I Miss You...Here's Where I've Been

Peer pressure is some serious business. We all feel it. Well, maybe you don't anymore...now that you're a grown-up. If you don't feel peer pressure as an adult, I'm jealous. Look, there's more proof that I feel it. I feel pressure to be exempt from pressure.


Several months ago, I read these words across my computer screen:


"You haven't posted anything new in 11 days. 221 people who like your page want to hear from you."


What?


Who did that person think she was telling me to come up with something interesting/endearing/clickworthy to share with my likers?


Well, it wasn't even a person. It was Facebook. A computer generated message, coded to pop up as a reminder for business owners and bloggers to keep their pages active, happening and vibrant. To keep those clickers clicking.


A quiet, inconspicuous nudge. Come on, say something. Anything. Bring someone here...to this page...your page. They want you. We want you. Do it.


I read the words, felt the pressure and caved. I typed. I created something for my likers to like. I did what I felt I was meant to do.


One of my dear friends straight out told me, "That's a lot of pressure from Facebook." I LOL-ed and smiley-face emoji-ed at her brilliant comment. (I don't think those are verbs yet, but I'm typing them anyway. I'm screwing teacher pressure tonight).


Life continued as it had for the previous many months. Eleven days between posts had once been a mighty number, so I squeezed it back to three. However, eventually, that high of eleven became nineteen. Nineteen morphed into thirty-three. This fall, Facebook made sure to warn me that my likers had gone a painstakingly 45 days without seeing anything new from their wise and witty Mama (Who Loves You and Chocolate, Too). What had I done? What was I thinking, not writing and sharing and blogging and posting? Where was I?


Don't I wish that I could tell you that I was living the easy life as all four of my kids were at school?


That I was kicking up my heels (FINALLY) and eating all those bon-bons I have been missing out on all these years?


That the breakfast dishes were cleaned up as soon as the kids hopped on the bus, in time for me to work out before my long, hot bubble bath?


That my husband and I were sneaking away for long lunches every day?


That I planned, shopped for and cooked wholesome and thoughtful meals, which were ready at 5:30 each night?


That the children did their homework without hesitation or fuss?


That they happily went upstairs after family book or game time, eagerly brushing teeth and taking showers, allowing us to relax with Jimmy Fallon and our unhealthy addiction to the new Netflix series Narcos?


Don't I freaking wish? If only that were how life was. For a real look into our lives, go ahead and reread those few sentences, knowing that none of it ever happened. In fact, it was the exact opposite...all the time. Our life was the typical, hectic, back to school mess with four kids, plus several medical disasters thrown into the mix. I was forced to give up running and yoga after a hefty injury to my ankle. Yes, again. My feet suck. I miss it more than I could have ever imagined.


Two of the children were/are being treated for some lasting health issues. For one of them, we met with or consulted with nine physicians and specialists. For the other, we are still not to the bottom of the problem and are seeking a second opinion after months of pain and therapy. One of the boys underwent ear tubes surgery, which had to be postponed once during his first medical crisis. Also, it wouldn't be Halloweentime without the family picking up the icky germs. Each morning, as I struggled to open my puffy eyes from another sleepless night, when I thought nothing more could go wrong for us, something always did.


Usually, I only complain to my closest friends, my mom and Mark. They hear the worst from me, They are my people. They know my scary stuff. Even if it had been physically possible for me to sit at my keyboard without crying or falling asleep, you guys didn't want to hear about all my drama. My stress. My major mama worries.


Or did you?


Lately, people have been asking where I've been. This morning, my friend hesitantly, yet dearly, confessed to me that she missed my blog. She told me that she wanted me to know, but she didn't want me to feel undue pressure to come back. It made me smile inside to know that my words have affected her and the others who expressed similar sentiments. I've wanted to be here for so long...I've missed you all. You know how much I hate to admit I can't do something, but spending part of nearly every day in a medical office Is.Just.So.Darn.Draining.


So, here's what I'm thinking. I'm thinking about peer pressure. The good kind. Did you know there is a good kind? I didn't need Facebook to toss meaningless numbers at me to start me writing again. Facebook pressure has proven to be ineffective on me the past several months. Thank goodness. I'm thinking that I needed to hear from just the right number of people, the exact number of times, that I should come back to my blog. Thank you, Sweet Smiling Sarah, for pressing me.


When I told you in early October that I was cutting back on blogging, I had no idea what was ahead. I was only a mom hoping to figure out her place in a day with no children. I was going to recharge myself to be the best mom ever! I imagined I would take time away from the keys to plan satisfying meals and take steamy baths and meet Mark for relaxing lunches and go on daytime runs and have coffee chats with friends and volunteer at both schools and paint everyone's rooms and magically tidy the whole house using the KonMari Method. If life ever really gets there, I'll be sure to tell you.


For now, I'll tell you that the life of every mom you know is probably overwhelmingly messy. She'll smile and like your pictures and click "maybe" on your invites, hoping that someday her life will calm down enough for her to actually finish that book on her nightstand. Don't give up on her. I won't give up on you either. Send me a note. Post on my page. Let's start talking about what is important to you.


Are you that messy mom feeling pressure? It's okay. I feel it, too, and people call me Supermom. Whatever.

MOUNTAINS. BABIES. PEACE.
 

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

Crossing the Finish Line

Training.


I had never officially trained for anything in all my 36 years. In the past, I had been able to complete most tasks without check-ins and schedules. Then, on the brink of summer, I declared I was going to be a runner. I knew I could not do it on my own, so I joined a training group led by my friends.


Much like the four times I anticipated childbirth, the preparation for my very first 5K race was wrought with pure uncertainty. The training session carried on for eight weeks...two-thirds of our summer. The procrastinator and denier in me refused to calculate how many miles were actually in five kilometers until our third week running.


5K = 3.1 miles


Wow!


Now you know, too.


For experienced runners, training for a 5K race may seem so minute. Experienced runners breeze through 5K every time they step out their front door for a morning work-out. For a newbie runner like myself, my journey was anything but breezy. During every single run, my brain and body battled through so much.


Nerves.


Fear.


Breathlessness.


Pain.


Tears.


Doubt.


Exhilaration.


Relief.


Anticipation.


