  Maybe beauty has nothing to do with what the media tells us.  Maybe we need to listen to those around us, and truly hear the compliments that come our way.  There are people in our lives who think we are beautiful, right now, today, just as we are.  Maybe we don’t get any younger, but maybe beauty doesn’t have anything to do with youth. 

What a revelation.

What if we are all beautiful, at any age, every day?

Maybe it’s the sparkle in our eye.  Maybe our nose wrinkles when we laugh.  Maybe we have a smile that brightens the days of others.  Maybe when we speak, we move people’s hearts and minds.  Maybe our sideways glance can make those around us dissolve into laughter.  Maybe with a look we can make someone’s heart skip a beat.

Maybe we have as much or more to offer as we ever did.

Maybe today we should look in a mirror, leave our worries behind and see our true beauty. 

Maybe we’ve been beautiful all along.

How long will you wait before you see it?

Make today the day you see yourself.  Find something you love about yourself today.  And tomorrow.  And the day after. 

What makes you beautiful?   It’s time to own it.

Will you?  Will you share something you love about yourself in the comments below? 

Maybe it will move others to see themselves too.

Twelve years ago, my husband and I moved from Saskatoon to British Columbia.  We spent four years there before deciding it was time to come back to Saskatoon. 

And you might laugh, but one of the things that ended up on our list of positives about moving back was that Saskatoon had caught up with the times and had opened several Starbucks locations.

We love Starbucks.  Say what you will, agree or disagree, it’s one of our favourite things.  I remember the first time we went to a Starbucks, on holiday in Vancouver after hanging out with friends having wine by the water one evening.  (We were so enthused, and so ignorant, that one of our first questions was if it was a franchise!  Just goes to show you how off the radar it was anywhere east of Vancouver.)

It became part of our lives once we moved to BC.  Before we had kids, Starbucks represented a break, a treat, perhaps a quick date as we grabbed coffee to walk on the beach in spring or fall.  Our travel mugs were always Starbucks and to this day I have a large collection of their mugs.  I have made decisions where we should live based on whether there is a Starbucks in the city.

My son was four before he ever knew what a McDonald’s restaurant was.  Oh, we had stopped once while shopping, cracking under the pressure of too long a day.  But he was young, just a toddler, and barely sampled a few fries.  He had no memory of it.

I remember him asking one day “what’s that big yellow M?” as we drove by and feeling slightly proud.  But oh, the boy could spot a Starbucks sign at unbelievable distances.  And his younger sister is following happily in his footsteps.  They know it, they love it.

I’m raising the next generation of Starbucks devotees.

And I’m happy with that. 

Now that I have children, Starbucks represents something completely different.  Starbucks is where I have taken both my children on coffee dates.  It began with my son, and we would practice every bit of manners, every expectation of eating out in public.  He took it very seriously, and we had wonderful times together, but I took great comfort in knowing everything we ordered could be swiftly packed up and we could be out the door in a flash should things go awry. 

Now my toddler and I have our Starbucks dates while her big brother is in school.  She is learning to help order what she would like, and to sit nicely to eat and drink without a high chair or booster.  I love taking her out, and love the time we’re spending together.

If you aren’t sure if you can trust your kids to a sit-down meal, don’t miss the chance to take a step in the right direction.  Take baby steps.  They didn’t learn to walk in a single day either.

Hold their hand, tell them the rules, and try it out.  Let them know you are prepared to leave if things come undone.  And if it unravels, leave.  Every time. 

But here’s the funny thing.  I never had to leave.  Not even once.

It must be the magic of Starbucks. 

Decaf venti nonfat caramel macchiato, please.

I’m pleased to be hosting the May Mom Blog Tour today!  

The May Mom Blog Tour is a great concept created by Christine Marie and Nadia Romanov (my thanks to them for inviting me to take part!)

Here’s the idea – instead of celebrating moms for just one day in May, why not celebrate them all month long with a blog tour! There are posts from all kinds of talented women writing about all aspects of motherhood, so be sure and follow along.

Here’s a list of all the great blogs on the tour.

