Calling Home

I've never really watched Oprah Winfrey. Well, maybe back in college when I had time on my hands in the afternoons.

I really haven't watched any daytime TV in the last 15 years.

To be honest, I don't think I missed anything.

So, the new, new job? It's great. And guess what? I was actually home, working on homework with the boy at 4pm ET yesterday. I wasn't in my home office pounding out e-mail or rolling my eyes on the 90th god-forsaken conference call of the day. I was sitting in the recliner with my boy studying Democracy and Government (is that not a heavy subject for a second grader??? yeah, I thought that too). It felt weird, and exhilarating to HAVE the TV ON before 7pm.

So, back to the original thought about Oprah.... I watched her last show in its entirety. Was Oprah channeling a message to me? It sure felt like it. She started talking about finding "your calling" and "listening to the whispers" (and not the crazy kind) and I started to have the A-HA! moment I always heard bantered about to regular watchers of Oprah.

I'm in the middle of my moment.

Let's back up a bit. The whispers? That I was meant to jump off the treadmill of corporate life? Yeah, I ignored them. For years. Now that I have a little distance from my last day in that world I can look back and see that the life there, MY IDENTITY, was stagnant. I needed to grow, again.

Grow taller, grow deeper.

I wasn't growing there, (except my ass was) due to the fact that I was a hermit in my own home. Working, eating, living, and barely opening up the blinds to the outside world.

Now I am here, in an industry that is foreign and, frankly, a little scary to me. But not REALLY. This is still a corporation after all, but with a very different spin. I grew up the daughter of a construction worker and that became the daughter of a very successful, power-couple parents that own and run a business that has provided all in the family with everything we ever wanted and needed.  Back when I was a kid, and still today.

In the last three weeks, I have been working my tail off to bring the skills I learned over the last 20 years and started applying them here. Little changes, bigger changes... but they all add up to one thing.

I am contributing again to something WORTHY of my time. MY FAMILY.

Who knows where this journey will go. Surely, there will be times when all is not rosy (and I can't rain on my own parade so I won't mention the stress S. has been under at work... different topic). But for now, this is worth all of my effort. And it feels really nice to walk out of an office and be present for my husband and son at home. Hell, I am finally getting my laundry finished for once and the fact that I can get it done while working OUTSIDE the home is astounding and almost unbelievable.  Especially considering I had loads of laundry that got moldy working at home because I never had the time to throw anything in the dryer.

So back to Oprah. How many times do I need to backtrack? My mind is all a jumble of words I really am excited to tell you all.

Oprah talked about finding "that thing" which comes naturally and easy to all of us, tune in, and get to the business of doing it.

Well, dear readers (or any of you that are left), that thing for me is writing. It brings me pleasure, joy, validation, and stillness that I just can't replicate anywhere else.

Which is kind of laughable, because I haven't been doing much of it here, but writing is all I ever think about. Problem was, the only time I had time to write (in my old life) was in my thoughts while I was lying in bed at night. I was never able to circle back and put pen to paper, fingers to keyboard. And now that I have time, my brain is on overload. I've been writing in other places and even *gasp* offline in a notebook. Yes, old school sometimes is refreshing.

I've even been READING BOOKS.  I know, sounds crazy for many of you, but reading a book was a luxury I just didn't have before.  The only thing I've pulled back on is my blog reading and commenting.  That will come back in time, as I navigate my new life.  For now, I realize that I can't just jump in with both feet...  I am wading back into a life I never really had so I am still getting my feet wet. 

It just felt right to reconnect with ME and then reconnect with all of you.  A little introspection never hurt a soul.

I am so grateful that I have these two events converging at the same time.. a new job that is stimulating and offers "balance", and time to dedicate to my "hobby" (or "calling" as it were).

To say I feel like a fish out of water is an understatement.

But I am so glad I made it here.

There's just one missing piece.  And yes, a non-earth shattering update on that is forthcoming in another post. :-)

Eight is Great

"Eight is Great!" That's what I loved to tell you when you wore the number 8 jersey on two seasons of your soccer team. But now that phrase has new meaning...

Today, you turn 8, and I seriously can't believe how quickly the time is passing (and how tall you are getting).

In celebration of your 8th birthday...

I give you eight reasons why I love you.

1. you are kind and caring, and did I mention kind? It is a rarity to find a little boy that has such concern for others feelings. You will do well to keep that as a strength, no matter how many ax kicks you do in karate.

2. your smile lights up to the heavens. You giggle in a way I know for sure you are mine, because no one laughs at my silly jokes like you do.

3. you have come such a long way in school (almost to rockstar status) and Daddy and I are so proud because we know it hasn't come easy to you in the past.

4. you bring me a glass of water "just because" you know I like to have my water beside me.

5. you listen to Daddy and I A LOT of the time, which equally stumps and astounds me. I feel like I ought to be on guard for the teenage years to come, when you become a hellraiser (please don't!). If you think you are building up extra credit to ignore me when you are 13, think again mister!

6. you take care of your cats like they are your children, which makes me believe you will be a great Dad someday.

7. you use religious references in your spelling sentences at school on a regular basis, which is probably one of the only perks of sending you to a parochial school (kidding... but it is cute).

8. you were and are a blessing I could have never imagined.

Love you buddy. 

Happy 8th Birthday!!

Love, Mommy
Mom (argh, you are already referring to me as just "Mom" and it's killing me, just so you know)

Open Wounds

I did not intend to write a post about this... lord knows there are many and to be honest, I read only one. My friend Mel, posted today over at her blog and as I wrote my comment to her reaction I could feel all that sadness and rage washing over me again.

I've written maybe a half dozen posts over the years around 9/11, and my personal connection to all the madness.

I regularly visited NYC with work back then. Walked Lower Manhattan more times than I could count. Walked through the towers, rode the elevators, ate and slept at the Marriott, shopped Century 21, bought ibuprofen at Duane Reade and brushed my hand across the bull as I walked down to my favorite Starbucks near my office.

I cried for all the people that died that day, many whom I probably passed by dozens of times before not knowing it would be the last time.  Fortunate only because 9/11 was one day I was not there.

I never went back to Ground Zero. Never visited. Couldn't bear to feel the ghosts of all of those strangers that died. Didn't want to meet the sadness head-on. The total destruction of my innocence brought about by Osama Bin Laden.

I was on Twitter last night when the news broke. To be honest, it didn't even occur to me that it was OBL that was the news. I thought maybe a giant meteor was headed toward Earth.

Yes, I'm a little overly-pessimistic.

I heard the official news via live video on my iPad as I was lying in bed. I turned off my iPad, rolled over and fell asleep, dreamless.  My reaction last night was almost non-existent.  Until I logged on the computer today.  There was that familiar sadness and rage.  This time, with a side of weirdness..  happy that someone is dead.

As I was making David breakfast I heard him ask, "Mommy, why is everyone so happy we killed that dead guy?"

I'm not quite sure where to even start. Or even if I should.