I was the most beginner of beginners, and I was often the slowest runner. Even after eight weeks, the longest I had run was 20 minutes. Leading up to the race, which was the culmination of our training, I still remained unsure how I would manage. I hoped that the adrenaline and excitement of the crowds would keep me moving, even if my legs and lungs would try to quit. New friendships were formed and old ones had been strengthened, so I leaned on them as well.


Then, there's the whole reason why I began to run at all. There is my family. My four kids watch me walk out the door in my neon shoes and know their mom is a runner. The confidence and pride that have blossomed in the past two months are life-changing. I'm modeling behavior that will have positive effects on my children. Some have even started to run with me. They often leave me in the dust, but seeing me sweat and work and fight through my running sets an example for determination and perseverance.


Every runner has to start somewhere. Every runner has a first race. I captured many of the moments of my first race in my mind as I pounded through those 3.1 miles, but the moment I hope stays with me forever is when I passed my family on the side of the course. Their dad boosted them off their lawn chairs when he saw me coming around the corner, so all four of them jumped up and clapped for me, cheering, hollering and yelling.


They shouted, "Go, Mom!! You can do it! Come on, Mom, you're doing great!"


My kids. Little kids, whom I have been watching and supporting from the sidelines for years and years, were there to cheer for me. It was surreal.


I passed them with a smile and a fist pump in the air and kept on running. As the course wound through more neighborhood streets, I began to grow weary. Tired. Nervous if I could keep going. As I followed my way back out of the street, I knew that I could keep going because I would see my family again. Those three silly boys and my motivational daughter were waiting, once again, for me to emerge from the path.


Aaaannnnd...that's when I lost it!


My official cheerleaders were relentless in their encouragement, as tears of elation streamed down my already red and sweaty cheeks. Mark worried for a second I was hurt, but shouldn't he know better by now that I cry at everything? I waved again, soaked up their love, and kept on running to the end.


So, maybe all of this crazy talk I'm spewing would discourage anyone who's reading from ever wanting to take up running. I hope that it's the absolute opposite.


Please take a look at my face as I crossed the finish line. See the pure joy in my eyes?

Did I just say pure joy from running?


I did, and I meant it.


After our race, we were enjoying fresh blueberries around a picnic table, and my dear friend and coach, Renee, said these words to my children:


"Do you see your mom? Look at what she did and how strong she is!"


Moms are strong. We should want to show our children what our bodies and minds can do when we try. They will learn from us to be confident in themselves, too. Three hours ago, I met a woman new to our group who was running for the very first time...ever. A delicate place in my heart pounced with excitement, as I insisted that she CAN and WILL be a runner.

What will you be? Please take it from me, you can do it.

 

 

My friend, Rachel, snapped these photos of me reaching my goal and heading toward Mark and the kids for the final time. I'll be running another 5K in September. The kids want to do it with me. Mission accomplished!

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

The Universe and this Mama Say, "Your Time is Now!"

I know this happens to all of you when you want to attempt something new. An idea creeps into your mind at the most inconvenient times, whispering into your over-thinking brain, "Hey, you know you should try it. It's meant for you. You see everyone else doing it, and you would be just as awesome at it as they are, so why don't you just freaking try it? Come on, try it. Do it!"


Of course, I'm not talking about any harmful temptations or negative peer pressure. I mean something that, ultimately, you know would fulfill you. It's something you want, yet you just don't know how to leap for it.


In the past, I have described for you my journey to starting this blog and beginning my yoga practice. These were two paths that I wanted for myself...envisioned for myself...yet I was unsure how to even begin to implement them into this really nutty life of ours. The key to turning those goals into a reality came when I vocalized them. The moment that I began to tell people that I was considering writing and trying yoga, a steady flow of encouragement bombarded me. It was invigorating. Nourishing. Supporting. Just what I needed to move forward and try.


Can I tell you a secret? I have a few new goals. I had been hiding from them for a long time, trying to keep them quiet. Hidden deep inside and away from anyone who would hold me accountable to them. If I ignored them or shushed them, they would go away. Right?


Wrong!


They wouldn't leave me alone. They refused to slink away into the night, leaving me to dream about decadent peanut butter shakes or luxurious hot stone massages. Instead, those goals have been relentless. Determined. Serious.


Then, somebody said something to bring out the brave in me.


A friend of mine communicated why she began something new in her own life. She described it as, "Everything in the universe was telling me to do it." Everywhere she turned: Television, online, friends, magazines, strangers. This new path was constantly in her face. Taunting her. Begging her to jump in and go.


As those words slipped out of her mouth, I stared at her in a trance, because her story seemed to be my story. That is exactly what happened to me with blogging and yoga. Maybe that's what is happening to me now.


With my new goals.


With my plans to become a runner....and a writer who reaches more people.


There. Those are my goals. I said them. Did you hear me?


I don't need to tell you all of the small ways in which I felt pulled to declare these goals. You only need to know that I finally was forced into making them real when an eclectic group of mamas sat together in a circle, drinking wine and sniffing essential oils. That's when I knew. Weird, huh?


Really, this post isn't for me. It's for you. For all of you who need something in the universe to tell you that it's time. I am here to tell you, it's time. Your time is now. Why are you waiting? Let me awaken that voice in your mind. You have no need to keep her quiet any longer. Wake her up and go!

Why was I so scared to do something new...again? Maybe these nasty little ego suckers, perfectionism and worry, played a role in my trepidation. Taming those beasts is something many of us struggle with, even the people who seem to be extremely confident. Fear of Failure. It's real and fierce. Let's encourage each other to stomp it into the ground.

 

 

How am I doing it? I told my runner friends, in person, that I'm going to start running. I jumped up and down with another friend who was also thinking about running. I encouraged her to declare her plans with me, because that's the first step. Seriously, that's what I did. After a PTA meeting, a few of us hopped around and chanted, "Say it out loud, say it, say it, say it!! We can do it together!" Corny? Maybe. Effective? Let's hope so!

 

As for my writing: I'm hoping that I can continue to grow my readership. I plan to work on submitting my writing more starting in September, but until then, I'll ask that if you are touched by one of my pieces, please share it with whomever you think will also enjoy it. I would like to have 1000 followers on my Facebook page by the end of this year. Bam! I'm being bold.


Let's make it happen.


If I haven't told you enough, thank you for being here with me. You have so many places to be and things to do, so when you take time to drive your eyes this way and read my words, I'm forever grateful.