There’s also a Twitter hashtag so make sure to watch #MayMomBlog on Twitter for new posts!

~~~

I was never one to back away from a challenge.

Honestly, the easiest path has never called to me.  I have always gone for the more complicated, the busier, crazier life.  I don’t mean crazy in some wild, there-are-naked-pictures-of-me-waiting-for-blackmail way.  I just mean that if there’s something I want to do, for the most part I do it.  I say yes and ask questions later.  Or at least I get as close as I can, so that I know I’ve done what I can to shape my life into what I want it to be.  If it is something I want badly enough, I’ll face the risks and know that more often than not, that’s how I’ve wound up with some of the best things in my life. 

Sometimes you have to leap, and then look for the safe landing….or you’ll never get off the ledge.

Motherhood is sort of like that.  I can remember being young, and boldly saying I wasn’t sure if I’d ever have kids, and true enough my husband and I were together ten years before having the first of our two kids.  I think we needed to have that time to live, to move around and figure out what our life was going to look like if we started a family.

I remember being happy when we decided we were ready, and I was very excited to discover I was pregnant for the first time – but let’s be honest.  There were a few nervous moments of ready-or-not and I-hope-we-meant-it once I knew for sure.  We’ve all had them.  But you have to take that leap.  You have to decide that even though you have no idea what’s coming, no idea what your family might look like, what the future might hold – you are willing to jump anyway.  You jump out of a life that allows unlimited sleep when you are tired, clothing that only you spill upon, and nights spent out on the town without a second thought to sitters.  And you jump into a life that for all you know might be the end of your sanity.

That sounds tempting, doesn’t it?

No?

Motherhood is this crazy trip.  It’s hard to explain to people who don’t have children (and bless anyone who decides not to have kids, if it isn’t your gig, don’t do it.  Honestly, don’t.)  There are times when I don’t even know where to begin to tell someone who hasn’t been there that I spent the day holding, caring for and cleaning up after kids, and yes, I showered this morning and did my hair, because I’m stubborn that way, but that was 14 HOURS ago and oh, the things I have seen in those hours.

For all the sweetness I experience with my children, there are moments that can honestly only be taken with a large dash of humour.  If you can simply smile and shake your head because the kids are drumming on everything, that’s great.  If you can laugh and hug your kids when they get mad, have accidents, yell or stamp their feet, you have a good chance of survival in this crazy job of parenting. 

Being a mom always seemed to me like the most normal, average thing I could possibly do.  After all, it seemed like everyone was doing it….it was the expected path.  Perhaps that’s why it took me some time to get there.  But once I did, boy, did I ever learn fast that it was going to be the hardest job I’d ever had.  The rewards come by the truckload, thank goodness, but this is not for the faint of heart.  If you can’t make dinner while easing a toddler away from the stove while listening to your six year old tell a story of how a friend was running around being “Wienerman” at school, while unpacking a lunch kit and organizing homework, well, let me suggest you get yourself a pet… maybe a monkey, or a raccoon.  I hear they are less trouble. 

Motherhood is what happens in between the kisses and foot stamps, in between the yelling and the whispering.  It’s what gets you out of bed in the wee hours, again, to check in on a child in need.  It’s what gets you up in the morning to make sure everyone is where they need to be by 9 a.m.  And it’s what keeps you going when it feels like you can’t find a balance between work, kids, home, life, and love.  When you hug the kid who yelled at you five minutes ago, you’re doing it.  When you can stay calm when one or the other kid seems to be losing their grip on things, you’re doing it.  And when you love them, and tell them so, no matter whether they are happy, sad, sweet, angry, clean, dirty, anxious, stormy or loving, you’re doing it right.

Growing up enough to be a mom, and to stand in this role, day in and day out, taking responsibility for two young lives…being able to make sense of their past for them, to support their present and to guide their future?  It’s the craziest thing I’ve ever done. 

But I’m so glad I leaped. 

I wouldn’t change one wild moment of the ride.

~~~

Make sure you check out tomorrow’s post over at Transplanted Thoughts and keep up with the tour as the month carries on!

We tuck two children into their beds each night, and as I kiss each one, and feel their arms around me, I wonder how I got so lucky.  How did I get lucky enough to love these two little people?  And to have them love me back?

It’s the kind of love I never could have imagined until I found myself right in the middle of it.  I thought now and again about children when I was younger, but it was one of those dreams I couldn’t truly touch until they were in my arms.

The thing that I love most about loving my kids is how simple it is.  Oh, they give me a run for my sanity more often than not and there are days I check the mirror knowing grey hair is coming any day now, but the loving…oh, the loving is easy.  They run at me, giggling at our silliness, or sniffling over hurts and we hug and cuddle.  And they are so earnest about it all, how could they not hold my heart in their hands?

The funny thing about it though, is that they, and all children, are born from love that is not so simple.  Oh, it’s love all right, true enough to hold, to linger, to last, but when it comes to love and marriage, don’t we sometimes wish it was as simple as the love we share with our children?

But how could it be?  The love between two adults, two individuals could never be so simple.  We love, of course we do, day in and day out, but we are our own people, and sometimes it is more complicated than that.  We love, but we also push, we pull, we laugh, we disagree, we grow, we change, we argue, we plan, we reach, we rise, and we fall.  We do it together, and we do it all.  And to love through all of that takes work.

When we planned our wedding, 13 years ago, my husband came up with an idea we both loved.  The inside of our wedding program was simple, but on the front cover we printed “Once upon a time…” and on the back “…and they lived happily ever after.”

And somehow, through all the ups and downs, adventures, trials, challenges, celebrations, we are living our lives between those two lines.  Once upon a time we didn’t have this love, didn’t know how big a life we would build…but as we have lived our lives and continue to, the love has remained, and now it is magnified a hundred times over in our children.

Oh, and the happily ever after part?  Yeah.  We’re working on it.  It’s the only way we all get there, isn’t it?

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.

“Mama…

…thank you for who I am

…thank you for all the things I’m not.”

Are there sweeter words we could wish to hear when our children are grown?  My imagination runs wild to think of them, teenaged and lanky, grown and serious.  How amazing.

Enjoy this little slice of sweetness, mamas.

Happy Mother’s Day.

credit: (YouTube)  Il Divo – Mama