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

Teaching Our Kids It's Okay to Fail

We all remember our middle school years. Some adults may look back with wide smiles and fond nostalgia, although those people are probably rare. After speaking to a lot of my women friends the past few weeks, I've learned that many of them who are currently successful, empowered, admired and beautiful actually recall those times with distinct horror.


They explicitly describe them as "the worst years of their lives."


These are women who have gone on to become gifted engineers, pilots, computer scientists, teachers, writers, mothers and dedicated friends. They're leaders in their communities, churches and schools. They have surpassed every obstacle that has come their way and ended up in positions of importance and value.


Yet, when they think back to being an awkward early teenager, they cringe. They literally shudder at the mere mention of Middle School. Junior High. Whatever it was called where they lived. It was all the same. Horrible. Dreadful. Humiliating.


My own middle school years were no picnic. Going from the big fish in a small pond into a sea of glittery rainbow fish was something I hadn't expected. Not seeing my two best friends all day was a shock. Half of our elementary school went to a different middle school, so kids I had known for years were never to be seen again until high school.


Then, entered the mean girls. The rotten bullies who were relentless in their taunting. My mom always insisted they acted that way because they were jealous of my grades or my pretty hair (that's what all moms say), but it didn't take away from the fact that they followed me from class to class, unforgiving in their constant hounding.


Until middle school, everything had always gone my way. I was sassy and smart and believed I was a star. The mean girls bothered me and tried to tear me down, but somehow, I survived. When I look back now, I'm surprised at all that I was able to endure.


Maybe it was because my mom didn't let it show that she was worried for me, or that she knew middle school could quite possibly be the worst years of my life. She encouraged me to keep trying new things. She kept on insisting that I was amazing, that I could do anything, that I deserved more. She pushed and pushed and pushed. So, I believed her, and I went for more.


By seventh grade, the bullies must have moved on to someone else. Life was looking up as I had become acclimated to school, and I was finding my niche. Then, I did something kind of nuts. A few of my other friends were trying out for the girls' basketball team. I, on the other hand, didn't know how to play basketball...at all. I had always been a cheerleader, but that year, I decided to give basketball a try, too. I showed up to every preliminary practice, not knowing how to dribble the ball or run down the court or shoot any kind of basket: free throw, lay-up, are there others I'm missing? I still don't know.


Of course, I didn't make the team. I had no chance. Zero. I didn't even make the B team. I would not be allowed to ride any benches. I was just sent packing at the end of the last day. My name wasn't called, and I was left sitting in the bleachers while everyone else was celebrating. The end.


Do you know what happened after I experienced my first-ever real failure?


I survived.


My parents probably took me out for ice cream to console me. Then, they told me that I was just meant for something else. I never looked back on those basketball try-outs with regret. I never wished I hadn't participated because I looked foolish. It helped to build a stronger foundation for my character. To boost my confidence. To teach me that even if I wasn't the best at everything, I was still pretty great at other things. I would still be sassy and smart and a star.

Check me out playing Hedbanz, being my ultra-competitive self.

Is it normal that I can vividly recall this failure? I actually remember almost every time I didn't succeed at something. I can reflect on those experiences in connection to parenting. Learning to handle failure is surely an important tool to instill in our children, to help them build a healthy life.


As parents, naturally, we worry about our kids. We don't want them to have pain. Or trouble. Or sadness. Or rejection. As I listen to so many moms express their own painful memories of middle school, I have these wishes:


-I wish that we don't project our own fears about unchartered territory onto our kids. We can talk to our friends, our spouses or our parents about it.


-I wish that children who start out highly confident continue to grow...that even when they have a misstep, they know they are still loved and have value.


-I wish that kids who don't know that they are stars will find power from somewhere...from parents, from teachers, from friends, from neighbors. This world needs people who see potential in the quiet kids/quirky kids/awkward kids/kids who seem to have it all together, but secretly don't.


-I wish that we have strong, open dialogues with our kids about bullies and try-outs and grades and acne and the ever-changing dynamics of social media.


-I wish that we are able to nurture these big kids just as we did when they were babies...with deliberate, unwavering care, for as long as they'll allow...without hovering, of course.

What kinds of worries have you had about your child starting something new?

How did you handle it?

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

Do People Still Ask to Borrow a Cup of Sugar?

Two young girls, best friends who are as opposite from one another as can be, are playing together in the back yard. It's the 80's, so nobody is wearing sunscreen or shoes. Pony tails are flying in the wind as they run around, engaging in whatever game they can agree on for the day. One girl loves baby dolls, while the other one is an athlete, so their choices are limited.


The screen door creeks open, and a Southern mama, who's been transplanted to the North, peeks her head out to yell, "Girls! Head next door and ask if I can borrow a cup of sugar."


The girls grab the measuring cup from Mama's outstretched hand and then mosey over to a neighbor's house to retrieve what's needed. They don't ask the same person every time, but the results are always the same. The mom in each house on the block thinks nothing of walking into her own kitchen to share food from her pantry with a friend. A give and take exists among these women neighbors, as children embark on this simple errand.


Depending on what this mama is mixing up in her kitchen, the items she needs may vary.


A stick of butter, two eggs, a packet of cherry Kool-Aid


Tromping through the neighbors' yards with my best friend, Stacey, to borrow small items for her mom was a regular part of my girlhood. Our play was often interrupted by this request to exchange kitchen basics, her boisterous voice calling after us to fetch something to add to the iron skillet bubbling away on the stove. On many Saturday mornings, we answered their front door to find other barefoot kids asking for the same usual staples.


Do you remember those times? Did your mom share and borrow sugar from her friends? Weren't those days effortless and breezy?

Today, times are different, right? Neighbors barely know one another enough to wave Hello while mowing the grass, how could they ever consider raiding someone's kitchen cabinets?


Now that I'm the mom in the house, I'm faced with this dilemma from time to time. I run out of basics as I'm baking. While our street is quaint, comfortable, and we are actually friends with the people who live around us, I have never sent my children to ask anyone for anything.


Not once.


I know our neighbors would gladly fill my empty cup with mounds of grainy white sugar if I asked, and I would do it for them in a second, but I haven't been able to take that plunge. What if they think I'm a weirdo?


Whenever I am short on ingredients, I do quickly consider the possibility of asking one of my lady neighbors for a bit of help. Here is my thought process, which I realize is quite ridiculous as I write it for you:


I figure that the best first step would be to text. I plan out in my mind what I should say. Something like,


"Hi! I'm so sorry to bother you, but I'm in the middle of making banana muffins, and I just realized I am short an egg. Do you happen to have an extra one that I can have? I promise I'll share the muffins with you guys! Sorry again, it's okay if you say no. Thank you so much in advance."


Meanwhile, I think about the trouble (whining) I'll have to endure to convince one of my children to go grab it for me. I'm typically a mess when I bake, so no one should have to see me in that state. Because it's never been done here before, the kids who are old enough to cross the street would argue about going. They would try to bargain for somebody else to do it.


I would have to bribe them.


Eventually, I decide none of the hassle or fear of rejection is worth it, so I give up on the entire idea. I pile everyone in the car and drive to the gas station, where a dozen eggs costs twice as much as any regular store.


All of this talk about borrowing sugar from neighbors began because Mark's mom told me a story about her current next-door-neighbor. She shared with me how grateful she was for their relationship, because she loaned her a potato when she needed it.


A potato.


I've discovered that those ladies trade foods with each other on a regular basis, just as they would have done if they'd been neighbors in 1988 or 1968. They don't have small children to shuttle anything back and forth between their homes, so the husbands do the transporting.


A friend of mine who also has four children had just boiled all of her eggs for the Easter Bunny, not remembering they would need more for baking. Instead of going through my complicated process, which ultimately would have resulted in buying overpriced eggs, she borrowed some from her neighbor. Modern mom and brilliant!


Tell me, have you ever asked your neighbors to borrow food? We do other favors for each other all the time, so I don't know why I've been anxious about this practice that's been happening in American homes for years. Should I just start the trend again?

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

Special Author Interview, Featuring David Stefanich, Writer of "Stand Up"

Sending kids off to school can create a lot of unknown answers for moms and dads. Our children leave the comforts of our homes each morning to enter these buildings which house unique sets of dynamics, academics and social scenes. As parents, we're left to wonder how our children handle the people who cross their paths each day. What is school life really like for our kids when they aren't physically in our presence and within arm's reach? Once they walk up the steps of the school bus, through the doors of the cafeteria or onto the gymnasium floor, does something happen to them that we can't see? Are they safe? Are they happy? Does anything change about them from the moment they leave our own front doors and step into the place we should trust the most…their school?

Now that I have you thinking, I'd like to introduce you to someone whom many, many parents trust with their children every single day. He's a man who constantly has his eyes, heart and mind on the safety and emotional well being of hundreds of school kids, just like ours. Elementary school principal, father and children's author, David Stefanich, is sharing his debut book, Stand Up, hoping to open an important dialogue about a sobering topic: a lonely child named Xavier who is being bullied in school. I recently had the honor of hearing the author read his book aloud, as scores of elementary students sat beneath his feet, clinging to every word and stretching their necks to view the haunting illustrations, gloriously provided by Corey Verdon. As Stefanich closed the covers of his eerily eloquent and all too real story, parents and kids were left stunned and speechless.

Why were we speechless? The author's words and the illustrator's creations tell the story in a way we've never seen. We instantly relate to the characters, and for each person, it's for a different reason. Maybe we have had the dreaded phone call that our child has been throwing blocks at another student. Maybe it's because we fear our own children could be silently suffering. Maybe Xavier's story has actually already happened to our child, and hearing Stefanich describe it so poignantly cuts straight through us. Maybe we couldn't really know or see how our child felt through it all, until now. Now we see. Now we know.
 

Maybe the story strikes us so deeply because it brings up painful memories from our own childhood. Ones that we thought had been buried, but here they are, dreadful as ever, staring us down like that group of mean girls blocking the way to our locker. Maybe we were one of the school bullies in the past, and hearing Stand Up socks us in the gut like we deserved twenty years ago.

Being bullied…being a bully…being a bystander…being a parent…being a teacher. No matter who you are, this story is POWERFUL. After hearing Stand Up, I created these goals for myself: meet the author, listen to his story, and do what I can to make sure this book finds its way into more libraries and homes around the world.

Please take a few moments to read the interview I've conducted with this up and coming author. While keenly aware that his story "makes adults uncomfortable because we don't want these types of things to happen," he has accomplished his goal of "writing something authentic that kids could relate to" today. Stefanich also provides some excellent tips for parents on how to spot signs of trouble in our own kids.

Interview between Elizabeth Morales and David Stefanich

 

In what ways do you empower children through the telling of your book, Stand Up, and with your author talks? Can you give an example of something that came from a child's mouth which blew you away? 

"I try to empower children just by sharing the story. I was recently at a local school doing a reading and afterwards, when I was signing a copy for a fourth grade student, I asked what his favorite part of the book was. He told me it was "the whole thing" because it reminded him of something that has happened to him. Although I was sad this boy had had a similar experience to Xavier from the story, I was glad that Stand Up was something he could relate to, because that was the whole point of the story." 

Describe signs that parents should watch for which might signal their child is encountering a bully at school.

"The biggest sign parents can look for if their child is being bullied is a change in behavior.  A sign that something is going on might be a child who has previously really enjoyed going to school, is having a hard time in the morning before school, or is saying they are feeling sick without a lot of other symptoms." 

 

As a school principal, can you offer advice to parents who are genuinely surprised to find out that their child is picking on another student? 

"My advice is kids make mistakes, and as parents it is important for us to do all we can to keep the lines of communication with our children open. This open communication can lead to the discussion that will help to turn that mistake into something that can be more positive down the road. As parents we need to help guide our children to persevere when a mistake has been made, to own the mistake, try to fix it, and move on. No one is perfect, but how we teach our children to respond when they have messed up can make a huge impact. "

 

Would you share with the readers if you personally remember being teased during childhood or adolescence? Did anyone "stand up" for you? If so, would you like to thank them for that courage now?

"I don't have huge memories of getting picked on or teased. What I do remember is that when I was picked on or called names, or laughed at, I remember feeling very alone. I also remember my 6th grade teacher, Mrs. Marzalec, was a teacher that really gave me a lot of confidence in myself. You could say she gave me confidence to 'stand up.'"

 

Has being a father shaped the way that you handle these situations, and if so, how?
"Being a father has shaped how I view these types of situations. Working in a school, in a position in which I interact with hundreds of students on a daily basis, I try to always keep in mind how I would want my own children to be treated. Whether a child is going through something like Xavier or whether they are picking on a classmate, I always think about how I would want my own child's teacher or principal to respond. It's kind of like my golden rule: 'How would I want the principal to respond if Kingston or Kyrie were in this situation?'"

What really compelled you to write your book, Stand Up?

"I was compelled to write this story for a couple of reasons. First and foremost, it has always been a dream or goal of mine to write a book. It wasn't until recently that I decided that if this is something I wanted to do, I just needed to do it. As a writer I believe it is important for you to write about what you know. I have either attended or worked in schools for the past 28 years, so it made sense to me to write a story that takes place in a school setting. I didn't set out to write a story on the topic of bullying, but as the first draft got down on paper, that theme became clear, so the telling of Xavier's story in an authentic and somewhat lonely way became a focus of the revision process."

 

Can you offer any other personal insights or stories?
"One thing I like to tell young writers is that the first draft to Stand Up was absolutely horrible. It was nowhere near the finished process it is today. And writing is just that, a process. This story, although under 1000 words, took almost a year to complete. I wrote and revised and poured over small details. Parents can easily encourage their child to become a better writer just by listening to their stories. I can't tell you how many times my wife listened to different versions of Stand Up. Her willingness just to be present in the moment and listen to the small changes I was making helped me to end up with a final product that I am really proud of."

This post is not sponsored by any book store, publisher or Mr. Stefanich. I'm simply using this broad avenue of mine to share an important story that I know you'll want to read. 

Now, share this link and get your hands on this book! Stand Up, Written by David Stefanich and Illustrated by Corey Verdon, is available for purchase online through Amazon and in person at Reader's World. 

For your chance to win a FREE copy of Stand Up, come on over to my Facebook page and leave a comment in the Stand Up post. We're giving one book to a school employee and one to a caregiver. Just tell me in your comment which one you are. The drawing will be on April 1st. Good luck! 

 

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http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just Declare It

Confidence. That's a tricky subject for a lot of people, one which can pull us in many different directions. It can build us up and tear us down, sometimes within the short span of a day. I'll use myself for a quick example. I'm your gal when it comes to whipping up mouth-watering desserts for any brunch, baby shower or holiday celebration. On the other hand, my seven-year-old son asks me to sew up a tiny hole in his pajamas, and I freeze. Seriously, I cannot sew a single stitch. Those seamstress genes have skipped a generation, and I'm okay to admit it.

Our confidence tends to fluctuate, naturally waxing and waning. Do we know why these sudden shifts occur in our self certainty? Maybe it's hormonal. Maybe it's the lack of sunshine. Maybe it's how we view ourselves or others view us. After spending so many years inside the walls of our home, with four captivating children being the entire focus of my life, I have experienced a personal breakthrough in confidence. As I share it with you, maybe you can think about a situation you're facing that could use a confidence boost, too.

Several months have passed since I decidedly tuned into the relentless voice in my head and began writing my blog. It has become such a rewarding undertaking, and as always, I thank you for being here with me. Until very recently, when I talked about it with others, I could feel sort of confident in saying, "Well, I have this blog," or "I contribute to some local magazines and websites."

Then, suddenly, a transformation occurred in how I described my writing. I was set to embark on a three month reading journey with a group of women, mostly moms. I knew many of these ladies, yet a few were strangers to me and to each other. Naturally, we spent some time introducing ourselves to one another during our first meeting. Children were toddling around in the adjoining room, while all of the women sat crossed legged on the carpet, sharing basic details about ourselves. We discussed all of the typical get-to-know-you stuff: family lives, jobs, hometowns, hobbies. When my turn came to speak, after I blabbed about my four kids, these foreign words just came flying out of my mouth.

"I'm a writer."

Um, did I really just say that out loud? I just told everyone in here that I'm a writer, something I have never said before to anyone. Who says I'm a writer? Just because I say it's true, does it mean it's actually true? Can I just declare myself to be a writer?

Well, I guess that's exactly what I did, and it's happening.

I declared it. I don't know why I was being timid about it before now. It's what I do...I write. I am writing all the time, in so many places. People are reading and sharing and talking about my pieces, in person and online.. A magazine is delivered to my door every month with my title and tagline and photo...and my words, in print! It is happening. I'm secretly wishing that my name pops up in conversation, as in, "You should meet my friend, Elizabeth; she's a writer." 

Why did it take me so long to see what was right in front of me? I know it was the comforting spirit of this group of women, their warm smiles and open ears, which allowed the words to finally flow from my lips.

"I am a writer." 

What about you? What are you working on these days that you're feeling shy about or are too nervous to say out loud? Would you just declare it? What's the worst that can happen? You can begin by telling just one person. Your spouse, your best friend, your grandma, your baby who won't remember anyway. What if you tell someone who will build up your confidence and keep you motivated? You can tell me! Whoever it is, Just Declare It!

Then, come on back and let me know how it goes.

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A Kick in the Yoga Pants

Sometimes, we just need somebody else to be our motivator. Our cheerleader. Our kicker-in-the-pantser. Yes, we're adults. We manage households full of people without any direction from anybody. We should know how to do the same for ourselves, right? Lately, I found myself in this strange limbo. I was still doing all of my mom, wife and school duties, but I had neglected to place "take care of myself" in that never-ending to-do list.

It has been a few months since I took that huge leap of faith and went to yoga for the very first time. It was an incredibly rewarding experience, and I continued to go week after week, loving everything that came with it. The meditation, the relaxation, the sweat, the challenge. I was suddenly like, "yoga...it's my thing now." That is until I had a few rough Mondays. Migraines, stomach flu, neck pain, stress. They were all creeping in, seemingly trying to ruin my new peaceful practice. Didn't my body know how much I needed to be at yoga on Mondays?

For three weeks, I was not well enough to go. I rested at home instead. I sat on the couch next to Mark, eating ice cream and catching up on The Tonight Show. Sounds lame, right? Aside from being next to my husband in the evening, it was pretty lame compared to the really cool stuff I had been doing at yoga.

I had been knocked down for three weeks. Although I knew my body could handle going back to class, I had lost my momentum. I felt all those same jitters that I experienced before my first class coming back. Would I fall? Would I run out of breath? Mark, my sudden cheerleader, encouraged me to go. He kept sneaking in questions about it, asking me "So, what time is class tonight?" even though it has always been the same time. He was my new accountability person. So, I went back to yoga last week.

That night, for the first time after class, I found myself feeling sad. I felt like I didn't really know anybody there, and I was lost. I felt out of place and lonely. I felt that the positives I had received from the exercise and relaxation had been pounced on by the negative emotions I came away with when it was over. I came home and told Mark that I didn't know if I would go back to that class. (Again...lame).

Last night was Monday, aka yoga night. It arrived like clockwork. Funny how the calendar works. I had no reason not to get off my rear and go to class. My body was sound and craved the physical transformation it feels after yoga practice. It was my mind that was not in the best of health. Mark asked me during the day what time my class was, even though I know he knows. I was finishing up dinner in the kitchen, and he came through the door after work. He placed his arm around me and brought it up once more. I started to cry, telling him that I didn't think I could go back again. I didn't feel confident enough to put myself out there, to feel alone in the class of so many people who already seemed to be friends.

I was rationalizing in my head that maybe I would just do yoga at home. (Even though I bought a DVD months ago and haven't opened it yet). My motivator wiped my tears, told me that he knows how hard it is to feel how I was feeling, and he encouraged me to go anyway. I shrugged him off and continued stirring what was in the pan on my stove.

When the whole family finished eating dinner at about 6:02 p.m., my kicker-in-the-pantser made one last ditch effort to move me out the door. Did he know what he was doing? Of course he did, although it was ever-so-subtle. He asked me, "So, is your class at 6:30 or 7?"

Darn. He won't let it go. I guess I should just do it.

Besides my husband's nudges, throughout the day, I had been unable to shake this image from my head. My yoga instructor had posted it early in the morning, with our invitation to class.

 

It's what I tell people all the time, about everything important. We'll likely regret not doing something way more than we'd ever regret doing it.

 

So, upstairs I went to slip into my yoga pants and top-the first work-out clothes I have owned since my high school cheerleading days. Trixie filled my water bottle for me, and I almost walked out without my mat. She reminded me to grab it, all the kids told me to have fun at yoga, and then I left, into the night of freezing rain and drear.

 

I walked into our warm, calm and darkened yoga room with a new attitude. With an attitude that I wasn't there to make new friends. I was there for myself and my health. I was not going to worry about socializing, even though that's such an integral part of who I am. Then, something awesome happened. The room began to fill with the bodies of people who were friendly, smiley and welcoming. Last night's yoga was the best of both worlds. Amazing work-out. Amazing people.

 

I have two people to thank for kicking me in the yoga pants:

 

My husband, who had seen the struggle within me the past few weeks, and my instructor, who shared the most timely piece of encouragement, as if it was meant just for me.

 

Do you have any cheerleaders, motivators, or kicker-in-the-pantsers that seem to know exactly how to keep you moving? Have you ever told them what they've done for you or thanked them for being an inspiration? Maybe try it today.  

 

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:

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Coffee Mugs Take Over but Still Teach Life Lessons

As I've collected items for my kitchen over the years, I have had to learn to rid my cabinets of older ones to make room for the new. I say learn, because it is not easy for me to remove these items which actually are memories to me. Because I spend so much of my time in my kitchen, the tools I use become a part of me. When my favorite casserole dish, which was a gift from our wedding shower, came crashing to the floor, I felt a true sadness as I slid it from the dustpan into the trash. In that dish was where I crafted our first lasagnas and pans of stuffed green peppers as newlyweds. When the electric pan that Mark bought me to use during our expat stay in Japan finally stopped working, I was heartbroken. That piece of equipment was where I scrambled eggs for our babies and sautéed Yakisoba, my favorite Japanese noodle dish that I just can never recreate in the States.

This past summer, I realized I had accumulated quite a collection of coffee mugs. One of them had broken many times, and I finally had to let it go. It was a mug which my aunt had given to me for my college graduation. It was my first "Teacher Mug." I held it near and dear to my heart for thirteen years, thinking of my aunt each time I sipped my Sleepy Time tea from it. When that cherished mug was finally gone, I decided it might be time to go through my mug shelf and give it a face lift. It was actually quite liberating.

We all have our favorite mugs, right? The ones we use each morning for our coffee or tea. We have ones we save for guests that match our dinnerware. We have mugs that we never touch which linger in the back of the shelves, simply collecting dust. For some reason, those just never make it into the rotation. Those were the ones that were easy for me to donate.

Then came the sentimental mugs. The ones that had been taking up my cabinets for ten plus years. Obviously, I never needed all of them at once, and they were making it difficult to close my cabinet doors. Something needed to be done. How did this emotionally-attached, "I wanna keep everything that has ever meant anything to me" mama decide which mugs to keep and which to donate? One afternoon, I talked it over with my own mom for some tips, and I began the process.

I had four mugs from our favorite family vacation to Guam. They were identical to each other. I kept one. I had two mugs from the time I went to see my favorite Broadway show with my best Japanese friend. Again, identical. I kept one. I had many mugs with my kiddos' faces on them. Automatic keepers, of course. One or two were starting to chip. Those became pencil holders. I had a really tall, funky, cool mug from when I took the kids to their first Broadway show. It spells Supercalifragilisticespialidoscious in a rainbow of colors. It's fantastic! Into Trixie's room it went to store whatever she wants. A mug from the kids that says "Best Dad in the History of the World...Ever" required no contemplation. Through the shelves I went, making wise decisions on what on Earth to do with all of these stinkin' coffee mugs.

Then came the one that I knew I would never be able to give away. It's a sleek black coffee mug that my parents presented to me in celebration after one night of high school. I haven't kept it because of the event that surrounded it (Honor Society inductions). Obviously, who I was in high school was just that, high school. I kept it because of the words that are written on it and how much they still ring true to what I believe. When I drink from it, I read the words that my parents carefully chose for me that night. I was only sixteen, but the inspiration I felt from the words on a coffee mug (with balloons and candy attached) are still affecting me.

The words are beginning to fade, probably from many years of wear and washing. Please read them with care, and maybe you will be inspired today, too!

Excellence can be attained if you...

Care more than others think is wise...

Risk more than others think is safe...

Dream more than others think is practical...

Expect more than others think is possible.

Do you have sentimental attachments to items in your kitchen or home? How long have you kept them? I just realized I've had this honor society mug for exactly 20 years! It has moved all over the world with me. Thanks, Mom and Dad. I am sure you had no idea it would become such an important part of my home.

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:

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Peeling Back the Mask of Sensory Processing Disorder: Part 2

After writing about our family's experience with Sensory Processing Disorder during Halloween time, and seeing how greatly it affects so many children, I have decided to make this topic the focus of a 3 part series.

In Part 1, I described what life can be like for a child with sensory processing issues. After many years, my third child had finally decided to wear a Halloween costume.

In the post you are reading now, which is Part 2, I'd like to share what happened after Chip joyfully wore his costume for the first time. Often, sensitive children can change their minds at a moment's notice. I'll describe what it was like for him to attend his school's Halloween party, which has always been an overwhelming experience for Chip.

Finally, I will publish a piece for parents who are seeking advice or help with sensory processing issues. Please look for that in Part 3: 3 Rules to Navigating a New Stage of Parenting.

               

Making Strides and Setbacks at Halloween

 

After excitedly blogging about Chip wearing his Green Ninja costume around the house for an entire night, I felt he was ready to conquer Halloween! I was positive it was going to be the greatest year ever. I believed we were over that hurdle that had always been keeping him from truly enjoying a night of candy-grabbing and playing with friends.

Chip ran home from the bus on Friday afternoon, so excited for the Halloween parade at school. He dressed himself right away and counted down the hours until it was time to leave. I had warned my children ahead of time that they were going to need to be patient in the beginning, as we were arriving early to finish decorating our car for trunk-or-treat. They would need to wait with me while we completed that task, and then again while I greeted families at the door. (I was wearing My PTA-mom hat, along with my bright orange pumpkin shirt). Extra rules on an already sensory-overloaded night can be difficult.

I thought I had done my best to prepare Chip by explaining these guidelines many times before we left the house. However, once we were at the school, everything changed.

Tears started to flow.

He was crying about wanting to take off his costume.

He began insisting on never going to the parade again, never wearing a costume again, and predicting it was going to be a horrible night.

It all happened in just a few moments, right after we pulled into our parking space. I worried that everything Chip had overcome during the prior few days was going to be erased, and his new self-confidence would be forgotten.

Well, I was wrong.

Suddenly, out of the side window, Chip saw a few of his friends starting to arrive, too. More ninjas of varying colors were filing out of their cars. Football players, zombies, superheroes, Darth Vader. All of them were ready for the party and eager to see Chip. Seeing his friends in costume was enough to shake him out of his momentary lapse in Halloween readiness.

The rest of the night was a blur of what Chip described as "The Best Halloween Party Ever!"

Hundreds of parents and kids waiting in line for donuts and cider, children squashed up against each other on the floor watching a festive film, temperatures reaching sauna-like levels. All of these factors would have sent Chip into a frenzy in the past. This year, my boy did not melt down and cry to go home. He left me in the dust, braved it all, and said he couldn't wait for next year.

 

The junk bus is transformed for Trunk-or-Treat.

I only had half a bag of trash to clean out before the night! 

PS. It was much spookier in the dark.

(Photo courtesy of Christine H.)

For any parents with sensitive children, please feel safe in knowing you are not alone. Our kids' struggles are real, and they tend to move through them at their own pace. Even when they seem like they are moving ahead, setbacks are common. We just need to be supportive of our babies...day to day, moment to moment.

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:

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Here I am, the Real Me

We all have many faces, right?

Mom face, wife face, school parent face, friend face, daughter face, employee face, Facebook face?

Everybody's talking about how unrealistic people's lives appear on social media. I'm going to say Facebook, since that's the outlet I use the most. We read about and are naturally aware that people tend to post the most flattering pictures, the happiest moments, the most cherished memories.

Family vacations which spark the biggest dose of envy.

Family portrait sessions on the beach making us doubt our own abilities to choose coordinating outfits for our boring old sitting at Sears.

Family dinner updates that send us into a spiral of guilt knowing that we fed our kids chicken nuggets for the third time this week. How did your kid willingly eat kale and quinoa?

I do believe I'm a pretty good parent, and so is Mark, yet I still feel all these pressures. For quite a while over the past couple of years, I spent my fair share of time scrolling through my Facebook feed and questioning my parenting abilities. Questioning myself. Questioning my gifts.

I'm going to share something with you. It is a picture that someone took of me and then posted to our school's PTA page over the weekend. It was taken during our annual Fun Run a couple of nights ago. When I first saw it, I was a little embarrassed at how silly I looked, so I planned to delete it. Then, I took a second glance at it, and here's why I didn't:

Our entire school comes together to celebrate raising boo koo bucks for our PTA. The kids collect pledges with a promise to run with their classmates at this event, called The Fun Run. We have live music and hundreds of kids with endless energy bounding around the track, dressed in a collection of rainbow colored t-shirts. School spirit is contagious, as the P.E. teacher, who walks on water, leads the kids in an evening of fitness fun. Parents visit with one another, teachers give high-fives, and the school mascot even makes an appearance.

What does all of this have to do with my picture? Well, the woman who snapped the photo was just standing at one point in the track, hoping to grab shots of as many kids and families running by as she could. She planned to share them on our Facebook page for everyone who didn't have a camera ready. Brilliant. I know what I was doing during the exact moment that I walked past her. Exactly.

Do I look happy or what? Excited? Ecstatic even? Yep! I had just stepped off the stage area and then was surprised to see my very dear friend and her husband on the sidelines. That's why I was waving with that goofy grin on my face. (If you know me and see me out in public, you can be sure I'll smile and yell and wave at you)! Next, I ran over to greet my friend and her husband. A moment later was when I learned that the little baby nestled inside my friend's expectant belly is going to be a boy! Hugs and squeals and jumping up and down followed. We already knew their family was growing, and now we knew how: big sister, baby brother, mama, and papa.

The rest of the night was filled with many more moments. Some were triumphs. Some were tumbles. I caught many of them with my own camera, but, of course, I'm not in any of those photos. I'm thankful to this other school mom who happened to catch me off guard at a second that solidifies who I am in my community, my school and most importantly, my family.

Would I have ever shared this picture on Facebook if it had been taken by Mark? Absolutely not. Why am I sharing it with you? Because it shows you who I am, and for anybody who doesn't know me in real, real life, I want you to see me.

• I'm a busy PTA* mom in my thirties who has given birth to four kids.
• That's my body in jeans, which is pretty much what I wear every day.  
• I am excited for school events and pour my heart and soul into making school a special place for our kids and their families.
• My friends are important to me, and I want them to know it.
• I still use my old-school digital camera (see that fancy case around my neck)?
• Spending time outside on a gorgeous Fall evening (notice those beautiful trees behind me) with my kids and Mark (who were running around somewhere) was my idea of one fantastic Friday night! 

People have accused me of being a perfect mom...a super mom...the best mom. I can assure you that I am none of the above. I'm just a mom like everyone else, trying my best to make it all come together so everybody survives.

While I was busy working on Fun Run all week, my house was a disaster. I made a hot, well-prepared dinner on one of the nights...I think. Dishes piled up again. Laundry...of course it wasn't done. I don't need to tell you. You know how it goes.

I'll play catch up this week. In the meantime, Trixie decided to save this photo as my desktop background! I guess it will serve as my little reminder every time I sit down to write or email for PTA that even though some things (the house) fall apart when we're busy being multi-tasking moms, others come together just right. It'll be a reminder of the gifts I bring to my family.

Have you ever seen someone capture your gifts on camera? Were you surprised at how you look when you were in your element? Even if you've never seen it on camera, tell me about what your gifts are. I know you have them!

*I should tell you that I had not been super involved in PTA (Parent Teacher Association) until last year. I had always volunteered for events here and there when I could, but having babies at home made it difficult for me to make any regular commitments. For our family, the time did eventually come for me to step up and help lead our group. If you don't have a lot of time yet to be a school parent, it's okay. Some schools have easy tasks you can do from home. I encourage you to contact your school's parent association and ask for ways to be involved. You and your children will not regret it.

Failure-I'm Over It and Going to Yoga!

Can you think back to the last time that you tried to do something new or different or completely out of your comfort zone? Something that you knew eventually would be positive and wonderful, but just taking that first step was a little terrifying?

For me, last night, I leapt into something new. It took courage for me, and strength, but with the encouragement of some incredibly inspiring women, I was able to do it. I would love to share it with you, because you may be having some doubts about something in your own life. You may be feeling an itch to learn a new art form or change career paths or maybe have another baby! Maybe you just need that little push from someone to let you know it will be alright. We are all scared sometimes. Nobody is great at everything. Even those people who seem to be perfect on the outside really are not. If you're lucky enough to be let into their world, to know the real them, you'll see that most people around us have these kinds of feelings, too.

My new, yet previously terrifying, experience is yoga. I've only gone once, so I promise I'm not going to change my blog to be about exercise or being a perfectly balanced mother. I still love my chocolate and this place will always be crazy! This post is really about my fear of failure and how I was able to knock it down a notch last night! I'm constantly encouraging my kids, my friends, my mom and everyone else I know, but I'm always the last on the list to receive any of my own cheers. Aren't we all? That's just the nature of motherhood: take care of everyone else first. Our time will come when the kids are grown, right?

My journey to trying yoga has been about my health. My migraines and the stress my body carries have reached a point where my doctor told me, "Just take time away from your kids every day, and you'll be fine. They are the reason for all of your troubles."

Totally a cop-out diagnosis and totally not realistic!

Like most moms, I spend time away from my kids as much as finances, reason, and emotions will allow. In the meantime, I have been trying medication, chiropractic, and physical therapy for my headaches. Over the past month, the idea of attempting yoga slowly started to creep into my head. I see so many of my friends who share beautiful photos of themselves in yoga poses.

Incredible.

 

Inspiring.

 

Impossible?

You know what I mean. Who can really do those poses? Pregnant headstands in the morning. Hot mama of four making it look so easy on the beach. Obviously, people can do them, and these are women I am proud to call my friends.

 

 

I used to be as flexible as these women. If they learned to move their bodies into such amazing positions after motherhood, then I could at least go to a class to learn to breathe and bend a little, right?

Once the idea of yoga popped into my head, I asked a few of my good friends in town about their experiences with yoga. They all offered to go with me if I tried it! I mentioned it briefly to my physical therapist that I was considering it. He freaking ran with it. As soon as I said it out loud to him, I was committed. There was no turning back after the words came out of my mouth. Accountability. He was going to be asking me about it again, and he even taught me one pose before my first class. Within a matter of days, I had my plan for yoga.

Day, time, place, instructor.

I borrowed a pretty purple mat from one friend. Another friend was going to meet me there for moral support.

I was still scared out of my mind.

I emailed the instructor, letting her know I was coming for the first time. This is a snippet of what I told her:

I've never done this in my life, and I'm pretty nervous to try something new in front of other people! I don't normally expose myself for failure, so it's a big step for me. I'm really looking forward to this new journey for my health and myself, because I'm a very busy mom of four kids.

 

She responded with the most amazing message and offered to meet with me twenty minutes before class started. When I arrived, she greeted me with a warm embrace. She talked to me about her own fears of failure, and what aspects of her life she wished she could do better. Hers was cooking. She said she always wished she could be better at cooking or even learn to enjoy it a little, but she just hasn't been able to...yet. Then, she asked if I liked to cook.  

 

Talk about the right question for me. She could have asked me if I liked to sew or garden or run...all no. But she asked me about cooking. So, yes, I do love cooking. I don't know anything about yoga yet, but I can cook.

 

She let me in on a little secret, that even though she was a yoga instructor (and would blow my mind in the next seventy-five minutes), she, too, has areas of her life that are not perfect. Whew!

 

So, yoga.

 

I did it. It was hard. It was fun. It was refreshing and rejuvenating. Some of the poses were easy for me, some were a challenge, and some I just didn't figure out yet.

 

It was only my first day.

 

Nobody cared what I was doing or what I looked like or if I stumbled.

 

I didn't fail because I went. That was my first step.

 

I am going back next week.

 

I would love to extend a special thank you to the women in my life who have inspired me through this new journey: Cathy, Renee, Anne, Elizabeth, and especially Jen and Meghan, who are featured in these breathtaking photographs.

 

Tell me, do you have something you've been considering, but you are just too afraid to try it? Why not bite the bullet and do it? I'll be here to encourage you!